June 4, 2026|י"ט סיון ה' אלפים תשפ"ו When We Decide the Law No Longer Applies By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

The disturbing attack this week on Justice Noam Sohlberg's home in Alon Shvut should concern every Israeli and every Jew, regardless of political or religious affiliation. Dozens of draft protesters gathered outside his home, shattered windows, broke flowerpots, smashed a car windshield, and even displayed an Israeli flag with a swastika in place of the Star of David. Police arrested 62 people in connection with the incident.

What struck me most about this episode was not simply the vandalism itself, but what it represented: the danger that emerges when people become convinced that their cause is so just that they are no longer bound by the normal constraints of law and civil society.

Last Shabbat I delivered a drasha that was intended to address a challenge that many people are experiencing today. There are Jews who are struggling religiously with the tension between engaging in honest self-criticism regarding some of the things they see happening in Israel and recognizing that Israel is fighting a hostile enemy, in a world where criticism is often weaponized by those who seek to delegitimize or harm the Jewish state. My goal was to provide a framework through which people could express moral concerns while remaining deeply committed to the Jewish people and the State of Israel.

As part of that discussion, I spoke about settler violence. I was careful to distinguish between settlers and settler violence. My criticism was not directed at the settlement movement as a whole but at acts of vigilante violence carried out by individuals who take the law into their own hands.

Some people respectfully disagreed with me after the drasha. They argued that because I do not live in Israel, and certainly not in Judea and Samaria, I do not fully appreciate the realities on the ground. They contended that in some areas, the army and police are unable to adequately protect Jewish residents from attacks or property destruction, and that vigilantism serves as a necessary deterrent.

I readily acknowledge that I do not live in Israel and do not experience those realities firsthand. But my concern with vigilante violence is not primarily political or strategic. It is moral. Once individuals decide that they are entitled to use violence outside the legal framework because they believe their cause is justified, society begins to lose something essential.

A functioning society depends on the rule of law. If individuals are permitted to decide for themselves when violence is warranted, where does that end? Who determines which grievances are serious enough to justify breaking the law? Once that principle is accepted, it becomes available to everyone.

This week's events in Alon Shvut demonstrate precisely that danger. The people who attacked Justice Sohlberg's home undoubtedly believed that their cause was important. They undoubtedly felt deeply frustrated by government policies regarding Charedi military service. But few would argue that those feelings justified vandalizing private property and intimidating a public official.

That is exactly the point. Once we embrace the idea that profound frustration or a sense of injustice permits us to operate outside the law, we should not be surprised when others adopt the same logic for their own causes. The specific grievance may change, but the underlying principle remains the same.

This is why I believe the issue transcends politics. I oppose vigilantism whether it comes from settlers who feel abandoned by the army and police, from Charedim protesting military conscription, or from left-wing activists who believe government policies threaten Israeli democracy. People across the political and religious spectrum can sincerely believe that they are defending something precious and important. But sincerity alone cannot be what determines whether the law applies.

If we excuse unlawful behavior when it advances causes we support, we lose the ability to condemn it when it advances causes we oppose. The test of principle is whether we apply it consistently, even when it is inconvenient.

I do not believe that attacks against elderly Palestinians or other vulnerable targets effectively deter terrorists who seek to murder Jews. But even if one were to assume that such actions have some deterrent value, my primary objection would remain. Unlawful violence erodes the legal and moral foundations upon which society rests.

This is why I distinguish between vigilantism and government policy. If the State of Israel, acting through its legal institutions, chooses to demolish terrorist homes or impose severe penalties on terrorists, one can debate the wisdom or effectiveness of those policies. I may agree or disagree with them. But they operate within a legal framework. My concern is with individuals acting on their own authority and employing violence outside that framework.

This concern finds expression in the Torah itself. Consider the story of Shimon and Levi in Shechem. One can certainly understand their outrage over what happened to Dinah. Yet the Torah leaves us with a profound unease about their response.

A fascinating Midrash may point us toward why. On the pasuk in Parshat Vayeishev, "And they said one to another, 'Here comes the dreamer. Now come, let us kill him,'" the Sechel Tov identifies the speakers as Shimon and Levi. According to this reading, the same brothers who were prepared to destroy an entire city in response to a perceived injustice are now prepared to kill Yosef because they find him intolerable.

The point is not that Shechem and Yosef are morally equivalent. They are not. The point is that violence changes the people who employ it. Once it becomes part of one's moral vocabulary to eliminate those who are perceived as threats or wrongdoers, that instinct can expand far beyond its original justification.

What begins as a response to a genuine grievance can become a habit of mind.

That is why I view vigilantism as dangerous even when it is motivated by understandable fears or frustrations. It is not merely about the immediate act. It is about the kind of society it creates and the kind of people it can turn us into.

The attack in Alon Shvut should serve as a warning. The individuals involved were not settlers, and the issue was not security policy. Yet the same underlying logic was at work: a conviction that the importance of one's cause permits actions that would otherwise be unacceptable.

A society that wishes to preserve both justice and order cannot afford to embrace that logic. Even in moments of anger, fear, or frustration, we must remain committed to the rule of law and to the moral restraints that prevent righteous causes from becoming destructive ones.