In Praise of Extremism

Playtime is over.
The first seventy-four chapters of the Torah are quite theatrical. The origin story of the Jewish people is a compelling tale, all the way from Creation to the Giving of the Torah. While some passages of lineage or law do appear, the majority of the text is a dramatic narrative.
Until this week, when we arrive at the end of Exodus 24. From that point forward, the Torah is primarily composed of laws and lists, particularly those touching on ritual. There are narrative interludes, but the overwhelming majority of the text seems more like a technical manual.
That's why it's so important to find meaning in even the driest passages-- even the upcoming portions which focus on the Tabernacle. While the sacrificial law in the first half of Leviticus may no longer be practical, the concept of rebuilding the Temple is still a potent one in Judaism. The Mishkan (Tabernacle), on the other hand, is a historical artifact. How is its architecture still relevant three millennia after its destruction?

Well, let's take the synecdoche: the part of the Tabernacle which gives the entire Mishkan its name.

Make the tabernacle with ten curtains of finely twisted linen and blue, purple and scarlet yarn, with cherubim woven into them by a skilled worker. All the curtains are to be the same size—twenty-eight cubits long and four cubits wide. Join five of the curtains, each to her sister; and five curtains join, each to her sister. Make loops of blue material along the edge of the curtain at the end of a set, and do the same with the furthest curtain in the other set. Make fifty loops on one curtain and fifty loops on the end curtain of the other set, with the loops corresponding each to her sister. Then make fifty gold clasps and use them to fasten the curtains, each to her sister, so that the tabernacle is a unit. (Exodus 26:1-6)

Yeah, I know. But if you hear it in the original Hebrew, a word sticks out: outermost, or kitzona. A kitzoni, in modern Hebrew, is an extremist, one on the fringes of society. The sole source for this word in the Bible is the Tabernacle.
However, the nature of this kitzoniyut (extremism) is somewhat tricky. Basically, the furthest left in the right-hand group is being joined to the furthest right in the left-hand group, like so:
So how should we translate kitzona? It really depends on your perspective. Two of the most prominent Jewish translations of the Bible take diametrically opposed positions: JPS renders it "outmost," while Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan's The Living Torah renders it "innermost." They're both right. The kitzona is the furthest away from its companions, but the closest to the other side.
This may seem like a minor detail, but the fact is that the average Israelite encamped in the desert did not see the Holy Ark, Candelabrum or Table. They saw the ten-cubit high walls of the Mishkan and the Ohel (Tent), the former woven and the latter of goatskin, but each composed of two sets of curtains, joined at the kitzona. The furthest, the extreme, the bleeding edge of each is the key to making a unit of two disparate groups.
We desperately need this sort of kitzoniyut. It's easy enough to prove your bona fides within your group by going ever further away from the center, but that is a recipe for societal disaster. On the other hand, going up to the very edge allows you to reach out to someone from the other side--and hold on tight. That's a blueprint you can use for a tabernacle or a world.

The Lone Avenger

Khatam an-Nabiyyin is a title we might give, in a Jewish context, to the last of the biblical prophets, Malachi. He is the final seer of Israel, and his short but powerful book ends with a message familiar to many, read annually on the Sabbath before Passover:

Behold, I will send you Elijah the Prophet before the coming of the great and terrible day of the Lord. He will turn the hearts of the parents to their children, and the hearts of the children to their parents; or else I will come and strike the land with total destruction. (Malachi 3:23-24)

Interestingly, the Midrash (Gen. Rabba 99:10) cites this verse in order to explain the blessings that Jacob gives to two of his sons, as we read just a few days ago. Between the blessings of Dan and Gad, Jacob abruptly makes a desperate plea to God.

When Jacob saw [Samson], he exclaimed, "I wait for your salvation, O Lord" (Gen. 49:17)--not he will bring the redemption, but [one descended] from Gad, as it says, "Gad, a troop shall troop upon him, but he shall troop upon the heel," which alludes to him who will come at the end [lit. 'heel']: "Behold, I will send you Elijah the Prophet before the coming of the great and terrible day of the Lord" (Mal. 3:23). He was of the Tribe of Gad, for that reason it says, "but he shall troop upon the heel."

Samson, the most prominent descendant of Dan, is likened to a viper, and the Midrash offers two explanation: either this refers to his solitariness or his vengefulness, as expressed in his suicidal zealotry (Jud. 16:28): "O Lord God, remember me, I pray you, and strengthen me, I pray you, only this once, O God, that I may be at once avenged of the Philistines for my two eyes."
Thus, we see Jacob evaluate two potential saviors from among his offspring: Samson the Danite, the serpentine lone avenger, is rejected, his place to be taken by Elijah the Gaddite. However, this does not seem to match up with Elijah as we encounter him in the Book of Kings. He does indeed embrace both solitude and vengeance (I Kings 19:10):

With zeal have I been zealous for the Lord God of hosts: for the children of Israel have forsaken your covenant: they have thrown down your altars, they have slain your prophets with the sword, and I alone am left, and they seek my life to take it away.

Nor is this a simple declaration. Immediately before this, Elijah ventures into the desert for a Moses-like journey to Sinai--but without the people! And this comes immediately after he encourages them to slay hundreds of priests of Baal.
Perhaps we should consider God's response to Elijah. Elijah sees a tempest, an earthquake and an inferno, but none of these represent the word of God. Instead, it is "a still, small voice." Unmoved, Elijah restates his bona-fides of viperous vengeance and isolation. And then God immediately tells him that the time has come for him to appoint a successor. Elijah's tenure is at an end.
Traditionally, of course, this is not the end of Elijah's mission. He who claimed that Israel abandoned the covenant of God bears witness at every circumcision and every Passover that he was wrong. His role in life pales in comparison to his role beyond it.
This is what Malachi alludes to: the role of Elijah in restoring unity and teaching the people to forgive each other. Samson never redeems himself, but Elijah does, realizing as he trains his replacement Elisha that vengeance and isolation are not the path to redemption. Elijah of Melakhim (the Book of Kings) becomes Elijah of Malakhi (the Book of Malachi).
However, this is no softening or weakening of the divine imperative; the last words of Malachi, the final line of prophecy in Israel, is "or else I will come and strike the land with total destruction." The stakes are unimaginably high. Elijah's mission of renouncing vengefulness and isolation is a powerful calling, upon which the fate of the world hangs, and the commitment to it must be as serious as his former dedication to zealotry. His campaign of love and reconciliation must be bold, uncompromising and compelling.
This week my wife and I had the privilege of welcoming a new child, a ray of light for us in a world which seems so consumed by darkness. We named him Malachi Elijah with the hope that he will do his part, through compassion and comity, to bring that redemption closer. Indeed, it is the ultimate mission incumbent upon all of us.

Sympathy for the Devil

While the death of Abraham is recorded in last week's Torah portion, the timeline of his life tells us that Abraham lived to see his twin grandsons, Esau and Jacob, celebrate their Quinceañera in this week's reading. OK, they weren't Latina, and the only biblical figure who celebrates a birthday is Pharaoh -- but the fact remains that Jacob overlapped with Grandpa Abraham. Indeed, the Talmud (Sanhedrin 99b) describes Abraham, Isaac and Jacob as convening the first Jewish court to deal with a candidate for conversion.

Timna was a royal princess, as it is written (Gen. 36), "Chief Lotan," "Chief Timna" -- and by "chief," a monarch without a crown is meant. Desiring to become a proselyte, she went to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, but they did not accept her. So she went and became a concubine to Eliphaz the son of Esau, saying, 'I had rather be a servant to this people than a mistress of another nation.' From her came Amalek, who pained Israel. Why so? Because they should not have distanced her.

According to this legend, tracing the origins of Israel's arch-nemesis Amalek to the court of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob's rejection of Princess Timna, she settles for second best: concubinage to Esau's firstborn Eliphaz. But once again, we must consider the timeline. Abraham dies when the twins are 15, but Esau first marries at age 40 (Gen. 26:34). In the best-case scenario, Eliphaz would be hitting puberty when Esau is in his mid-50's -- some forty years after Timna's application was denied!
So was Timna nursing a grudge for all those decades? That does not seem to be the case; she becomes Eliphaz's concubine in order to join "this people" -- the progeny of Abraham and Isaac.
Moreover, Eliphaz himself has a remarkably good reputation in rabbinic literature. The ancient Midrash Tanhuma (Vayera 38) takes the Proverb (11:30) "The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life" as a reference to Eliphaz: "Because he was raised in Isaac's bosom, he was righteous and merited to have the Holy Spirit rest upon him." A verse from the previous chapter (10:16), "The wages of the righteous are for life [le-hayim in the original Hebrew, so take a shot if you're playing that drinking game], but the earnings of the wicked are for sin and death" is understood by Rabbi Tanhum (Deuteronomy Rabbah 4:20) as contrasting the salutary effects of Grandpa Isaac upon Eliphaz with the deleterious effects of Grandpa Esau upon Amalek.
Thus, Timna and Eliphaz seem to be genuinely righteous people, a surprising origin for Amalek, antithesis of the Jewish nation.
In fact, the conversion case for Amalek remains a contentious one. Though some sources (Rabbi Eliezer, Mekhilta, Exod. 17:16) seem to apply the Timna precedent to all her progeny, ruling out proselytes "from the House of Amalek," Maimonides explicitly says that Amalekites may become resident aliens, accepting the Noahide laws and living in peace with Israel (Laws of Kings, Ch. 6), and an Amalekite ger (a term used for both converts and resident aliens) appears in the Book of Samuel (II 1). Indeed, the Talmud just a few pages earlier in Sanhedrin (96b) states that Haman's grandsons studied Torah in Bnei Brak.
Now, it may be that these sources are not really in dispute, but rather speaking to the nature of conversion. Since Timna sees her union with Eliphaz as joining "this people," making Amalek a unit separate from Esau's other progeny (the Edomites), one cannot approach full conversion as a member of the "House of Amalek." Nevertheless, this does not preclude a biological descendant of Eliphaz and Timna from joining as a regular old Edomite, like any other scion of Esau.
But let's set aside the technical question. What is remarkable here is how much effort goes into understanding the tortured relationship of Amalek and Israel on the aggadic level and exploring the possibility of rapprochement on the halakhic level. After all, to be blunt, Amalek is the embodiment of evil in the Jewish tradition. We are commanded to remember and never to forget "How he met you by the way, and attacked those at your rear, even all that were feeble behind you, when you were faint and weary; and he feared not God" (Deut. 25:18). Targeting civilians to break the will of the enemy -- that is terrorism in anyone's book. We are commanded to eradicate every mention of Amalek from beneath the heavens. That should be the end of the story, right?
In fact, had the Talmud been blogged, these passages might have elicited some choice comments about these sages' naivete, delusion and self-hatred. Yet even for Amalek, the epitome of irredeemability, we see compassion and even hope for the future. Even Amalek has elements of legitimacy to its narrative; even Amalek has its valid criticisms of Israel. That does not mean that the terror of Amalek is acceptable or justified; but it does require us to do some hard thinking.
If even Amalek deserves this consideration, can we deny it to others?

You Oughta Noah

After an indescribable week, this week's Torah portion, Bereshit, is an epic journey from primordial chaos to the last hope of humanity:

And Noah found favor in the eyes of the Lord. (Gen. 6:8)

This isn't the first time we've encountered Noah this week. On Sunday, Hoshana Rabba, we prayed for salvation "In the name of he who was perfect in his generations," as Noah is described in the next verse.
Nor is that the first time that Noah popped up in our holiday prayers. In the Yom Kippur service (both the Ashkenazic and Sephardic rites), he is identified as the first truly righteous individual, whose descendants are blessed and multiplied as a result of his piety.
And on Rosh Hashana, Noah literally takes center stage: in the second of its third unique blessings, known as Zichronot (Remembrances). In fact, Rosh Hashana's official name is the Day of Remembrance, and the first instance of God's remembrance is that of tempest-tossed Noah:

You also remembered Noah with love and You were mindful of him with salvation and mercy when You brought
flood waters to destroy all flesh because of their evil deeds. Therefore, his memory comes before You, God our Lord, to make his descendants like the dust of the earth and his progeny like the sand of the sea. As it states in Your Torah “And God remembered Noah and all of the beasts and the cattle that were with him in the ark, and God caused a wind to blow over the land and the water calmed.”

What is particularly striking is that this theme is unique to the month of Tishrei. As Jews, we usually hearken back to later figures in Genesis: the Patriarchs, the Matriarchs, the Tribes. However, during this month, we invoke our status as descendants of Noah, a bond shared by all humanity.
This dovetails with the universality of Tishrei.

On Rosh Hashana, all human beings pass before him like young sheep, as it is said (Psalms 33:15), "He fashions all their hearts together, Who understands all their deeds." (Mishna Rosh Hashana 1:2)

Indeed, the Torah reading of the day focuses more on Ishmael and Abimelech the Philistine then on Isaac! Even the scapegoat to Azazel on Yom Kippur is understood by the Midrash (Gen. Rabba 65:10) as a reference to Esau. Similarly, according to Talmud Sukka 55b, the bullocks of Sukkot, which add up to seventy, represent the seventy nations of the world. And on Simchat Torah, we once again read about the creation of man as one being, encompassing all colors, peoples and genders.
Thus, it is only fitting that the last Sabbath of Tishrei has a reading that concludes with Noah, father of us all. And the Prophetic postscript is a familiar but oft-forgotten mission (Isaiah 42:6):

I am the Lord; I have called you in righteousness; I will take you by the hand and keep you; I will give you as a covenant of the people, a light of the nations (or goyim).

Now, after the week we've just gone through here, I'm sure many will say that the last thing we need to hear about is the common ancestry of all humanity, the fact that we all trace our lineage back to Noah, the first to forge a covenant with God. But faith doesn't always give you what you want to hear; sometimes, it just gives you what you need to hear.

No Girls Allowed

Two days from now we will mark the septennial mitzva of Hakhel -- the  assembly, the gathering.

No, not that one.

Not that one either.

On the feast of Booths, at the prescribed time in the year for remission which comes at the end of every seven-year period, when all Israel goes to appear before the LORD, your God, in the place which he will choose, you shall read this law aloud in the presence of all Israel. Assemble (Hakhel) the people -- men, women and children, as well as the resident aliens who live in your communities -- that they may hear and so learn to fear the LORD, your God, and to observe carefully all the words of this law. (Deut. 31:10-12)

The Aramaic rendering of Hakhel is Kenosh, the same root as bei kenishta. You may be more familiar with the Hebrew cognate, beit kenesset, or the Greek-derived equivalent, synagogue. In any case, they all mean the same thing: gathering-place, house of assembly, locus of coming together. This is the essence of Jewish prayer and of a Jewish house of prayer.
In the Talmud (Hagiga 3a), Rabbi Eleazar b. Azariah famously expounds, "If the men came to learn,the women came to hear, but wherefore have the little ones to come? In order to grant reward to those that bring them." But are the children dragged along merely to give extra credit to their parents, since watermelons rarely throw tantrums? The biblical commentator Keli Yakar demurs:

I find it untenable, as if he would command them to bear logs and stones to the House of God "in order to grant reward to those that bring them."
Rather, the whole purpose of Hakhel is for renewal (teshuva), as the Sages say (Lev. R. 30:7) that the first day of Sukkot marks the commencement of a new spiritual reckoning...
Now, when Israel repents, we beg God to forgive our sins, asking for mercy in the name of our blameless children, if we are undeserving. Thus, we ask in the prayer Our Father, Our King, "Pity us, our sucklings and our infants," and similarly we ask, "Act for the sake of the little children," etc.

This is what we mean by "in order to grant reward to those that bring them." They say to God: Act on behalf of these little ones who have been brought to the House of God! This is similar to what Joel speaks of (2:16): "Gather the people, sanctify the assembly; collect the elderly; gather the children, even infants nursing at the breast; [let the bridegroom leave his room, and the bride her bridal tent]."

The message is clear: in a time of crisis, in a time of climax, we belong together. That is why it is so troubling when the beit kenesset is used to divide rather than unite, to exclude rather than include. Some flip this argument on its head: children don't belong in synagogue because they're disruptive, and since men "have to go to shul" and women don't have to, those little ones are the "problem" of the latter.
The true "problem" here, however, is that this view, while held as axiomatic by far too many observant Jews, has no basis in the classical sources:

Communal prayer is always heard. Even when there are transgressors among them, the Holy One, blessed be He, does not reject the prayers of the many. Therefore, a person should join community and should not pray alone whenever it is possible to pray with the community. (Maimonides, Laws of Prayer 8:1)
One should endeavor to pray in the synagogue with the community, but if circumstances prevent one from doing so, one should should specifically pray at the time the community prays. (Shulhan Arukh, OH 90:9)

Praying with the community is undoubtedly preferable, but no one calls it a binding commandment; on the contrary, the likely eventuality that one may not be able to attend is immediately apparent (considering what Maimonides says about his own busy schedule, this may be from personal experience).
Well, OK, maybe it's not a mitzva mitzva, but still it's a guy thing, right? Actually, Maimonides starts off the Laws of Prayer (1:1-2) by explicitly stating that women are just as obligated as men in the biblical command to pray to God daily. Is there a reason that women should not also avail themselves of the great merit of communal prayer? A stunning legend told in the midrashic compendium Yalkut Shimoni (871) talks about a very elderly woman who was kept alive solely by the merit of attending synagogue at sunrise every morning; without it, she died within three days. And it's not just haggadic; Rabbi Moses Isserles writes quite poignantly in a halakhic context (Shulhan Arukh, OH 88:1) about the pain that women feel at being literally shut out from the High Holiday services in the name of excessive "purity."
Put simply, is there something different about the female soul? Not according to our tradition. After all, it's Hannah, mother of Samuel, whose prayer in the House of God is the template for what we do every day.
There is no doubt that prayer has evolved over the centuries, especially in the absence of a Temple. Prayer has been formalized and regulated by the rabbis. But that cannot touch the essence of God's command that all seek him in prayer, male and female. In the context of the month of Tishrei, prayer is in the category of mitzvot equally binding on man and woman, like repentance, like fasting, like Hakhel itself. Woe to him who makes a daughter of God feel unwelcome in our place of assembly, for it is her house too.

We are all Sodomites

Sodom and Gomorrah are two of the most famous cities in the Bible, but Moses doesn't even mention them until the very end of his life, as he describes in this week's Torah portion what Israel will look like if the people violate God's covenant (Deut. 29:23):

The whole land is brimstone and salt, a burning waste, unsown and unproductive, and no grass grows there, like the overthrow of Sodom and Gomorrah, Admah and Zeboyim, which the Lord overthrew in His anger and wrath.

So, like the weather we've had this past week, but smelling much worse.
A few chapters later, Moses describes this is in a more poetic way (32:32-33):

For their vine is from the vine of Sodom
    and from the fields of Gomorrah;
their grapes are grapes of poison;
    their clusters are bitter.
Their wine is the venom of dragons
    and the cruel poison of cobras.

Interestingly, Moses traces all this cruelty, bitterness and poison to a specific individual or type, "a root bearing poisonous and caustic fruit...when he hears the words of this covenant, he blesses himself in his heart, saying, 'I shall have peace, even though I proceed according to the capriciousness of my heart,' so that the saturated destroys the thirsty" (29:18-19).
Saturated is how, of course, Sodom and its sister cities are first described (Gen. 13:10): "the valley of the Jordan, which was well watered everywhere like the garden of the Lord, like the land of Egypt as you go to Zoar. This was before the Lord destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah." The Jordan Valley is contrasted with "the land of Canaan," famine-prone and always thirsting for rain. Metaphorically, the well-watered are the well-off, and Ezekiel (16:49-50) makes it clear that this is the root of Sodom's poisonous cruelty:

This was the iniquity of your sister Sodom. Pride, abundance of bread, and careless ease was in her and in her daughters, but she would not strengthen the hand of the poor and needy. They were haughty and did what is taboo before Me. Therefore I took them away when I saw it.

Yes, like that term taboo (toeva), sodomy (middat Sedom) is often misunderstood. Toeva is biblical, while middat Sedom only appears in rabbinical literature; nevertheless, some have an almost pathological need to associate these terms with sexual orientation and ignore their original context. Take what Maimonides (Laws of Neighbors 12:1) says about the Talmudic definition of sodomy--in the context of partners dividing property:

If one of the partners said: "Give me my portion on this side so that it will be close to another field which I own, so that they will be one large field, " his request is heeded, and we compel the other partner to grant him this privilege. For holding back in such a situation would be the character of a Sodomite.

When one withholds benefit from another out of pure caprice, that is sodomy. The Mishnaic Ethics of the Fathers puts it this way (5:10):

There are four types of people: One who says, "What is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine" is an ignoramus. One who says "What is mine is mine, and what is yours is yours" -- this is the intermediate characteristic; others say that this is the character of a Sodomite. One who says, "What is mine is yours, and what is yours is yours" is a pious person. And one who says "What is mine is mine, and what is yours is mine" is wicked.

Perhaps the most shocking element of that dissection of human personality is not the reference to Sodom, but what "others" refer to it as: "the intermediate characteristic." This is not a dissenting view, as the "others" agree as to the definition of the pious and wicked poles. Instead, this underscores that sodomy is not unusual; it is average, mundane, the default setting. The citizens of Sodom and its daughter cities fall far below this, as their vine produces venomous wine--but it all starts with a shockingly simple and so-so statement: "What is mine is mine, and what is yours is yours." It is the meridian of mediocrity, telling the thirsty to keep off their well-watered lawn.
The "intermediate" status is one with special resonance this time of year, as the Talmud teaches (Rosh Hashana 16b):

R. Kruspedai said in the name of R. Johanan: Three books are opened [in heaven] on the New Year, one for the thoroughly wicked, one for the thoroughly righteous, and one for the intermediate. The thoroughly righteous are forthwith inscribed definitively in the book of life; the thoroughly wicked are forthwith inscribed definitively in the book of death; the doom of the intermediate is suspended from the New Year till the Day of Atonement; if they deserve well, they are inscribed in the book of life; if they do not deserve well, they are inscribed in the book of death.

Mediocrity is no place to live; one inexorably moves towards one pole or the other. That is why we have the period of the Ten Days of Repentance: for the intermediate. For the average Sodomite. For us.

So you're a Jewish sex slave

We all struggle with questions of identity from time to time: Who am I? Why am I here? Am I a Jewish sex slave? This handy guide will help you find the answers!
But first, let's explore some things about you.

1. Are you a Jewish male?

If so, you have nothing to worry about. Unless you steal something and don't have the means to pay it back, in which case the court may sell you as a slave. At that point (Maimonides, Laws of Slaves 3:3):

When a servant is sold by the court, his master has the option of giving him a Canaanite maid-servant as a wife. This applies to the master who purchased him or the son who becomes his master if the master dies. He may give him a Canaanite maid-servant as a wife and compel him to engage in relations with her so that she gives birth to slaves that he conceived.

Don't worry, you don't have to raise those kids you may be compelled to have: like your slave-wife, your slave-children belong to your master. It might be awkward when you see him in shul, though.
2. Are you a Jewish female?
a) How old are you?
b) How does your father feel about you?
Here's why we need to know (ibid. ch. 4): 

A Hebrew maid-servant is a girl below the age of majority sold by her father. When she manifests signs of physical maturity after reaching twelve years of age and becomes pubescent, he does not have the right to sell her... If the father fled, died or did not have the resources to redeem her, she must work until she is released.

So, you might be a Jewish slave, but if you're in the first grade or younger, at least you'll be out to prepare for being a bat mitzva after your six years of servitude run out. Of course, your master may decide he wants to marry you. That's where the sex comes in.

The mitzva of designating a maid-servant as a wife takes precedence over the mitzva of redeeming the maid-servant. How is the mitzva of designating a maid-servant as a wife performed? The master tells the maid-servant in the presence of two witnesses: "Behold, you are consecrated to me," "You are betrothed to me," or "Behold, you are my wife." This may be done even at the conclusion of the six years of her servitude before the setting of the sun. He need not give her anything, for the first moneys were given with the intent that they could serve for the purpose of consecration.From this point onward, he must treat her as a wife, and not as a servant...
How does a master designate a maid-servant as a wife for his son? If his son is past majority and gives his father permission to designate the maid-servant as his wife, the father tells the maid-servant in the presence of two witnesses: "Behold you are consecrated to my son."

So, your master's son does have a say. You, not so much. But at least you won't be a slave anymore!

3. Are you a non-Jewish male?
Then we won't even bring up sex, because masters are presumed to be male, and we don't even want to talk about that. But congratulations on being alive! Had you been captured in battle as a) an adult or b) one of the nations we really don't like, you wouldn't have made it this far.
4. Are you a non-Jewish female?
Hey, it's all cool, assuming you're not from one of the no-no nations. Oh, and you might be "married" off to a Hebrew slave, see above. Oh, and one more thing, as per this week's Torah portion (Deut. 21:10-14).

From time to time, you men will serve as soldiers and go off to war. The Lord your God will help you defeat your enemies, and you will take many prisoners.  One of these prisoners may be a beautiful woman, and you may want to marry her. But first you must bring her into your home, and have her shave her head, cut her nails, get rid of her foreign clothes, and start wearing Israelite clothes. She will mourn a month for her father and mother, then you can marry her. Later on, if you are not happy with the woman, you can divorce her, and she can go free. But you have slept with her as your wife, so you cannot sell her as a slave or make her into your own slave.

See, sex yes, slave no. Best-case scenario, you live happily ever after with your one-time battlefield rapist. (Unless he's a priest, in which case rape yes, marriage never.) Or maybe he rejects you, but then he can't keep you as a slave or sell you. So that's good, right? You can walk free and clear... bound by the Noahide covenant (Maimonides, Laws of Kings 8:7):

Her captor must be patient with her for twelve months if she refuses to convert. If she still refuses after this interval has passed, she must agree to accept the seven universal laws commanded to Noah's descendants and then, she is set free. Her status is the same as all other resident aliens. Her captor may not marry her, for it is forbidden to marry a woman who has not converted.

Okay, you can't refuse him, but you can refuse his faith... just as long as you don't keep your own (ibid. 9):

A beautiful captive who does not desire to abandon idol worship after twelve months should be executed. Similarly, a treaty cannot be made with a city which desires to accept a peaceful settlement until they deny idol worship, destroy their places of worship, and accept the seven universal laws commanded Noah's descendants. For every non-Jew who does not accept these commandments must be executed if he is under our undisputed authority.

You feel better now, right?