Numbers

במדבר

Naso Numbers 4:21 - 7:89

THE TRUE HONOR

This week’s Torah portion, Naso, concludes with the lengthy and detailed listing of the twelve identical offerings that the chieftains of the twelve tribes of Israel brought to the newly dedicated Mishkan, the portable shrine that served as our people’s holy place from the early years of the desert wandering until Solomon’s construction of the Temple in Jerusalem. The Torah goes to great pains not to discriminate among the twelve tribes and their leaders. Each tribal leader is mentioned by name. Each gift is meticulously and identically described. Each tribe is given its own day to present its offering. The twelve tribes, the descendants of Jacob’s twelve sons, made up one family, the Children of Israel.

But despite all these efforts, someone had to go first and someone had to go last, and it was Moses’ task to make these difficult choices. Not surprisingly, the Torah does not reveal Moses’ reasoning. After telling us of God’s charge to Moses that he pick one leader for each day, our portion informs us that on the first day Nahshon the son of Amminadab of the tribe of Judah presented his offering. We are left with the challenge of figuring out why Nahshon was the tribal leader chosen to go first.

Using subtle hints in the biblical text and drawing on ancient legends, the teachers and sages of the Talmudic period answer this riddle by presenting a short but powerful portrait of a leader who knew that the trappings of leadership are insignificant compared to the actions of leadership. The scholars create out of the biblical text a picture of Nahshon ben Amminadab as an ideal leader who bravely acts on behalf of his people but claims no special honor or reward for what he does. They contend that Moses chose Nahshon to be first because Moses knew that Nahshon was not a person for whom being first was important.

We know from the Bible that Nahshon was a significant figure. He was the hereditary chief of the tribe of Judah and, as such, an ancestor of King David. He was also the brother-in-law of Aaron, the High Priest. He was, above all, a highly placed, highly privileged individual. Yet, he plays a cameo role in the Torah’s account of the Exodus from Egypt and the wandering in the desert.

However, in the Midrashim, the collections of the interpretive legends based on the biblical accounts, our sages of old show us a very special human being. It was Nahshon, they teach us, who led the Israelites into the Red Sea just as Pharaoh’s horsemen and chariots were about to catch them as they were fleeing Egyptian slavery. According to the legend, the sea did not split until the Israelites, inspired by Nahshon’s bravery and faith, followed him into the breakers. Because he was the first to enter the Red Sea, he was given the honor of being the first to enter the Mishkan.

One would expect such a person to be proud of his accomplishments and his honors, but, based on a careful reading of the Torah portion, the rabbis of old note that Nahshon claimed no special privilege or honor. They emphasize his modesty. Unlike the other eleven tribal chiefs, Nahshon is identified only as a member of his tribe, not as its leader (Numbers 7:12). He did not, they claim, consider himself any better or any more important than any other member of his tribe. Being able to contribute was honor enough for him.

Our sages also note that the Torah emphasizes that Nahshon brought “his own offering.” (7:12) He did not take the gift, as he could have, from the tribal treasury, but used his own resources. He understood that although the honor of going first was being given to him because he was the leader of his tribe, it was now his turn to make his personal contribution to the Mishkan just as all ordinary Israelites had already done.

The question of leadership and the characteristics of a leader are important themes in the Book of Numbers. In the weeks ahead, as we read the Book of Numbers, we will see Moses’ leadership ability challenged and questioned by jealous people concerned with their own positions and status. In this light, to the sages of old, Nahshon ben Amminadab was a positive model of an Israelite leader who, like Moses, came forward to meet the challenges that faced his people and, having accomplished what was necessary, modestly took his place among his fellow Israelites. Nahshon was chosen to go first because Moses knew that being first was not the first thing on Nahshon’s mind.

SHARING BLESSINGS

There are a few songs that occupy a special place in my heart. One of these is “Sabbath Prayer” from A Fiddler on the Roof. It is Erev Shabbat, Friday evening, and gathered around the table in the kitchen of their modest home, Tevye and Golde celebrate the Sabbath and bless their daughters.

For me, this is one of the few moments of bright reality in a musical that projects a vision of our past through the soft focus and sepia tones of nostalgia. It is real to me because it captures a moment in my life and in the life of my family and in the lives of many Jewish families that we experience every week as we welcome Shabbat, our holy Sabbath, into our hearts and into our homes. On Shabbat, we create a sacred circle of blessings around our family and loved ones when we offer thanksgiving and praise for the blessings life offers to us — for wine with the promise of sweetness and joy, for bread with the assurance of sustenance and strength, and for each other with the possibility for affection, understanding, wisdom and growth.

At the heart of the celebration, parents turn to their children and invoke God’s blessing upon them. They pray that their sons be blessed as were Joseph’s sons, Ephraim and Manasseh, and that their daughters be blessed as were the founding mothers of our people — Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. Then they pronounce the threefold benediction that is found in this week’s Torah portion, the blessing known as the “Birkat Cohanim”, “The Priestly Benediction” (Num. 6:24-26):

May Adonai, the Eternal, bless you and protect you!
May Adonai, the Eternal, deal kindly and graciously with you!
May Adonai, the Eternal, bestow His favor upon you and grant you shalom, peace!

The meaning of this blessing is straightforward. Even in Hebrew it is easy to understand. The crucial words — Adonai, “The Eternal” and shalom, “peace” — are among the first Hebrew words a Jew learns. But the feelings we bring to this blessing, as people concerned with, and caring for, children, reach deep within our souls. Although Tevye’s prayer is not a literal translation of the blessing, it captures these feelings, the basic yearnings of parents, grandparents, teachers and friends. Like Tevye, we pray that God protects and defends our children, that God keeps them from disgrace and shame, that they live honorable lives and that they, too, be blessed with spouses and children to care for and love.

The few moments we take each week to bless our children and to receive our parents’ blessing can be magical moments. They give us the break in our busy lives to say that which we want to say and to hear that which we need to hear as we share our love, concern, fears and joys. At least once a week, we take the time to say to our children, “We love you and thank God you are safe with us.”

In the biblical context, the threefold benediction was pronounced by the priests, the cohanim, the descendants of Aaron, Moses’ brother and the first High Priest, to bless all the Jewish people. Even today, two thousand years after the destruction of our Temple, this practice continues. In many congregations on the festivals and, in the Sephardic tradition, also on the Sabbath, those whose families’ memories connect them to the ancient priestly tribe, the cohanim, stand before the congregation, and bless the people. They recite the words in a mysterious singsong with their hands extended and their heads covered by their talitot. In hushed silence, we receive their blessing and return in our hearts to our holy Temple in ancient Jerusalem.

According to the vision of our sages, our homes can be miniature temples, the holiness of the altar can be captured by our dining table, and we can serve God within our walls as the priests served God within the Temple of Old. The Torah teaches us that when the cohanim recited the Priestly Benediction in the Sanctuary, they were able to make us, the Jewish people, feel that we were in God’s presence (Num. 6:27). Today, we are endowed with the same power. When we use that ancient prayer to bless our children, we declare that our home is a holy place and we connect our children to God.

Beha'alotecha Numbers 8:1-12:16

JETHRO’S CHOICE

As we age, we face many difficult choices. One of the most difficult is choosing where we will live in our “golden years.” By that time, our children will have their own lives. They will be busy with their careers and families. They may be living close by or on the other side of the country or overseas. The house in which we lived may have become too much for us. But it is hard to move.

If we move, will it be to a smaller house or to an apartment? Do we want to live alone or live with a child? Does she or he want us? Do we move away to be close to grandchildren or stay in the old community? We have many questions to answer and, for most of us, the primary questions are — How can I avoid being a burden? How can I keep my independence? Where will I be safe? Will I be alone?

Every generation faces these choices, although they may seem particularly acute in our mobile world. There is no one correct answer. Everyone’s life is different. We all have varying goals, dreams, abilities, resources, family ties and other relationships. We may all have the same questions, but the only right answer is the one that works for anyone of us as an individual and as a member of a family.

In Parashat Baha’alotecha, Moses’ father-in-law, Jethro, confronts this universal issue. After learning of the Exodus from Egypt, Jethro brings his daughter, Tzipporah, Moses’ wife, and their children, to the wilderness of Sinai, where the Israelites have set up camp. Moses welcomes Jethro into the Israelite community and Jethro advises Moses on key issues. Jethro witnesses the revelation on Mount Sinai, the early challenges to Moses’ authority, the building of the Miskan (the Desert Sanctuary) and the transformation of a band of escaped slaves to a free people. A year passes since Jetho first arrived and Moses and the Israelites make ready to resume their journey to the Promised Land. (Numbers 10:29-31)

Just before the Israelites are about to depart, Moses asks his father-in-law, Jethro (here called Hobab), to join them on their journey. Moses assures Jethro that he will be treated well. (Numbers 10:29) Jethro, a Midianite priest and father of six other girls, replies that he will go back to his own land and to the rest of his family. (Numbers 10:30)

Moses, who apparently does not want to take no for an answer, asks again. He tells his father-in-law that he could still play an important role. Moses argues that Jethro’s knowledge of the wilderness and his insight into people would continue to be helpful. Finally, Moses promises Jethro that he would have a share in all the blessings that God will bestow on the Israelites. (Numbers 10:31)

So what does Jethro do? We do not know. The Torah does not tell us.

For this vital human question, the Torah offers wisdom, not advice. This brief narrative, like so many others in the Torah, gives us the basic information we need to explore a pressing concern, but not the solution. Here the Torah calls upon us to use the values expressed in our scriptural tradition and the insights we can draw from our own life experiences to address the issue: What would we do, if we were Jethro?

This is a good conversation to have with family and dear ones. In talking about Jethro and the decision he faces, we learn about the kinds of decisions that we, too, will have to make. As we learn how to advise Jethro, we are really gaining insight into our souls.

The Torah asks us to answer the question — What would we do, if we were Jethro? — because it knows that his question is our question.

JUST A LITTLE PRAYER WILL DO

Shortly after our ancestors left Egypt, they found themselves standing on the shore of the Red Sea, caught between the rapidly approaching Egyptian army and the seemingly impassable waters. Moses, understanding our people’s plight, turned to God in prayer. Instead of answering Moses’ prayer, God rebukes him with the question, “Why are you crying out to me?” (Exodus 14:15)

What a strange thing for God to say! Of course God knew why Moses was praying. It was obvious. Our people were trapped and they desperately needed God’s help. So why did God take Moses to task for praying at that moment, when prayers seemed so appropriate?

Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, a sage of the second century C.E., suggests in a midrash, an interpretive passage composed by the rabbis of the Talmudic period, that God is not questioning Moses’ need for prayer, but the nature of Moses’ prayer. Rabbi Eliezer says that God, in effect, was saying to Moses, “My children are in trouble - the sea shuts them off on one side, and the enemy pursues them on the other - and yet you stand and make long prayers. Don’t you know that there is a time to make long prayers and a time to make short ones?” (Mekilta on Parashat Beshalach 3)

In other words, Rabbi Eliezer tells us that God is instructing Moses to stop praying so much and to get moving. The ancient rabbi teaches us that the faithful response in time of need is not to turn to God in prayer, but to trust the abiding relationship one has with God and do whatever seems appropriate.

For Moses, confronted by the Red Sea and the Egyptians, the appropriate act was an act of faith. Moses needed to remember all the miracles God performed during the Exodus and trust that the One who had so recently performed such great wonders on behalf of His people would not let them perish on the seashore or drown in the sea. Trusting in God, Moses lifted his staff over the sea. The sea spilt and our people crossed over safely.

Moses apparently enjoyed lengthy prayers, but he also learned to offer prayers that were succinct and to the point. Moses discovered that both long and short prayers have their proper place in our spiritual lives. Long prayers are part of a spiritual practice that helps us gain deep and abiding wisdom and insight. Short prayers, on the other hand, help us draw on our spiritual reserves in times of need and stress. They both have their appropriate places, and Moses’ prayer life reflects the value of both.

In another midrash, Rabbi Eliezer underscores Moses’ insights into prayer. When his students complained that a certain prayer leader drew out worship to an interminable length, Rabbi Eliezer reminded them that no one prays as long as Moses did when he spent forty days and nights in prayerful meditation on Mount Sinai as he was receiving the Torah (Deuteronomy 9:18). On the other hand, when his students complained that another prayer leader made the worship too brief, Rabbi Eliezer reminded them that Moses is also the author of the shortest prayer in the Bible. Found in this week’s portion, Behaaloteha, this prayer was uttered a couple of years after the Red Sea crossing, for his sister Miriam’s recovery from a disfiguring skin disease. It contains five short words: “Dear God, please heal her!” (Numbers 12:13) (Sifre Numbers Behaaloteha 195).

For most of us today, the lengthy prayers that foster spiritual growth take place in the synagogue, particularly on Shabbat and holidays, when we gather for a couple of hours to worship God and hear the words of the Torah. The spiritual growth we seek is a long and slow process and we may not be able to sense the gradual unfolding of our spirit each time we attend and participate in services. So we, like Rabbi Eliezer’s students, need to remember that even Moses had to struggle in prayer for spiritual growth.

Yet there are also times when we feel a spontaneous need to pray. These are often times of stress and challenge, when we seemed trapped by the circumstances of life. These, however, as Moses discovered on the shore of Red Sea, are not occasions for lengthy prayers. At these moments, we do not have the luxury of spending forty days and nights on the mountain top in a spiritual pilgrimage. These are the occasions in which our prayers help us draw upon the spiritual strengths already embedded deeply in our hearts.

When faced with overwhelming personal challenges, we pray for what we need, as Moses did when confronted by his sister’s disease. We pray for courage and strength, insight and hope, and the love and support of family and friends. We pray for the ability to draw upon the life-enhancing, life-affirming gifts we have already received so that we can make the decisions we need to make.

We know that, when peace returns to our lives, we will have the opportunity to reflect on our present challenges in our continuing spiritual journeys. We will once again have time for lengthy prayers. But in times of stress, the short prayer is just what we need to help us do what we must.

Shelach Lecha Numbers 13:1–15:41

THE PROMISE OF FORGIVENESS

God made known His ways to Moses,

His deeds to the children of Israel

The Eternal is compassionate and gracious,

Slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love.

For as the heavens are high upon the earth

So great is God steadfast love toward those who revere Him.

(Psalm 103:7-8, 11)

Psalm 103, with its declaration of God’s compassion, captures the essence of our Bible’s understanding of God’s relationship to us. The psalm affirms the belief that central to God’s message to Moses, the Torah, is God’s desire to forgive his people and, by extension, all creation.

The spiritual message of Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year, is the conviction that Israel’s God is the patient, compassionate, and forgiving God. We encounter God’s promise of forgiveness throughout the day – at Kol Nidre, as part of the Selichot (Penitential) prayers, and, even, in a challenging way, in the book of Jonah. As awesome and humbling Yom Kippur may feel, it offers us the opportunity to accept God’s gift of forgiveness so that we can turn ourselves to paths that lead to purpose, meaning and holiness.

Moses’ encounter with God on Mt. Sinai after our ancestor’s transgression with the Golden Calf and the shattering of the first set of tablets forms the heart of our Selichot prayers. Returning to the mountain top, Moses meets God, and, instead of a repetition of the Decalogue, God offers a renewed covenant of love and forgiveness when God declares what later in the Jewish tradition becomes known as the Thirteen Attributes of God. “The Eternal, the Eternal – a God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin and acquitting…” (Exodus 34:6-7) Moses receives these words as a sign of God’s forgiveness and they appear throughout the Bible as a means of beseeching and acknowledging God’s compassionate desire to forgive.

The prophet Joel cites this formulation when he calls the people of Judah to repentance as they prepare for a locust plague (Joel 4:2). Nehemiah refers to it in his summary of Israelite history to demonstrate God’s perpetual willingness to work with his wayward people (Nehemiah 9:17; 31). The psalmist quotes it to underscore God’s commitment to an individual who turns in prayer to God (Psalm 86:5; 15). Finally, when Jonah realizes that his prophecy of Nineveh’s destruction will not be fulfilled because God pardoned the repentant city, he angrily refers to it as if to prove that God set him up for failure and embarrassment (Jonah 4:2).

However, the first time God’s promise of forgiveness is put to the test appears in Parashat Shelach. When the twelve spies Moses sent out to research the Promised Land came back with their reports, the Israelites rejected Caleb’s and Joshua’s positive account and decided to follow the advice of the other ten spies who said that the land was unconquerable. Once again our ancestors disappointed God, but Moses convinced God to keep faith with His people. He secured God’s forgiveness by repeating the formula for forgiveness he already received on Mt. Sinai. (Numbers 14:11-19)

Our Yom Kippur, Day of Atonement, worship opens, with a reference to this powerful example of God’s abiding loving loyalty to us despite our lack of faith and moral courage. Kol Nidre, the formula of release,, concludes by citing the final words of Moses’ conversation with God in Shelach. “Pardon, I pray, the iniquity of this people according to Your great kindness, as You have forgiven this people ever since Egypt.” And the Eternal said, “I pardon them as you have asked.” (Numbers 14:19-20)

On Sinai, God gave us the key to unlock God’s attribute of mercy. In the wilderness, Moses used this key to find pardon for our erring ancestors. Throughout our history, these words opened our hearts to experience God’s compassion and break through the walls we thought we built by our fears, willfulness, and ignorance to God’s abiding offer of reconciliation.

Korah Numbers 16.1-18.32

WHO WAS KORAH?

During the forty years in the wilderness, Moses faced a number of challenges to his leadership. Some arouse out of our ancestors’ sense of loss and deprivation. Others centered on issues of policy. The most threatening of these challenges, however, was the constitutional crisis brought about by Korah’s attempt to supplant both Moses as political leader and Aaron as High Priest.

According to the Torah, Moses and Aaron received their positions as part of the divinely ordained political and spiritual organization of the Israelite nation. The laws, ordinances, rules and directives of the Torah, central to the covenant between God and Israelites, served as our ancestors’ constitution. Moses and Aaron did not seize their leadership positions by force or even by the strength of their personalities. God called them and they, reluctantly, came forward.

The Torah provides little information concerning Korah beyond a short genealogy which reveals that he was Moses’ and Aaron’s cousin. No reason is given for his actions. The text only suggests that jealousy might have motivated him.

The rabbinic tradition, however, adds additional material. The rabbis of the Talmudic period created a fuller picture of Korah and his rebellion based on hints in the Bible and on the challenges they faced as Jewish leaders. In the Midrash, narrative explorations of biblical themes, a clearer image of Korah, the man who threatened the established constitutional order of the Jewish people, emerges.

Following clues in the Torah, the rabbis envisioned Korah as an incredibly wealthy member of the power elite of Israel. Even today, the Hebrew (and Yiddish) expression “as rich as Korach” describes an extremely affluent individual. Yet Korah’s wealth did not prompt him to do good deeds but only fed his sense of self-importance.

Korah did not earn his wealth. He either came upon it by luck or by dishonorable means. By some accounts Korah expropriated part of the treasure that Joseph hid for Pharaoh. Other stories relate that as a Hebrew slave, he was Pharaoh’s treasurer and placed a good portion of the royal riches into his own purse.

Korah knew how to manipulate the feelings of those who felt a loss of standing in the newly freed Israelite community. Datan and Abiram, leaders of the tribe of Reuben, descendants of Jacob’s oldest son, who resented the preeminence of the tribe of Judah, turned to him. Two hundred and fifty other Levites who believed they had as much a right to be High Priest as Aaron responded to Korah’s call.

Korah mocked of the law. He ridiculed the basic symbols of Jewish identity – the mezuzah and the fringes on the tallit. He presented absurd readings of biblical ordinances.

Korah exploited people’s aversion to taxes and regulations to undercut support for the Torah and the political and religious establishment of Israel. He argued that the Torah was a tool of an oppressive elite in his account of the poor widow who was blocked from making a living by the rules and regulations imposed on her by the Torah as enforced by Moses and Aaron.

Furthermore, Korah derided his opponents. He and his followers argued that Moses was a tyrant whose rule was more onerous than Pharaoh’s. Beyond this, they claimed that Moses behaved immorally and warned woman to stay away from him.

Thus, in the rabbinic imagination, Korah was a rich demagogue who sought personal gain at the expense of the Torah, its divinely ordained directives, and those called to lead the Jewish people under its guidance. To our sages, Korah’s self-serving and irresponsible attempt to overthrow Moses, Aaron and God’s covenant presented a major challenge to the continuity of Israel as a community based on the rule of law and the mutual respect and affection of all its members. It was perhaps a fitting punishment for the man who, by challenging Moses, sought to undermine the constitutional foundations of Israel, that the earth opened up beneath his feet and swallowed him and all his associates.

(For a summary of rabbinic material concerning Korah, please see Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, vol 3, pp. 286-300, The Jewish Publication Society, 1968.)

EVEN KORAH CLIMBED OUT OF HIS HOLE

None of us is perfect. We all make mistakes. Sometimes we make big mistakes and sometimes we make small ones, but we make them all the time. Often we feel caught by our mistakes. They bring us down. They have us in a hole. When that happens, we feel lost, angry, and, above all, trapped. But we need not be stuck in the pit of despair forever because our spiritual tradition offers us a way out. In fact, there is hope for even the worse of us.

Next week’s Torah portion bears the name of one of the worse people in our Bible, a man who literally fell into a pit because of his mistakes. Yet, according to the wisdom of our ancient teachers, even he was able to pull himself out of his hole. The Torah portion is called Korah and it relates the story of a man called Korah, who, with his cronies, challenged God’s choice of Moses as leader of the Jewish people. In punishment for this rebellious act, the earth opened up under their feet and swallowed them whole. Korah and his followers fell alive into Sheol, the biblical underworld, and vanished in the midst of the Israelite camp. (Numbers 16:31-33)

But they did not vanish from the world of Jewish spiritual imagination. In Jewish lore and legend Korah and his band become archetypical sinners. They are the ones who rebel against legitimate leadership for selfish, egotistical reasons.

Unlike Moses whom the Jewish tradition describes as a modest man who had his leadership role thrust upon him by God, Korach, a proud and prominent member of the tribe of Levi and Moses’ kinsman, actively endeavored to usurp Moses’s position. Shocked by Korach’s challenge, Moses’ asked God for a sign to demonstrate the legitimacy of his authority. God answered Moses and the earth to opened up and swallowed Korach and his adherents alive.

Although in the midrash, the collections of legends based on biblical stories composed by the rabbis of the Talmudic period, our sages pictured Korach as greedy, ambitious, jealous, egotistical, and duplicitous, well deserving of his fate, that is not the end of the story. The Jewish tradition does not stress the punishment of sinners rather emphasizes the power of teshuvah, repentance, and mitzvot, good deeds articulating God’s love for us, to turn even the most wicked of us around. No one, not even the arch-sinner Korach need be stuck in his hole forever. There is a way out and there had to be a way for Korach to tap into this power and turn back to godliness.

Our sages believed that there were no loose ends in the Bible. If one searched carefully and correctly, one could find answers to questions concerning one biblical passage in another passage that reflected the first in theme or imagery. Thus, the rabbis of old found the solution to Korach’s troubles in the prayer of Hannah, the mother of the prophet Samuel in the biblical Book of 1st Samuel.

In her prayer, Hannah praises God by declaring, “the Eternal throws down into Sheol and brings up again.(1 Samuel 2:6)” Since in the Bible, Korach and his crew were the only ones cast alive into Sheol, the sages argue that Hannah’s utterance refers to Korach’s downfall and, therefore, must foretell Korach’s ultimate redemption. Just as God threw him alive into the belly of the earth, so in the future will God bring him up. All Korach and his followers need to do is to turn to God, teshuvah, and cleave to God’s directives, mitzvot.

Admittedly this is difficult for one to do in the subterranean hole known as Sheol. However, the rabbis of old drew on other elements in our tradition, namely the tragedy of the destruction of the Temple and the hope for Messianic redemption, to complete their tale of Korach’s rescue.

They taught that when Korach first heard of Hannah’s prophecy, he had little hope but later he saw an opportunity for redemption in one of the darkest moments of Jewish history. When our enemies destroyed the Beit HaMiqdash, the Temple in Jerusalem, God placed the portals of the Temple deep into the earth for safekeeping. Korach, still alive and still stuck in the underworld, directed his people to cling to them, in the hope that when God would ultimately lift the Temple’s gates out of Sheol, they, too, would be brought up with them.

Due to their willingness to cleave to the doors of the Temple, the place of forgiveness in the our spiritual tradition, God was so pleased with them that he appointed them to be the guardians of the gates until God would return the gates to the earth’s surface as part of the rebuilt Temple in messianic times. By grasping the gates of the Temple, Korach and his party reasserted their loyalty to God and committed themselves once more to the values expressed in the Jewish tradition. (Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, III, p. 300)

So it is with the rest of us, with renewed faith and with proper deeds we can dig ourselves out of our holes. Our tradition teaches that though we are responsible for our lives, we are not trapped by the choices we may have made.

The twin concepts -- teshuvah and mitzvot, repentance and good deeds -- are tools we can use to dig ourselves out of our pits. The first, teshuvah, the idea that we can turn our lives around, gives us hope. The second, mitzvot, a life plan of discreet activities reflecting God’s love for us and our world, gives us a program of good deeds to follow.

None of us is cast so low that we can’t turn ourselves around and once again find meaning and purpose in our lives. Our sages’ message is that if Korach could do so, then surely each one of us can do so as well.

Chukat Num 19:1‑22:1

THE STUFF OF LEGENDS

As Americans, our spiritual imaginations are enriched by many streams. The myths of the ancient Greeks still resonate though the polytheistic faith behind those stories has long disappeared. The legends of the ancient Germans and Celts continue to thrill and inspire readers and authors. We entertain our children with European fairy tales and the Disney versions are as much part of our American culture as the legends of Paul Bunyan and other American stories. The Native American folklore as well as the tales generations of immigrants brought to our shores contribute to our country’s rich treasury of images and ideas.

As modern American Jews we can draw on this rich resource, but we also have our own treasury of myths and legends. Some, such as the Genesis stories of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs and the Exodus accounts of slavery and freedom, are well known. Others have found new life in the writings of Modern Jewish authors. But much of our heritage still remains for us to explore and enjoy.

Sefer Bemidbar, “The Book of Numbers”, is a gateway into this hidden world. It contains tales of magical wells, miraculous food, fiery serpents, talking donkeys, gigantic clusters of grapes and the giants who ate them. Numbers presents our ancestors’ imaginative reflections on their epic journey from Egypt to the Promised Land. The text directs us to other, to now-lost books as well as to other parts of the Bible where knowledge of these legends is taken as commonplace. As we explore the writings of the teachers of the Talmud, we see how these legends continued to enrich our people’s cultural and spiritual lives.

In Numbers, God and Moses are always the heroes. But, as heroes of epic proportions, they need to vanquish formidable foes and overcome enormous obstacles, and Og, the gigantic king of Bashan, is one of Moses’ worthy adversaries.

Giants first appear in Numbers in the Torah portion Shelach Lecha. There ten of the twelve delegates Moses sent shortly after the revelation at Sinai to explore Canaan frightened the Israelites with tales of Canaan’s enormous inhabitants. In this week’s portion, Chukat, almost forty years later, our ancestors finally met Og, the colossal descendant of the primordial giants. Og terrified Moses and the Israelites, but with God’s help, they slew him and took possession of his lands.

Og and the Israelites’ victory became part of our people’s national epic. Deuteronomy repeats the story of Og’s downfall and describes the enormous dimensions of his iron bed. In the Book of Joshua, Rahav, the woman who protected Joshua’s two spies, tells them that Og’s defeat contributed to the Canaanites dread of Israel. Thus, not surprisingly, Og’s overthrow appears in the celebration of God’s saving acts in Psalms 135 and 136.

The biblical depiction of Og provided rich source material for the rabbis of the Talmud. They elaborated on his size. Og was so tall that he was able to keep his head above the water’s of Noah’s flood. They attributed his great age by claiming Og was a child of the angels who before the flood, left heaven to mate with human women. The sages marveled at Og’s strength. He was able to lift a rock large enough to crush the entire Israelite encampment before Moses slew him with an axe blow to his ankle.

Beyond this, the talmudic stories reflect the lasting impact Og made on Jewish folk life. The rock with which according to legend he hoped to crush the Israelites, became a tourist site where a visitor needed to pronounce a special blessing in memory of God’s gracious deliverance. Og, himself, became the paradigm for the enormous human being. In their debates the sages referred to Og as an absurd example to counter an opponent’s argument. The causal manner in which our sages mention Og testifies to the role he played in the story-life of the Jews.

Og is only one of the many unusual and striking characters we meet in Numbers, and who entered into our people’s treasury of legends and lore. These ancient tales still engage our hearts and minds. The images and experiences they bear help us see the world through Jewish lens and enable us to bring the richness of our tradition to meet the epic challenges of everyday life. They will not overwhelm us. After all, we are the children of those who vanquished Og, the gigantic king Bashan, so long ago.

THE WELL OF TRADITION AND MIRIAM'S WELL

One of our people’s greatest strengths is using our tradition as a wellspring for the resources we need to renew our heritage as we pass it down from generation to generation. As Jews we have a living relationship with our past. Jewish history, Jewish traditions, and Jewish memories are not placed in museums and libraries for scholars to research. They are part of our people’s daily lives. When we study our sacred texts, retell our stories, celebrate our successes and mourn our losses, we seek to make deep personal connections to our people’s heritage. When we succeed, we gain a deeper understanding and appreciation of the richness and strength in Jewish life.

Every generation needs to renew Judaism according to its vision and concerns. To teach Judaism to our children, we need to make it alive for ourselves. Each generation asks new questions and brings its own concerns and understandings to our sacred texts and cherished traditions.

One small example of our tradition’s ever flowing well of inspiration comes from a traditional reading of this week’s Torah portion, Chukat. We read about the death of Moses’ sister, the prophet Miriam (Numbers 20:1). Joined with the announcement of her passing is a note that our ancestors had run out of water to drink (Numbers 20:2). The association of these two events provided the foundation upon which the sages of the Talmud built a beautiful legend about the abundant well of fresh water that followed Miriam as she wandered with her people throughout the desert. So long as she lived, the well was a fountain of living water that sustained the people. This source of strength and sustenance, however, dried up upon her death (Rashi on Numbers 20:2; b. Ta’anit 9a; Song of Song Rabba 4:14, 27).

This legend emphasizes the importance of Miriam in the forty years our people spent in the desert and shows her to be a full partner with her brothers, Moses and Aaron. Her courage and enthusiasm sustained our people. Her death was a great loss for our ancestors and her two brothers. The Torah underscores this point by telling us that almost immediately after her death, Moses and Aaron are almost overwhelmed by the challenge to provide water for our people.

Recently, this story has taken on a new significance. Today, as women join men as never before as leaders of the Jewish people, we seek ways to acknowledge this new reality and bind it to the living tradition of our people. The legend of Miriam’s Well gives us one such opportunity.

Today, at many contemporary Passover Seders there is a new custom of placing a goblet of water on the table to represent Miriam’s well. Its presence on the table provides an opportunity to talk about the significance of Miriam and the role women play in the Passover story and in the life of the Jewish people. It helps us relive the story by reminding us that the Exodus was experienced by real people and real families. It reminds us of our people’s abiding sense of God’s protecting presence in the difficult weeks, months and years after leaving Egypt. It teaches us about the indispensable, life-giving power of righteous leaders.

We are living in a time of unbelievable change. Who could have predicted the tragedies and triumphs our people experienced in the past century? The science, politics, and economics of our world present new and unexpected challenges to Jews and to all people. As Jews we are also living in a period of extraordinary growth and creativity as we rise up and meet these challenges. We are blessed to possess a rich and deep sacred heritage that often, in surprising ways, helps us bind our present day concerns with the life giving waters of our faith and tradition.

THE MIRACLE OF WATER

The Book of Numbers chronicles the maturation of Israelite nation from a collection of liberated slaves to a free people. A series of short narratives in Parashat Chukkat relates the passing of the leadership generation with the deaths of Miriam (Numbers 20:1) and Aaron (Numbers 20:22-29), the decline in Moses’ leadership skills (Numbers 20:2-13) and the emergence of the Israelites as a powerful and independent people as illustrated by their victories over Sihon, King of the Amorites and Og, King of Bashan (Numbers 21:21-35). Scripture underscores the transforming nature of these events by citing passages from our people’s long-lost heritage of epic poetry – The Books of the Wars of the Lord (Numbers 21:14) and the words of now unknown bards (Numbers 21:27-30). While Moses still retained his leadership position and the Israelites remained under Divine protection, the spiritual focus of the story now centers on our ancestors.

Miracle stories played a central role in the historical memories of our people. In both the Torah text and in the much later Rabbinic period Midrashim, the great miracles recalled in Parashat Chukkat deal with the gift of water. Rabbinic legend imagines a well of water that sustained our ancestors throughout their wanderings as long as Miriam lived. Many Jews today recall this story as part of their Pesach celebration with Miriam’s cup, a cup of fresh water, on their Seder table. The midrashic tradition uses this story to explain why our ancestors petitioned Moses for water immediately after Miriam’s death. (Numbers 20:2-13)

Lacking water, the Israelites complained to Moses. Overwhelmed by the people’s demands, Moses turned to God. God told him to speak to a large rock nearby and demand that it releases water. Moses gathered the Israelites in front of the rock but instead of addressing the rock, Moses scolded the people and struck the rock with his staff. Copious amounts of water flowed from the rock. While Israelites and their flocks have enough to drink, God informed Moses that Moses will not enter the Land of Promise because by striking the rock he revealed a lack of trust and diminished God’s holy presence. The Torah identifies the site as the “Waters of Meribah” interpreting the name as the place where our ancestors quarreled with God.

The next miracle also deals with wells and water. (Numbers 21:16-18) Here a reversal of the previous account demonstrates the new role the Israelites will play in determining their destiny. The action focuses on the people, not on Moses. It is not a complaint story. The Israelites are neither frightened nor discouraged. The precise location of the miracle is no longer important. The Torah identifies the site only generically, calling the location, “Well”.

Here the encounter is between God and our ancestors. Moses has retreated to the background. The people have gathered at the well and sang a song which opens with a phrase that hearkens back to the Song of the Sea, the triumphal song sung by Moses after the wondrous crossing of the Red Sea. Now, however, the voices of our ancestors united in song worked the miracle and not Moses’ prayers or action. Apparently water flowed freely since after offering a brief citation from the ancient song, (Numbers 21:18) the Torah narrative continues by relating the next steps of the Israelites’ journey and their conflict with Sihon.

In Parashat Chukkat we see our ancestors emerging as an independent people. The story becomes the story of our people and is no longer that of heroic individuals. The generation of Israelites raised in the wilderness succeeded where Moses failed and, unlike Moses, they were was able to enter the Promised Land. While Moses may not have fulfilled all his dreams, by the middle of the Book of Numbers we can see that he completed his mission – he created a nation of free people to whom bondage was only a distant memory. His people, our ancestors, had become truly free.

Balak – Numbers 22:2 — 25:9

“VISION FROM AFAR”

“Ma tovu ohalecha Ya'akov, mishkenotecha Yisrael / How beautiful are your tents, O Jacob, Your dwelling places, O Israel” – these are the well-know and beloved words Jews recite at the beginning of every morning worship service. They are the first of a short collection of Biblical verses that acknowledge the beauty and the goodness available when one joins a community gathered in prayer. They welcome us into our worship, and, in the rabbinic tradition, remind us of the strength and beauty of our community and its institutions. As we face the day, we begin our worship with words of hope and encouragement.

According to the Biblical narrative these words were first uttered by the non-Israelite prophet Balaam when he viewed the Israelite encampment from the heights of Mount Peor. Although he was hired by the Moabite king Balak to curse the Israelite nation, Balaam as a prophet could only curse the people God had already blessed. Three times Balak implored Balaam to recite words of condemnation, and, despite elaborate ritual preparation, Balaam could only reiterate God’s blessings.

In Balaam’s third prophecy, the line Mah Tovu, introduces a description of Israelite camp as a verdant garden planted in the midst of the wilderness. From his perspective, our ancestors seemed to be living in Eden, strengthened by God’s protective and loving care. Balaam’s words painted a picture of a strong, secure and successful nation.

From above, everything seemed perfect. Yet we know that that vision was incomplete. If one looked at our ancestor’s encampment from ground level, one would have seen a different vision. The bulk of the Book of Numbers deals with the problems inherent in forming a united community out of those who fled Egyptian slavery. Plagued by lack of trust in their God and faith in themselves, our ancestors suffered set-backs and defeats. After the initial problems seemed to subside, Moses had to deal with the major challenge to his leadership offered by his kinsman Korah.

Now, at the end of the 40 years of wandering, the Israelites faced additional challenges. A generation was passing. Miriam and Aaron had died. Moses’ own death was approaching, and he had to ensure continuity in leadership. Despite of victories such as those against Sihon and Og, the people still felt insecure, protesting the limited supply of food and water. Shortly after Balaam’s vision of a secure and blessed Israel, our ancestor’s faced the greatest challenge to their unity since the Golden Calf, with the abandonment of God at Baal Peor.

Perspective means a great deal. Balaam, looking down from the hills surrounding the Israelite camps, had a vision of a strong, prosperous people. We, however, through the memories enshrined in the Book of Numbers, see things differently. As much as we are encouraged by Balaam’s bird’s eye view, we know things are never so simple, so good and so beautiful.

Even today it is easy to get lost in the seemingly unending series of obstacles that have always challenged us, as a Jewish community. We are always in need of more funding. There is always more to do than there are people willing to do it. It is a lasting challenge to dialogue over the crucial issues with people who see things differently. Questions of meaning, purpose and direction never seem to disappear. So when things seem so hard on the ground, we need to remember that there is another perspective.

Our prayerbook has it right. Starting our day off with a reminder that at least, from on top of the mountain, things look good, will keep us from losing sight of our greater purpose before we are engulfed by the nitty-gritty aspects of everyday life. It is a great blessing to be able to step back from our seemingly impossible and ceaseless daily tasks, to see how far we have gone, what we have built and how things look from the outside. Perhaps, things really are not so bad. They may, in fact, be beautiful and good.

Pinchas - Num. 25:10‑30:1

"SONS AND DAUGHTERS"

As Jews we are keenly aware of our connections to our people over time and space. We feel bound to all other Jews throughout the world by our common history. Our religious celebrations focus on our people’s earliest adventures. Our educational program helps us identify with our past. Our love of tradition testifies to the importance of our shared memories in cementing our Jewish identities.

As a people, we know that we would not be here today if it were not for the dedication of those who have gone before us to the faith and traditions of our people. In Jewish religious language we call this understanding zechut avot, “the merit of our ancestors.” We can take pride in our Jewish religious and cultural traditions not because of our own merits but because of the great men and women who handed them down to us. This concept appears in our prayers when we recall our matriarchs and patriarchs. We see it in our religious literature in the respect that we pay to the sages of old. It stands out most strongly in our penitential prayers on the High Holidays, when we beseech the Most High to forgive us not because of the meager good we have done but because we are the children and grandchildren of saintly men and women whose line goes back to Abraham and Sarah.

As powerful as the concept of zechut avot is in Jewish thought, there is a deeper understanding that merit can flow in the other direction as well. Just as we are blessed by the good and noble deeds of our ancestors, they can be honored by the way we make the values of our tradition meaningful in our lives. This point is underscored in a well-known midrash in which God agrees to give the Torah to our ancestors only after they made us, their children, their guarantors. On a folk level the words of the popular Hebrew song Am Yisrael Chai express this understanding by claiming that because we, the Jewish people, live, our ancestors are still alive.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy to befall our biblical ancestors would have been the loss of their family identity. Their portion in Israel, both the land and people, depended on their membership in their tribe and clan and their future was linked to their clan’s continued success. The family tomb was a sacred place in the life of our Israelite grandparents. At death one’s hope was to be gathered to ones’ ancestors and to be remembered by one’s descendants. The lengthy listings of the tribes and clans of ancient Israel that mark the beginning and end of the Book of Numbers testifies to central role clan identity played in our ancestors’ lives.

Twice in this week’s Torah portion, Pinchas, the memory of sinful Israelites, Korah and Zelophedah, both clan founders, is preserved by merits of their virtuous children. Korah’s fate is appears in the brief historical notes that accompany the listing of the Israelite clans near the beginning of the weekly portion. There the Torah informs us that while the Levite Korah, his Reubenite associates, Dathan and Abiram, and their followers were swallowed up by the earth as punishment for their rebellion against Moses, Korah’s virtuous sons did not die (Numbers 26:11) so that Korah’s clan identity was preserved. The family of Korah became respectable Levitical clan and a number of psalms in the biblical Book of Psalms are attributed to Korah’s pious descendants. Despite his sin, Korah’s virtuous descendants saved his name from shameful oblivion.

In a lengthier passage the Torah portion describes Zelophechad’s fate. It tells us of his five daughters who demanded that they inherit their father’s allotment in the Land of Israel since he died during the forty years of wandering without any male heirs. In their petition to Moses, they acknowledge that even though their father did not participate in Korah’s rebellion, his death was the result of his own sinful behavior. God, through Moses, grants their request and the laws of inheritance are revised so that daughters can inherit tribal and clan lands when there is no male heir. In this way, Zelophehad’s memory was preserved and his clan endured. The Torah, as well as later commentators, contrast his daughters’ dedication to the Land of Israel and to their family’s portion of the land with that of the generation of the Exodus who looked longingly back to Egypt whenever the going got rough. They kept the faith and Zelophechad’s memory endured. (Numbers 27:1-11)

Our relationships with our people’s past and future are not static but dynamic. The blessings that arise out of the shared zechut, merit, of the Jewish people can flow forward and backward over time. As our present is enhanced by the sacred heritage bequeathed to us by our ancestors and their honor depends on how we use their gifts. Our future depends not only on the spiritual gifts we give our children and grandchild but also by the way they cherish their inheritance. We depend on each other for our spiritual survival as well as for our physical. The chain of zechut, “merit” links us to each other over time and space and can truly be a spiritual “life-line”when we flounder.

OUR GREATEST GENERATION

Faith, hope, trust, and courage are precious. They appear in the most unlikely people at the most unlikely times. Of course, occasionally we may lose our faith and find our courage lacking, but these qualities rest imbedded some place deep in all our hearts and we can, in some mysterious way, draw on them as we travel down life’s road. For most of us, these qualities do not come forth in heroic moments. The best of us, however, manifest them as we move with love and grace through the days, weeks, months, and years of our lives. This week, in our Torah portion, Pinchas, we remember one of the most courageous of our generations, the generation that left Egypt.

Bamidbar, the Book of Numbers closes as it begins with numbering of our Israelite ancestors. During the almost forty years that passed from the Exodus, one generation came to age while another passed. By the end of Numbers, all those who were adults when our ancestors left Egypt had died. That is, except for Joshua, Caleb, and Moses, and Moses knew that he, like the rest of his generation, would not enter the Promised Land. (Numbers 26:63-65)

Sadly, we usually remember this generation for its struggles and failures. Overall, they found the transition from slavery to freedom difficult. The Torah records their fears and limitations. The challenges of life in the desert terrified them. They had to place their trust in God who seemed to ignore them during the long years of slavery and in God’s messenger, Moses who, though one of them, grew up in Pharaoh’s palace and lived as a free man in the household of his father-in-law, the Midianite priest, Jethro. It took them a while to trust God, Moses, and, most importantly, themselves.

But, this was a brave generation. This generation, the generation of slaves, raised a generation of free men and women. They did not express their courage in great deeds but rather in the hard task of nurturing children to be strong, bold, and faithful in a world far different from the one in which they grew up.

They were a generation that struggled not for themselves but for the generations to come. They knew that they would never enter into the Promised Land. Their fate was decreed shortly after the Exodus when they, in a moment of weakness, chose to listen to the pessimistic, fearful report of ten of the twelve spies Moses sent to scout out the Promised Land. Their life work was to endow their children and grandchildren with the faith, hope, trust, and courage they would need to guarantee the future of the Jewish people.

They were not perfect people. They were often overly cautious and not always the most trusting. At times they could be rebellious, confused, and overwhelmed by the circumstances of their lives. Their limitations could bring even God to despair and, from time to time, they received divine punishment for their lack of faith.

Most of them, however, lived quiet lives, building families and raising children for a home they would never see and a future they would never share. They were men like Zelophehad who raised his five daughters with such a deep love and desire for the Land of Promise, that after his death, they petitioned Moses to ensure that they would share in the portion of the Land promised to their father. (Numbers 27:2-4)

The faith, hope, trust, and courage that sustained them through the forty years in the wilderness is available to all of us. Not everyone can be a Moses, a Miriam or an Aaron. However, we can all be heroes in our homes and in our neighborhoods. We can all be role models for our children and builders in our communities. We need not be perfect. They surely were not. Nevertheless, we, like they, can learn from our mistakes, take responsibility for our errors, grow in wisdom, courage, and strength, and prepare others for a better future.

The generation of the Exodus modeled for all future generations of the Jewish people the insight later recorded in Pirke Avot, the Wisdom of the Sages, “You are not required to complete the work, yet, you are not free to desist from doing it.” (Avot 2:16) We, too, hope to leave this world a little better for our children than it was when we entered it and we need to prepare our children to succeed in a world we will never know.

Matot – Numbers 30:2 – 31:42

PROMISES TO GOD AND TO EACH OTHER

Implicit in the covenantal faith of Jewish people is the understanding that the promises we make to each other are as sacred as those we make with God. The covenant of Sinai created and sustained the Jewish people as a community bound together by mutual commitments to love, support and sustain each other over time and place. The success or failure of our people throughout history often depended on our adherence to this belief.

The final chapters of the Book of Numbers bring us to the end of our ancestors’ forty-year journey from Egypt to the Land of Israel. It is a time of transitions. The generation that Moses led out of Egypt has passed. He is the leader of a new, young nation, born in freedom and raised in the wilderness. He sees a new generation of leaders arise – Pinchas, Aaron’s impetuous grandson, in line to be the High Priest, and Joshua and Caleb, promising young men at the start of the journey who have matured to be the men to lead Israel into the promised land. Yet, Moses still worries if the covenant community he helped birth will remain together in the future.

Moses knows that the road ahead will be full of challenges. In his last years, he has led his people in terrible wars and struggles as he tried to guide his people peacefully through their territories to the land of Israel. He is aware of the obstacles that his people will face as they settle in their new homeland and hopes that they will have the courage, insight and leadership to overcome them.

Now, near the end of the journey, Moses faces an unexpected challenge. Two of the twelve tribes of Israel, Reuben and Gad, who have abundant livestock, inform Moses that they would prefer to settle in the broad lands of Gilead and Jazer which the Israelites have just conquered rather than enter the Promised Land.

Moses, remembering the dread engendered by the report of the ten spies almost forty years earlier, thinks that the tribes of Reuben and Gad are afraid of entering Canaan and accuses them of cowardice. Moses fears that they will dissuade the entire Israelite nation from crossing the Jordan into Canaan and that all his people will return to the wilderness and eventually disappear. Moses responds to their request by accusing the people of Reuben and Gad of breaking their promises to God and forsaking their commitments to their people.

Moses is surprised by their answer. They are not their parents’ children. They are not afraid of the challenges before them. Rather than staying behind in their new homes while their fellow Israelites struggle to find a place in Canaan, they volunteer to lead the Israelite nation. They promise to be the vanguard and vow not to return to their homes, children, and livestock until all their fellow Israelites have found their place in the Promised Land.

Moses accepts their promise and reminds them that by fulfilling their commitments, they will have strengthened the covenant bonds that tie them to their people and their God. He assures them that they will be vindicated before God and their fellow Israelites (Num. 32:22). Moses reasserts Israel’s faith that we, as Jews, are united by covenantal promises to each other and, in a broader sense, to all humanity. The people of Reuben and Gad are free to pursue their own happiness so long as they never forget their ties to the rest of the Israelite nation.

In later years, our sages and teachers found in this story the scriptural anchor for this basic belief that our obligations to each other are as important as our obligations to God or, perhaps, in other words, that our obligations to each other are inseparable from our obligations to God.

Reflecting on the nature of our covenant, the 3rd century sage, Rabbi Samuel bar Nahman, citing his teacher, Rabbi. Jonathan, said: “Throughout the Tanak, the Jewish bible, we find support for the belief that a person must discharge his obligations to other people, even as he must discharge them before God. Reflecting on this insight, the teacher Gamaliel Zoga asked Rabbi Yose bar Avun: What is the verse that says it most clearly? R. Yose bar Avun, answered with Moses’ response to the tribes of Reuben and Gad that when they fulfill their promise to help their fellow Israelites, “Neither the Eternal God nor the people of Israel will find any fault with you.” (Numbers 32:22) (From: J. Shek 3:2, 47c.)

ONE PEOPLE

Matot — Mase (Numbers 30:2— 36:13)

June 21, 1999

There is something very tribal about being Jewish. As Jews, we share a history and a destiny with all other Jewish people. We are bound to each other by common memories, shared customs, family ties, traditional rites and rituals, and by the possession of an ancient and rich culture infused with spiritual and religious values.

Being a Jew is not something we can do alone. We need a community to live out our Jewish lives. We study our ancient texts in a community. We pray in a community. We celebrate the great events of our lives with our community. Being Jewish implies being a part of the Jewish people and a member of the Jewish community.

Being Jewish means binding one’s destiny with that of all Jewish people. It means treasuring their history and cherishing their dreams. It means walking with them on the way to God and to spiritual awareness. It means being part of a large family. It means being responsible for each other and working with each other for a better world for Jews and for all other people.

Being part of the Jewish people does not mean giving up one’s individual identity and losing one’s own voice. We have always understood that the Jewish people are enriched when each of us has the opportunity to express his or her unique talents and special skills. We know that we have been most successful when we have been able to make room for each Jewish person’s own special contributions. This, too, is part of what we owe to our fellow Jews.

As individual Jews, we risk losing our Jewish identity as we move away from the Jewish community. Without the loving support of family and friends, it becomes harder to celebrate seasons of our Jewish year and of our Jewish lives. A great challenge faced by the Jewish community today is to find ways of connecting with Jewish people who have drifted away because of the changes in family patterns and community structures brought on by the modern world.

The greatest danger, however, that has always faced our people is not the loss of individual Jews, but the potential loss of our deep sense of peoplehood, the sense that we are connected to each other and responsible for each other. Throughout our history, our feeling of peoplehood has been threatened by people who have been tempted to leave the tents of Israel and follow their own path through the wilderness. To remain strong, we, the Jewish people, need to see beyond the issues and concerns that divide us. We will not be able to resolve problems arising out of class, gender, and ethnic differences if we view them as breaking points, rather than points of dialogue. We will not be able to advance our understanding of Torah, our shared, sacred tradition, if we deny legitimacy to others’ interpretations.

This danger of the breakup of the Jewish people engaged Moses near the end of his career as the leader of the Jewish people. The forty years of Israel’s wandering in the desert as a united people were coming to a close, and soon the tribes would be entering into the Promised Land with each tribe and clan going to its own territory. Moses’ concern for the unity of Israel appears in next week’s Torah portion, Matot-Mase. In it we see Moses’ sharp reaction to the news that the cattle rearing tribes of Reuben and Gad had decided to remain outside the Land of Israel, in the territories of Jazer and Gilead, which were better suited for herding cattle. He accused them of deserting their fellow Israelites in their time of need and, even more importantly, tempting them to remain outside of the Promised Land indefinitely. Moses declared that they were even worse for the Jewish people than the ten spies who had discouraged the Israelites from proceeding directly into the Promised Land a generation earlier, shortly after the Exodus from Egypt.

Moses must have felt a deep sense of relief when the men of the tribes of Reuben and Gad explained to him that their plans were not to abandon the national enterprise, but rather to support the nation by serving as front-line troops in the struggle for the Promised Land. Understanding their commitment to their follow Israelites, they promised to leave their families and flocks behind as they led the way across the Jordan into the Land of Israel. In this way, by fulfilling their obligations to the rest of their people, they would earn the right to pursue their unique destiny as part of the Israelite nation. Moses realized to his great relief that the two tribes accepted his vision of a united Jewish people.

This early expression of Jewish responsibility has become characteristic of what we have come to understand as the unity of the Jewish people. Within Jewish peoplehood, there is room for us to fashion a Jewish life responsive to our personal needs, so long as we understand that we are ultimately one people, that we share one destiny and that we are responsible for each other. We may live in different places, pursue different careers, and speak different languages, but we are one people and one family, and we care for and care about each other.

FACING OPPRESSION

Matot — Mase (Numbers 30:2— 36:13)

July 3, 2012

At its heart, the Book of Numbers is a revolutionary document. Despite its roots in the hierarchal, patriarchal culture of the ancient Mediterranean, it projects a vision of an egalitarian society in which each Israelite, by virtue of his tribal membership, is able to participate fully in the life of the community. Even women, although less privileged than men, have limited property rights and, with those rights, the ability to participate in the spiritual life of the community. A belief in the unique destiny of Israel and in Israel’s singular dedication to the Eternal, who is Israel’s true sovereign and protector, grounds this vision.

The radical demands in Numbers that our ancestors abolish and destroy the symbols of the old Canaanite regime and expel or annihilate those who support that oppressive regime make sense within a revolutionary context. The hierarchy of Canaanite gods provided ideological support for the monarchical city states of Canaan. Therefore, the symbols of these gods had to be destroyed. Unless those who supported the oppressive systems were eliminated, they would seek to restore the old order. The war to conquer the Land of Israel appears as a “holy” war, not because the God of Israel ordered it, but because it was a war seeking to create a new order represented by Israel’s one God.

Our Bible testifies to our ancestor’s failure to create a utopian, egalitarian society grounded on the community of all Israelites and the oneness of Israel’s God. The Book of Judges presents the chaos of our early centuries in the Land of Israel. Samuel and Kings talk about the failures and abuses of Israel’s kings and chronicle the political, social, and spiritual compromises made to sustain our people’s autonomy. The prophets describe the ideological connection between the polytheism of the ancient world and oppression of all sorts and express dismay on how such ideas perverted even the worship of Israel’s God.

The Book of Numbers reflects this disappointment. The new world enshrined in the memory of the Mosaic revolution against Egyptian tyranny and its Canaanite imitators never fully came into being. The Book of Numbers preserves the dream and inspires hope for a better, fairer, world. It recalls the heroic struggle of our ancestors on the journey to freedom.

However, Numbers’ revolutionary radical solution of the violent overthrow of oppressors and their institutions is more problematic. Living at the beginning of the 21st century and endowed with the hindsight of three hundred years of revolutionary activity, we see how limited and frightening a revolutionary spirit can be. At the end of the struggle, the successes, if any, do not seem to be worth the loss of life and property. Rarely do revolutions achieve their highest goals. Often, they end up losing or betraying them and creating political, economic, and social structures even more oppressive than the ones they hoped to abolish.

The warning in Numbers 33:55, that if the Israelites do not succeed in removing the oppressors and their institutions, Israelite society will likewise be contaminated, is correct. The suggested solution – the expulsion of the Canaanites and the physical destruction of their culture – is untenable. We have learned that while there can be no compromise with evil, when we wage war against evil, even when victorious, we are compromised.

In Jewish life, the dream of the Psalmist of a time when “faithfulness and truth will meet; justice and well-being will kiss” has provided a more helpful tool to reform society than violence. Our sages, drawing on the insight of Mishle, the Book of Proverbs, turned away from the violent struggles of Numbers and proclaimed that ways of Torah, the repository of wisdom, are of ways of pleasantness and all Torah’s paths lead to peace. (Prov. 3:17)

HEROES AND SAINTS

Matot – Mase (Numbers 30:2 – 36:13)

July 10, 2021

The power of biblical stories rests in their power to challenge us. Their goal is not to confirm our beliefs and opinions, but present us with situations that force us to consider issues of righteousness, justice, security, peace, and love in the morally murky world of human experience. Sometimes the stories are uplifting. Sometimes the stories are horrific. But they are always stories in which the heroes need to make decisions that bring good to some and evil to others.

The story of the War against the Midianites in Parashat Mattot (Numbers 31) confronts us with the moral and spiritual dilemmas of warfare. It is horrific because war is horrific. It is real because warfare remains part of our reality.

This war originates in an attempt to subvert God’s sovereignty over Israel by a group of Midianites at Baal Peor (Numbers 25:1-16). In response, God directs Moses to attack the Midianites (Numbers 25:16). Parashat Mattot, God restates this order and tells Moses that this war will be Moses’ final act as leader of the Israelite nation (Numbers 31:1-2).

The Israelites triumph. They destroy the Midianite settlements, annihilate the Midianite army and execute the Midianite leadership (Numbers 31:5-8). All the booty they collected, including women and children captives, they dedicate to God. When Moses sees that the leadership of the Israelite forces left the woman and children alive, he becomes angry and orders the execution of every male child and every sexually active female (Numbers 31:9-18).

While not stated explicitly, the Torah expresses its discomfort with the war by noting the spiritually and psychologically unsettling effect it has on those who participated. Those who were involved in the bloodshed were placed in a state of ritual impurity and needed to undergo a week-long purification process before they could re-enter the Israelite encampment.

Still, the Torah’s matter-of-fact presentation of this incident is disturbing. We cannot help but read it through the lens of modern total warfare and genocide. It reminds us that however close we feel to our Israelite ancestors, they lived in a world far remote from ours. The choices they made and the memories they preserved were rooted in the Mediterranean world of the early 1st millennium B.C.E. When we consider Moses and his actions, we need to remember that it was a world that celebrated heroes, not saints.

While later Jewish tradition paints biblical figures as saints, ideal characters – models of righteousness and piety, in the Biblical narrative, they appear as heroes – people who strive for excellence and yet are fatally flawed. David, Samson, Jacob, and, even, Moses intrigue us not because they are perfect but because they are human and cannot escape their humanity.

For all his courage and fortitude, Moses fails at his life project of bringing Israel into the Promised Land. An abiding theme in the Book of Numbers is tracing Moses’ rise and fall as Israel’s leader. As he ages, characteristics that served him well, work against him. His decisiveness becomes impatience. His zeal becomes anger. His uniqueness becomes loneliness. He was trained to be a leader in Pharaoh’s court and he never ceases to be an Egyptian prince, and as such, he cannot be the one who leads Israel into Israel’s new home.

God orders Moses to respond militarily to Midianite aggression. Moses, contrary to the understanding of the Israelite commanders, interprets God’s command as total war in which the opponents are annihilated and their goods forfeit. He acts with pharaonic self-assurance, even ordering the death of boy children. In some essential way, Moses never left Egypt and, therefore, could not enter the new land.

The War against the Midianites was Moses’ last triumph and final defeat. The great victory and its horrific consequences demonstrated that Israel required new leadership. Moses’ successors, Joshua, Caleb, and the judges were also heroes and not saints. The books of Joshua and Judges record their successes and failures. They were different people, living under different circumstances whose stories, like Moses’, also inspire and challenge us.

Stories of saints express our vision of human perfection. Stories of heroes, however, mirror our own struggles to do what is right in a morally murky world with our limited resources. Saints may inspire us, but heroes teach us, and Moses, after all, is our greatest teacher.

Mas’ey – Numbers 33:1 – 36:13

HUMANIZING THE TORAH

The Torah portion, Mas’ey (Numbers 33:1 – 36:13), which concludes Sefer Bamidbar (the Book of Numbers), brings us our ancestors’ journey from Egypt to the Promised Land. Forty years have passed since the Exodus. A new generation, born in freedom, has replaced the last generation to experience slavery. This generation has proven itself in battle. It is proud, self-assured, and ready to engage in the struggle to win and hold a new land. It will not be held back by the fears that constrained its parents. Although in the future the comforts of settle life will tempt their descendants and challenge the coming generations to rediscover their unique Israelite heritage, this generation is a generation born to action.

The opening chapter of Parashat Mas’ey (Numbers 33) is a tribute to the wilderness experience. In it Moses records the forty-two steps of Israel’s journey from Ramases in Egypt to Abel-shittim in the plains of Moab, across the Jordan River from Canaan for posterity. Moses recalls each march and each encampment with often no more information than they left here and went there.

There is no need to elaborate on what happened at each step in the journey. Moses’ list comes at the end of a well-known story. The events of our people’s travels from Egypt to Canaan were part of the living folk-memory of our Israelite ancestors and should be well known to us since we read the Torah every year. The mere mention of each place should evoke the memory of Israel’s experiences in the Wilderness.

Once, however, in this long list, Moses does pause to recollect what happened along the way. In this pause Moses, for a brief moment, puts aside the mantle of prophetic leadership. He is no longer God’s faithful shepherd. Here, Moses exposes his humble humanity and gives us a glimpse at what it might feel like to be the last of a generation — the feelings of loss and of hope. By personalizing the journey, Moses transforms what might have been another list of God’s saving deeds into a moving recollection of his and his people’s real-life experiences.

We might have expected Moses to pause to say something about the crossing of the Yam Suf, the Red Sea, or of the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, or the building of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle — the great nation-building experiences, the highlights of our national epic, the moments when God’s presence was most powerfully felt — but he does not. Rather, in his rehearsal of the Wilderness experience for the children of the people he brought out of Egypt, the generation he raised in freedom, the events surrounding the death of Aaron, his brother, capture Moses’ interest.

In the midst of a biblical passage marked by a lack of any superfluous information, Moses stops to present the details of Aaron’s death at the age of one hundred and twenty-three on the first day of the fifth month while the Israelites were encamped near Mount Hor. He, then, adds that that right after Aaron’s death, the Canaanite king of Arad, the first Canaanite king to be conquered by the wilderness generation, heard of the Israelites arrival (Numbers 33:38-40). In three short verses, Moses shows us the pain and joy of watching one generation pass and another generation come to its own. With Aaron’s passing, everyone Moses knew from his younger days, with the exception of Joshua and Caleb, the brash young men who cast their lot with Moses from the very beginning, has died. In the course of forty years, Moses watched his generation die off, and a new one arises. Moses is now an old man in a new world.

Here we can see that from Moses’ perspective, Aaron’s death and the first victories of the Israelites who will enter Canaan mark the most significant events in his life since the exodus from Egypt. The bittersweet, human experience of generational change seizes Moses’ heart. With Aaron’s death, Moses knows that his life-journey is also coming to an end. Yet, after witnessing his people repulse and defeat the king of Arad, Moses also knows that he has raised up a new Israel, with new leaders, ready to make Canaan their own.

By pausing to record his brother’s death, Moses has taken what could be a very theocentric story and made it human. No longer is this list Moses’ resume of the Israelites’ itinerary as God led them step-by-step to the Promised Land. By providing us with one small but significant personal memory, Moses has made the story, his story. He transformed the epic narrative of God and the Israelites into a very human story of Moses and his people, our people, that still touches our hearts and moves our souls.