The Torah uncharacteristically gives a dramatic background to an unfortunate situation of a person who for whatever reason ambushed a fellow Jew to kill him. 

Why do we need to be made aware of all the emotional baggage?

Rashi, quoting from the Sifrei, addresses this issue.

Through this man’s hatred of his fellow, he comes to “lie in wait for him.” From here our Rabbis derived the maxim: If a man transgresses a minor commandment, he will ultimately transgress a major commandment. [Here,] since he transgressed the command: “You shall not hate your brother in your heart”, he ultimately came to shed blood. This is why it says here, “But if a man hates his fellow,” for it should have written only: “But if a man rises up and lies in wait for his fellow and strikes him mortally.

The Torah delved into the history of this incident so that it may teach us about the consequences of allowing hatred to brew within one's heart. 

One might have thought that hatred is certainly a bad trait to avoid but wonder how it could corrupt one into becoming a murderer.

Rashi says it all starts with violating a 'minor' commandment, 'You shall not hate your brother in your heart'.  

Is hatred truly a 'minor' sin? 

How many marriages; families; communities; partnerships; friendships; nations, have been destroyed through seeds of hatred that spread its roots ending in catastrophe? 

Too many! 

Upon further examination of the original source — the Sifrei, we will discover there was a step prior to hatred, which Rashi omitted, that was the catalyst for this avalanche. 

After quoting our original verse the Sifrei states:

On this basis they taught: If someone transgresses a simple commandment, he will eventually transgress an arduous commandment. If, for example, he transgressed ואהבת לרעך — “You shall love your kinsman as yourself”, he will eventually transgress “Do not retaliate”, “Do not harbor a grudge”, or “Do not hate your brother” … until, eventually, he’ll spill blood. 

It was the lack of love for one another that developed into hate that eventually led to violence.

Although this is a most noble commandment, nevertheless it could be termed minor insofar as just because I am not particularly fond of a fellow man, doesn't mean I hate him or will him to die. Yet, the Torah sought to reveal to us that the lack of this trait to love our fellow man can indeed trigger dangerous negative attitudes to develop.

But why did Rashi omit this more accurate quote from the Sifrei? 

Even more difficult to understand is that if in truth it all starts with a lack of love for others, why did the Torah jump to the point of hatred and not at the onset of the story?

We often think that the journey from absence of love to hatred takes time. That is due to our assumption that hatred implies flaring nostrils and fangs out. In truth, the term שנאה, that we use for this emotion means something very different.

Let's begin with the antonym of שנאה — hate: אהבה —love. 

The root of אהבה is הבה — to bring forth. That's a far cry from our usual understanding of 'love' as some sort of deep emotion of connection. Evidently, the implication in the term אהבה is not merely giving something but rather being 'איבערגעגעבן' — a total 'giving over' of oneself towards others.

The very first word we heard directly from G-d in history was of course אנכי — I am Hashem, your G-d. The Talmud reveals that this word is an acronym for the sentiment, אנא נפשי כתבית יהבית — I wrote down [the Torah] and gave over [נפשי] My soul. 

This expression of 'love' which we echo in the blessing of Ahava Rabba/Ahavas Olam before the Shma, that bespeaks G-d's great and eternal love as indicated in His gifting us His soul, as it were possible, Himself to us, is alluded to in the verb of giving — יהבית, in the context of His absolute devotion to us. 

In the same vein, loving our fellow man follows this definition of אהבה — love, directing us to be totally in sync with our fellow man, never being indifferent to another's needs and essential value.

The minute we lapse in being 'given over' is the exact moment we are guilty of שנאה — hate, or more exactly — indifference. 

The Talmud teaches in the name of Rabba Bar Rav Huna: With regard to any man who is insolent, it is permitted to call him wicked to his face, as it is stated: “A wicked man makes his face brazen” (Mishlei 21:29). Rav Nachman bar Yitzchak said: It is permitted to hate him, as it is stated: “And the brazenness of his face — יְשֻׁנֶּא is different” (Ecclesiastes 8:1). Do not read it as: “Is different [יְשֻׁנֶּא]”; rather, read it as: יִשָּׂנֵא — Is hated, [as the two words are spelled the same way in Hebrew, albeit with different vocalization and pronunciation.] 

The term to describe שֺנא — hate, shares the same letters as the word ֺשנא — different. 

One who is an עז פנים — brazen towards others setting himself apart, labeling others as different and not part of one's world — giving off an attitude of "you are not my type", thus excluding others from one's interest, is indeed one filled with שנאה — indifference.

Elie Weisel is famously quoted as saying: The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. 

The Torah, however, teaches that it is indeed 'hate' because when one lacks interest in his fellow man, writing him off, the descent to murder has already been seeded. 

It was precisely this message that Rashi reveals is the Torah's focus of the 'hater' who killed his fellow man.

The 'small' commandment to never be indifferent to a fellow Jew is the flipside of the coin that warns us never to hate your brother. 

The famed lover of Israel, Reb Moshe Leib of Sossov, a disciple of the great Reb Shmelke of Nikolsberg, used to tell his followers that he learned what it means to love a fellow Jew from two Russian peasants. Once he came to an inn, where two thoroughly drunken peasants were sitting at a table, draining the last drops from a bottle of strong vodka. One of them, in a slurred drunken drawl yelled to his friend, “Igor! Do you love me?” Igor, somewhat surprised by the question answered, “Of course Ivan, of course I love you!” “No no”, insisted Ivan, “Do you really love me, really?!” Igor, now feeling a bit cornered, assured him, “What do you think? I don’t love you? Of course I love you. You’re my best friend Ivan!”

“Oh yes, yes?” countered Ivan. “If you really loved me … then why don’t you know what hurts me and the pain I have in my heart?”

This topic of the hateful murderer is adjacent to the next paragraph that discusses the prohibition of manipulating your neighbors' boundaries.

You shall not move the boundaries of רעך — your fellow. 

The Sifsei Kohen, Reb Mordechai HaKohen of Tzefas, sees a mystical allusion to G-d. 

The Midrash elsewhere teaches that the verse in Mishlei (27 10) רעך — Your friend, ורע אביך — and your father's friend, אל תעזוב — do not forsake, is referring to the Almighty. (שמו"ר כז א) 

He is our 'Best Friend' as the verse in Malachi (1 2) records His declaring, אהבתי אתכם — I loved you, אמר ד' — G-d said!

Here too, the Kohen Gadol of Tzefas attests, the Torah is tasking a Jew who is indifferent to his fellow man — who is equally loved by G-d, seeking to place this beloved child of G-d out of his personal boundary of interest, as tampering with the boundaryless love that G-d has every Jew. 

We must finally tear down the walls that divide us!

As we head into the month of Elul, a time when דודי לי — my Beloved [exhibits love] to me, we must respond in kind, אני לדודי — I am to my Beloved, being mindful and given over — never indifferent, to all His children He so dearly loves!

באהבה,

צבי יהודה טייכמאן