Accidents happen. But imagine being the guy that “accidentally” threw back an axe, only to have that enormous axe head sling off the end of the handle and kill your best friend. You asked him to come with you to help cut up some fallen trees on your tribal inheritance in Canaan. And now he’s dead by your hand. What do you do?
Outside of enormous grief, your first job is to run to the nearest city of refuge. There are six to choose from, so pick the one that is closest to you and get there as soon as possible. Hopefully, it’s a good one, because if you’re found innocent, you’ll live there until the High Priest dies. That could take months, or it could take years.
First though, you’re brought before a tribunal consisting of the elders of that city of refuge, as well as the family members of the friend you killed. Together, they’ll determine your innocence or guilt.
But how does that happen in a time before DNA, surveillance cameras, and social media chat logs? How do you determine guilt or innocence when there is literally no proof either way?
The answer comes back to intent—a discussion that Moses has in Deuteronomy 19.
Let’s just say, for instance, that a man walks out into the woods under the ruse of helping with a fallen tree, only to then turn around and strike him down, just like Cain did with Abel. That’s murder. The manslayer will be found guilty and executed.
The only possible way anyone can prove that is by their prior relationship. In Deuteronomy 19:4, intent is proven by whether or not those two people had issues beforehand. If he “hated him previously,” then that is grounds for murder, instead of manslaughter.
Imagine the implications of this for you, though. If you and your now-deceased friend had a heated argument on the way out the door that day you went to cut trees—maybe over which one would get to use the new axe you just got on sale—a family member could use that against you. They could argue that you “hated him previously,” and that you set a trap for him.
Is that right? No, but that’s the rules. The only consolation is knowing that if he did lie, and it’s proven, he will be put to death as well (Deuteronomy 19:16).
In a perfect world, everything that is said in the courtroom about your manslaughter trial will be confined to the case itself. But the real world often butts in. We all know that in an emotional case like this where a family member has died, history has a way of coming out. Everything you said, everything you did, can and most likely will be used against you.
Imagine every single indiscretion or burst of anger you’ve ever uttered brought up for the council to discuss. Whether it’s directly relevant to the immediate case or not is (ironically) irrelevant. We’re trying to establish character here; who you are prior to this accident matters. Your relationship with the deceased matters. Everything matters.
Even if you were eventually proven innocent by an objective courtroom (not always a given when you consider Israel’s later history with distorting justice), you still have to make a new home in the city of refuge. That means a house, job, friends—the whole enchilada.
When you return home though, do you really think it will be business as usual? Everyone you knew has moved on with their lives since you were gone. You may even have to reclaim your property, if it was sold by someone else while you were gone (Leviticus 25:23-34).
On top of all that, you’ll still have to deal with the side-eye from the family of the person you killed. Hopefully they forgive you; in many cases, they won’t.
Your entire life is changed, but such is the nature of legal justice. You can be acquitted, but no physical law can actually make you whole.
That’s the beauty of an Old Testament system that emphasizes treating each other with compassion and love in the same breath that it talks about justice and legal proceedings (Leviticus 19:17-18). Only when we genuinely seek to heal each other can true justice prevail.