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.

ONE OF GOD'S NAMES IS "SHALOM - PEACE"
June 18, 2006

It is always a rewarding challenge to look at our biblical heritage through the insights and writings of our ancient rabbis. These teachers, whose wisdom is preserved for us in the Talmud, the midrashim and other writings from late antiquity, still teach us by example. To capture their insights, we often have to follow them as they lead from verse to verse and chapter to chapter through the Bible. If we are patient and diligent, we will hear their voices, capture their wisdom, and be part of a Jewish adventure that connects us to our deep and extensive spiritual heritage

According to our sages, one of God’s names is “Shalom / Peace.” How they came to this understanding and what were some of the ways in which they employed it to teach us about life is a long story and requires a bit of patience. It’s a worthwhile journey because if we follow it to its end we will see how our people were able to mine lasting truth from obscure, obsolete and troubling sections of the Torah and find surprising connections between seemingly unrelated texts.

Our journey will take us through time and space as we experience the mystic understanding of our rabbis of old that our Torah tradition is not bound by the constraints of time and place. They believed that “there is no before or after in the Torah, the sacred traditions that are rooted in Scripture. They taught us to see that all can be present in the timeless moment of now. At the end of this jouney, we will see how, through an intricate combination of biblical words and passages, the rabbis show us that one greatest manifestations of shalom (peace) is the peace that grounds our lives, the peace we know as shalom bayit, peace at home.

Our search begins in the middle of the Book of Judges. The Midianites are oppressing our ancestors and hope seems distant. A young farmer, Gideon, is threshing grain in a secluded spot to keep it hidden from the marauding Midianites, when an visitor comes to him and appoints Gideon as the leader who will drive out the invaders. When Gideon realizes that his visitor was an angel, he is frightened and prays to the Eternal that he might be spared because the sight of heavenly beings can overwhelm a mere human.

The Eternal assures Gideon that all will be well with him by promising him “shalom”. In thanksgiving, Gideon builds an altar and names it “HaShem shalom”(Judges 6: 11-24). [HaShem, literally, “The Name”, is a pious way of referring to the now unpronounced four lettered name of God we often translate as “the Lord” and read in prayer as Adonai.] It seems from the context that the name Gideon gave his altar reflects God’s promise and reflects Gideon’s hope that now, thank God, all will be well. The traditional, rabbinic understanding of the name “HaShem Shalom” as “HaShem is Shalom” or God’s Name, the unpronounced tetragrammatron, is Shalom, Peace finds support in the story as well. Events did not only turn out well for Gideon, but under his leadership our ancestors experienced forty years of peace (Judges 8:28) (Otzer HaMidrashim, Gadol veGedolah 23).

The understanding that one of God’s names is Shalom plays out in curious ways in this week’s Torah portion, Naso, and in the its traditional Haftara, the section from the Nevi’im, the Prophets, that parallels the Torah reading in imagery, symbolism or theme. By looking at the way our sages used their insight the one of God’s names is peace, we can see how teachers of old understood the central role peace plays in our daily lives.

The next step in our search is an obvious one. In Naso we find the Birkat Cohanim, the threefold blessing of the Cohanim, the priests – “May HaShem bless you and keep you; May HaShem deal kindly and graciously with you; May HaShem shine down upon you and grant you shalom, peace” (Numbers 6:24-26) The Blessing concludes with the wish that the one whose name is Peace and who is peace may grant us the abiding blessing of peace.

Our ancient sages appreciated the blessing but wanted to know what shalom / peace really meant. So to discover their insights, we step out of the Torah and jump ahead centuries into the collection of rabbinic reflections of the Book of Numbers known as Numbers or Bamidbar Rabba. There we find discussion of the many ways in which how shalom (peace) is manifest in our world. The sages answer the question of how great shalom (peace) is with quotations from our Scriptures.

Surprisingly, one of the verses cited comes from another part of our Torah portion, Naso. It is the section that deals with the ritual to determine the quilt or innocence of a woman whose husband jealously suspects her of infidelity. It is clearly a difficult passage. The woman was brought to the Sanctuary and required to drink water made bitter by the dust of the Tabernacle which was mixed in it. As part of the preparation of the drink, the priest would immerse a scroll on which the four lettered name of God was written into the water and use the water to rub the scroll clean. It seems that the physical threat to the woman’s health from the water was negligible, but spiritually and psychologically the ordeal could have been traumatic.

As a practical matter the practice of testing the suspected woman by the ordeal of the bitter water was abolished in the 1st century C.E. by Yochanan ben Zakkai (m. Sota 9:9). The ordeal of the bitter water, however, has provided material for rabbinic discussion on family relationships. Much of their discussions reflect a world far different from our own. Therefore, the citation from Naso in connection to peace is refreshing. Here we see that the sages of old understood that the underlying principle to the strange and, to us, off-putting ritual, was the importance of peace at home, shalom bayit. The rabbis of old presented the act of rubbing out God’s holy name which meant peace in the water which they believed would restore peace to the household, as an example of how highly the Holy One cherishes shalom (BaMidbar Rabba 11:7 ; also Sifrei, Naso 42 ).

As we know from our celebration of Purim, in the world of our sages erasing someone’s name was a great insult. Even today, we cherish old prayer books and other ritual items that have God’s name written on them. We do not throw them away but save them for burial. The idea that God would request that God’s holy name be blotted out for the sake of shalom bayit, peace at home, cemented that value in the hearts of our people.

To our sages this was only one of a number of times when God would do or request the unexpected to promote peace at home. In the same passage in BaMidbar Rabbi, the rabbis declare that even God bends the truth for the sake of shalom bayit. They show us how God changes Sarah’s words when explaining to Abraham why Sarah was laughing. Sarah laughed to to think that old Abraham will be able to impregnate her. God, however, the sages point out, tells Abraham that Sarah found the possibility that an old woman like herself could birth humorous. (Genesis 18:12-13).

There is one final step in our journey. This step connects our sages discovery of the blessing of shalom bayit in Parashat Naso with its traditional Haftara, prophetic reading, , the annunciation of Samson’s birth (Judges 13:2-25). The obvious and usual point of connection between the two biblical readings are the laws pertaining to nazirite, the individual who pledges him or herself to divine service which in our Torah portion follow immediately the laws pertaining to the woman suspected of adultery. In the Haftara, Samson’s parents are informed by an angel that their soon to be born son is to follow the restrictive rules of a nazirite throughout his life.

The hidden message of God’s deeper concern with shalom bayit, only comes out when one compares the conversation Samson’s mother had with the angel with the later conversation that also included her husband, Manoah. Our sages also cite these conversations in their discussion of the meaning and experience of shalom in the same part of Bamidbar Rabba discussed above as another example proving God’s willingness to color the truth to preserve a greater concern. Here again we see, once again, that the value of shalom bayit, a couple living and working together to raise a family and sustain a household in peace is the higher and more sacred than literal truth.

It has not been an easy journey. It is simple to get lost in the in the vastness of our sacred tradition. But if one finds a path a follows it for even a little while, one often uncovers rarely seen treasures and discovers valuable insights. May all our journeys in the world of our sages of old be blessed with shalom.

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.

“WOULD THAT ALL GOD’S PEOPLE BE PROPHETS”

June 1, 2002

The question of who and what is a prophet arises a number of times in the course of this week’s Torah portion, Bahaalotekha. Without a doubt, Moses, the political leader and spiritual mentor of Israel, is a prophet, but it is clear that other people have received spiritual gifts that in one way or another enable them to experience prophecy. As we read the portion, we begin to consider what it means to be a prophet.

This issue appears three times in the Torah portion. The first is when Moses gathered the seventy elders of Israel around the Tent of Meeting, the holy place of gathering in the center of the Israelite camp. God’s spirit descended upon the elders and they acted like prophets by speaking in ecstasy (Numbers 11: 16-17; 24-25). The second occurs at the same time but in an ordinary area of the Israelite camp. There, two other Israelites, Eldad and Medad, also received God’s spirit and acted like prophets (Numbers 11:26-30). The third instance takes place shortly thereafter when Aaron and Miriam, who like their brother Moses, received communications from God, which led them to question the uniqueness of Moses’ prophetic vocation (Numbers 12:1-16).

It is not easy to discern the role of prophets and prophecy in biblical Judaism. In the course of biblical history, the role of prophets and prophecy exhibit a wide range of characteristics. Prophets appear as inspired visionaries, simple fortune tellers, astute social critics, governmental advisors, law givers, and as healers and miracle workers. Prophecy can be seen as a state of mystic ecstasy, spiritual transformation, inspired preaching, and rational analysis of the covenantal ties between God and Israel.

Three different but related aspects of the prophetic role are demonstrated by these above-mentioned examples from the portion Bahaalotekha. Each example rests on an underlying question; how can the Israelites maintain the spiritual strength to sustain themselves through the years of wandering through the wilderness? The great events of the Exodus from Egypt and the Revelation at Sinai have already taken place and Moses and the Israelites are experiencing the deprivations and despair of the seemingly endless journey. The people are restless and hungry, Moses is overwhelmed, and even God seems impatient with his complaining people. When times are tough, how can we keep hope alive? In light of the troubling current, situation in Israel and the seemingly endless war on terror, these ancient concerns seem very real to us today.

Each example suggests a different answer to these questions. The first reminds us of the need for inspired leadership, the second reminds us of the need for all to participate in the vision, and the third reminds us not to envy others’ gifts. All three examples presuppose the understanding that the spiritual gifts needed to guide us through times of trouble need to be shared. One inspired leader cannot succeed all alone. In the first instance, Moses, despite all his ability, is overwhelmed by his responsibility for the Israelites. He needs people who share his vision to help him guide our ancestors on their journey. The seventy elders of Israel receive God’s spirit and share in Moses’ inspired vision.

In the second instance, Moses expresses the hope that not only the leaders but all the people can be so inspired. When Joshua, Moses’ right hand man, expresses concern that Eldad and Medad, two ordinary citizens, are acting like prophets in the Israelite camp, Moses disarms him with the wish that all Israelites could be so inspired (Numbers 11:29). How much easier his life would be, Moses argued, if his vision were experienced by all his people.

The third instance, Aaron and Miriam’s envy of Moses’s gifts, shifts the focus from the leader, Moses, to us, the people. In it we learn that we are to appreciate our own insights and wisdom, rather than envying another’s gifts. Aaron, who was the first High Priest, and Miriam, who was a prophet in her own right, were important people in the Israelite camp. Moses’s special gifts did not detract from theirs. They had their own significant contributions to make. Until they transcended their jealously, the Israelites could not proceed on their journey (Numbers 12:15).

In all three instances, prophecy involves a shared transcendent vision. The Torah portion describes it as the gift of the divine spirit, God’s ruach. It is a communal sense of enthusiasm, a belief in the mission, and an abiding sense of purpose and hope.

Prophecy, in this sense, is a gift that must be shared if the vision is to grow. In the Torah portion, those Israelites who lost hope were disciplined, Aaron and Miriam who were stifled by envy were punished, and Joshua, who zealously guarded his mentor’s status, was admonished. It was Moses, the inspired leader, who understood that if he were to lead his people, he needed an inspired people. He could only be a prophet if his people shared the same gift He could only bring them to the Promised Land if they shared his vision, his dream.

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.

MAKING CHALLAH OR TAKING CHALLAH?

Walking into a home filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread is an exquisite pleasure. The rich, warm scent fills us with a sense of wholesomeness, love and caring and connects us to seemingly simpler times gone by.

In ancient days, bread was truly the staff of life. It was the foundation of our ancestors’ diet and a symbol of life, prosperity and blessing. Today we ritually honor the central role of bread in our diet by purifying our hands before reciting the Ha-Motzi benediction, the blessing over bread, and by reserving the full form of the grace after meals, the Birchat Ha-Mazon, to meals that include bread.

At one time, baking bread was a time-consuming chore. The entire process — grinding the grain, mixing and kneading the dough, heating the oven and baking the bread — was labor and time intensive and, often, one of a woman’s domestic responsibilities. Today, however, most of our bread comes from automated bakeries. Even baking bread at home is no longer an arduous daily task reserved to women, but rather a relaxing enterprise enjoyed by men and women, whether done in a modern bread-making machine or by hand. One of the first breads a Jewish home baker wants to try is a loaf or two of the rich and wonderful braided breads we eat on Shabbat and call “challah”.

Traditionally, challah is a white bread made with an egg-enriched dough. Unlike the heavy, dark and moist loaves that people ate during the week, the light and fluffy challah helped make the Shabbat meal a special treat. Some people would add raisins to the challah to symbolize the sweetness of the Shabbat and others would sprinkle poppy seeds on the top to remind themselves of the manna, the special God-given food the Israelites ate during the forty years in the wilderness. Every morning our ancestors would collect just enough manna for their daily needs, but on Friday morning, they would collect enough for two days so that they would have food for the Sabbath when the work of gathering manna, like all work, was forbidden. Thus, on Friday evening, Erev Shabbat, we place two loaves of challah on the table to remind us of that double portion.

The Hebrew word “challah” comes from the Bible. Most often, the word can be translated as “loaf” and refers to various kinds of bread used for ritual and ceremonial purposes, such as the twelve loaves of bread that were offered in the Temple every Sabbath day (Lev. 24:5-9) and the cakes King David distributed to the Israelites when he first brought the Holy Ark into Jerusalem (2 Sam. 17-19). By baking and serving our holiday and Sabbath loaves, our “challah”, we connect our sacred celebrations at home and in the synagogue with the experiences of our ancestors in ancient Israel.

There is a second meaning to the word “challah”, a meaning derived from a short passage in this week’s Torah portion. The passage required Jews to make an offering of challah to God’s servants, the priests of the Temple in Jerusalem (Num 15:17-21). Tradition interprets the term “challah” in this passage as a small piece of raw dough, a portion of an unbaked loaf. After the destruction of the Temple by the Romans and the dispersion of the Jewish people almost two thousand years ago, the sages and rabbis of the talmudic period directed us to continue the practice of separating a piece of dough from our loaves of bread before baking. They commanded us to incinerate it in the oven because we were no longer able it to offer it to the priests in the Temple.

This custom, known as “taking challah”, continues. The statement “Challah has already been taken” is often found on boxes of Passover matza and on wrapped loaves of challah from a kosher bakery. Traditional Jewish practice generally requires a home baker to separate and incinerate a small amount of dough while reciting the appropriate blessing. Since baking was traditionally a woman’s task, the practice of “taking challah” was one of the mitzvot, commandments, that were primarily assigned to women. It was and is for many women a way to acknowledge the spiritual importance of their nurturing role in the household and the symbolic value of bread in Jewish family and community life.

Beyond this, our sages’ desire to continue the practice of “taking challah” as part of the process of baking challah and other types of bread reflects a basic Jewish understanding of the need to articulate the sacredness of life. In this case, as in many others, the rituals that pertained originally to the Temple, the center of holiness in biblical times, were transformed to be gateways to holiness wherever Jews may dwell. The rich aroma and satisfying taste of freshly baked challah on Erev Shabbat helps us honor the sacredness of the Sabbath and the spiritual significance of bread.

A LOOK AT BOTH SIDES OF THE COIN

June 12, 2004

Each generation has a task to do. Often we wish that prior generation could have done more. In hindsight, their failures stand out sharper than their successes, and we judge them harshly for not fulfilling our expectations. Yet, we see better only because they have brought us to a higher place.

As much as we may criticize them, we also need to appreciate them for what they accomplished. The same clarity of vision that enables us to see their shortcomings should also help us honor their accomplishments. We all struggle against the constraints of our culture and our age. No generation is entirely successful. There is always more to do. The story never ends.

The generation of Israelites slaves that followed Moses out of Egypt is one that we frequently judge harshly. We often disregard their courage for beginning the march to freedom and condemn them for not completing the journey. The Torah’s evaluation of the mission of the twelve Israelite notables to spy out the Land of Canaan characterizes this one sided approach. The story of the scouting mission lies at the heart of this week’s Torah portion, Shelach.

Moses, as directed by God, selected a representative from each of the twelve tribes of Israel tribes as scouts to investigate the Promised Land and to evaluate the possibility of a successful invasion. The twelve men, each a leader of his tribe, followed Moses’s instructions and brought back their report. All of them agreed that Canaan was a rich and fertile land.

In spite of the land’s riches, ten of the scouts held that entering the land would be ill-advised for the Israelites. Canaan, they claimed was inhabited by fierce nations and filled with well-fortified cities. The inhabitants were giants and in their presence the Israelite princes felt like grasshoppers. Although the two other scouts, Joshua and Caleb, agreed with their colleagues’ description of Canaan and its peoples, they, inspired by the events of the Exodus, believed that the Israelites could occupy it without great effort.

Upon hearing the majority report, the Israelites despaired. In spite of Joshua and Caleb’s encouraging words, they rejected any suggestion of an invasion and pinned, nostalgically, for the security of Egypt. The Israelites’ cowardice and distrust angered God and he considered abandoning them in the wilderness. Moses convinced God not to desert our ancestors and bring the story of Israel to an end. God, however, decided that the present generation of Israelites was unfit to enter the Promised Land and he postponed the Israelite’s entry into Canaan for forty years until a new generation, born in freedom, would come of age.

In the Torah and the Jewish tradition judge the ten scouts in the most negative terms. They are wicked, evil, rebellious, stubborn, blind, faithless and sinful. They are the archetypes of weak, corrupt and faithless leaders. They are the rebellious princes of a rebellious generation.

They are punished with a plague in which they perish.

However, from a contemporary, post-Holocaust perspective, our Torah and tradition appear to judge the ten reluctant spies unfairly. There is no doubt that they provided inadequate leadership. But were they truly sinful?

Considering their experiences as slaves in Egypt, their inability to muster the faith in God’s protection, Moses’s leadership and their own powers that they would have needed to lead our people into the Land of Promise is understandable. The devastating experience of slavery traumatized them and their entire generation. What is remarkable is not their trepidation, but rather the boldness of their two comrades, Joshua and Caleb, which the wary Israelites, not surprisingly, took as recklessness.

Yet, how could these ten men fully trust God? Of course, they experienced the great events of the Exodus from Egypt. They saw God’s signs and wonders -- the Ten Plagues, the Pillars of Cloud and Fire, the Splitting of the Red Sea -- the miracles by which God defeated Pharaoh and his armies. Although they could recognize God’s hand in their escape from Egypt, their doubts remained. They were in need God’s help for a long time. Why was it so late in coming?

Where was God when Pharaoh slaughtered the Israelite baby boys? Where was God when the Egyptian taskmasters worked, beat and starved the Israelite slaves to death? They had all lost children, family members, neighbors and friends to Pharaoh’s harsh decrees.

Where was God in the slave pens of Egypt? Could the desolation of Egypt that led to the Exodus restore their faith shattered by their losses any more than the devastations of Germany at the end of the Second World War provide a satisfactory answer to the existential questions posed by the Shoah?

How could these men fully trust Moses? Where was he during the years of oppression and death? Moses grew up in Pharaoh’s household. He spent the dark days of oppression as an exile, married to the eldest daughter of the High Priest of Midian. Without a doubt he showed bravery standing up to the Egyptian slave-driver, but he fled in fear of Pharaoh’s wrath.

During the period of hardship and suffering, they, the leaders of the Israelite tribes, not Moses, labored constantly to keep their disheartened people together. Oppressed themselves, they led the spiritual resistence to tyranny that preserved the Israelite nation. While they struggled daily in the trenches, Moses dwelt in the security of exile.

Finally, how could these men fully trust themselves? They knew that they failed. It was their task, as princes of the tribes of Israel, to protect their people but they could not protect them, and suffered defeat after defeat. The Egyptians enslaved their people. Pharaoh rendered them powerless. They never experienced victory. Mere survival was their greatest success. Who could expect them to risk the survival of their people in an arduous struggle against the military might of the Canaanites?

They were men called upon to preform a task well beyond their strength and imagination. We can see their reluctance to lead their people in a military campaign to overthrow the Canaanites and take possession of their villages, cities and towns not as rebellion but as well grounded caution. They were neither wicked nor cowardly but damaged. A lifetime of slavery kept them from fully grasping the challenges and opportunities of freedom. Their past trauma crippled their ability to unleash their present potential. Their fears were well grounded, their reluctance reasonable, but our ancestors needed visionary leadership they could not provide.

What these leaders did, however, was significant. They kept our ancestors together in the most difficult of circumstances and had the courage and insight to follow Moses out of Egypt and into freedom. Sadly, they could go no further.

Although we may question our tradition’s assessment of the ten spies as sinful and rebellious, God’s response to the limits of their leadership makes perfect sense. The generation of the Exodus needed to pass away before our ancestors would be able to enter the Promised Land. Yet the forty years of wandering were not so much a punishment, as our Torah portion suggests, but a time of growth and development. They forged a renewed Israelite nation in the wilderness. The years of wandering gave birth to a new generation that learned to trust its God, its leaders and, most of all, itself. This was the generation, born in freedom and raised in the desert, that, lead by Joshua and Caleb, crossed the Jordan and started a new chapter of our people’s history.

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 Numbers 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.

THE BIRTH OF THE HOLY COMMUNITY

Throughout our history, great priests, prophets, and princes have appeared in challenging times to guide us into the future, yet, none of them ever became the focal point of Jewish faith. While we honor the memory of our great leaders, Jewish spirituality centers on an experience of the Holy One through our participation in the life of the Jewish people, guided our Torah tradition.

Certain leaders at specific times have played a central role is the unfurling of our Torah tradition, but Torah belongs to the Jewish people. Even Moses, our great prince and prophet, who led us out of Egypt, opened our hearts to God’s revelation and guided us through the wilderness, bears the humble title of Rabeinu – “our teacher”.

Yet, our people’s history begins as the stories of great men and women whose wisdom, insight, and understanding placed them in a singular spiritual relationship with God. This chain of heroes, which began with Abraham and Sarah, ends with Moses, Miriam, and Aaron. By the end of the Torah, the story of the Jewish people overshadows the life and adventures of any one hero. We are “Am Yisrael”, the people of Israel, and the collective experience of the Jewish people and not the inspired memory of any individual grounds our self-understanding.

The episode of the Waters of Merivah from the weekly portion Chukat illustrates the shift in focus from the heroic leader to the engaged community. After Miraim’s death, the Israelites were in need of water. They complained to Moses and Aaron. Responding to their need, God instructed Moses to speak to a rock and direct it to provide water. Moses, however, frustrated by the people, hit the rock with his staff. Water flowed forth but Moses and Aaron were punished for not following God’s specific instructions. Neither of them would be allowed to enter into the Land of Israel. But the water flowed and our ancestors’ journey continued.

The account concludes with a notice that God’s holiness will no more be manifest through Moses and Aaron but through the Israelites themselves. Moses and Aaron will no longer function as the central characters in Israel’s unfolding relationship with God. God will be sanctified by and through God’s contentious and challenging people. (Num. 20:12-13)

When they succumbed to their frustrations, Moses and Aaron demonstrated their basic humanity. No longer heroic figures, they reunited with their fellow Israelites. Like the rest of their generation, the generation of the Exodus, they, too, could not enter the Promised Land. From then on the people Israel become the medium through which all Jews have access to the Holy One.

In the rest of Numbers and in Deuteronomy, the Torah illustrates the change in the way the Jewish people relate to God, to Moses, and to the world around them. The generation who came of age in the wilderness face challenges different from those of the generation of the Exodus. They no longer suffer from the fear and insecurity that the liberated slaves. The Israelites’s victories against the armies of Sihon, King of Moab, Og, King of Bashan demonstrate that our ancestors no longer needed God to fight for them. God, who appeared as a warrior saving Israel at the Red Sea, now had a community of Israelites who are able to defeat their own enemies. Strong and self-confident, their new challenge will be to preserve their identity and values as they encountered the world as free people in their new homeland.

Moses’ role changes as well.

In Deuteronomy, Moses’ task is to prepare the Israelites for their new life in a new land. Unable to serve as their priest, prophet and prince, Moses takes on the new role of Moshe Rabbeinu, “Our Teacher Moses.” By teaching our ancestors Torah, the wisdom and knowledge they will need to live spiritually fulfilling lives, he completes the process he began when he impulsively hit the rock. God will not be made holy through any one individual. If the people of Israel are to experience God’s holy presence, they will need to do so as a community, working together, to make Torah real in their lives.

THE SNAKE THAT HEALS

As Community Chaplain, one of my responsibilities is to serve as rabbi for the residents of the Jewish Geriatric Home (JGH). On Friday afternoons, on Saturday mornings, and on the festivals, we hold services in our chapel for our residents, their families and friends, and volunteers and visitors from the community.

Our chapel is beautifully decorated with a lovely wooden aron kodesh, “holy ark,” a multicolored neir tamid, “eternal light,” and a display case holding Jewish ritual objects that were generously donated by residents and community members to our special congregation. We are especially proud of our four stained glass windows, which represent the Jewish values expressed in the JGH — values such as “respect for our parents” and “care of the ill.”

One of these four windows is particularly interesting. It depicts a snake wound around a pole, above the Hebrew words “rofeh cholim” — “healer of the sick.” Many people immediately recognize this symbol as a caduceus, the staff of Asclepius, the mythic physician and Greek god of healing, which has become the symbol of the medical arts. They are often surprised to see what they believe to be a pagan image decorating a synagogue.

Western medicine finds its roots in the medical traditions of ancient Greece, the mythic origins of which are associated with Asclepius. Asclepius was held to be the son of the sun god, Apollo, and was trained in medicine by the teacher of heroes, Chiron the Centaur. Asclepius was so skilled that he was able to revive those who had died. Zeus, the king of the Greek gods, feared that Asclepius would overturn the natural order, so he destroyed the healer’s earthly body with a thunderbolt and transported his spirit into the heavens, where Asclepius became the god of medicine and the patron of healers.

Throughout the ancient world, the shrine of Asclepius in the Greek city of Epidaurus was a center for healing. The physician/priests would treat the pious patients with medicine, diet, and various therapies, but the heart of the cure was a spiritual experience. The patient would spend a night in the sacred compound of the temple and wait for a vision from Asclepius, which would diagnose the affliction and prescribe the appropriate treatment. The ancient Greeks understood what we are now rediscovering — that there is a strong spiritual aspect to medical care.

The shrine at Epidaurus was a major religious center and many of those who found a cure there dedicated monuments to Asclepius in honor of their recovery. Even today, tourists are impressed by the elaborate ruins of the ancient site and the respect given to the physician’s god.

But the image of the snake as a symbol of healing predates the Greeks. The ancient people of Mesopotamia used the snake to represent restored vitality. Images of bronze serpents have been found at many pre-Israelite archaeological sites in Israel and in neighboring countries. In fact, the image of a snake on a stick also played an important role in the religious symbolism of our people.

This week’s Torah portion, Chukat, contains the story of a plague of fiery serpents with which God afflicted the perpetually dissatisfied Israelites. After thirty-nine years of wandering in the desert, many of our ancestors became tired of eating manna, the miraculous food from God that had sustained them on their journey, and they riled against Moses and God. After suffering greatly from the poisonous bites of the serpents, the Israelites repented for their lack of gratitude and appreciation and begged for forgiveness. God, forgiving the people once again, asked Moses to make a copper serpent and place it on a pole so that all who looked upon it would be cured of the ill effects of the snake bites.

Our ancestors apparently preserved this figure of the snake on the staff and placed it in the Temple of God in Jerusalem, where it remained for many centuries, until the reign of King Hezekiah. As part of his religious reforms intended to remove Canaanite and other pagan elements from the worship of God in Israel, Hezekiah, perhaps seeing a connection of Moses’ serpent to serpent images in the religious traditions of neighboring peoples, destroyed the ancient memento.

Because the story of Moses’ copper serpent was part of the Torah, the memory of the serpent’s miraculous power to cure remained part of our people’s sacred heritage. Even in ancient times, our sages struggled to find meaning for this apparent violation of the second commandment, which forbids the making of images to be worshipped.

Although our people have always recognized the value of the work of physicians, we have never been comfortable with magic, the manipulation of the material world to gain a desired effect, as a means of healing. We realize, however, that an important part of the healing process takes place on the spiritual level. Thus the Jewish cultural traditions place a great deal of emphasis on what we often call a physician’s “bed-side manner,” on the mitzvah of bikur cholim, “visiting the sick”, and prayer for the afflicted. In the synagogue, we say prayers for our ill. Those who visit the sick, according to Jewish tradition, should pray on the patient’s behalf for strength of body and soul. Illness can offer a moment of coming close to God and in that moment our souls and the souls of our loved ones can be revived.

Even in antiquity, our scholars and sages understood Moses’ serpent as a spiritual aid, rather than a magical device. In the middle of the third century C.E., the Mishnah, the first level of the Talmud, instructs us by asking, “Could Moses’ copper serpent kill someone or could it keep someone alive?” “Of course not,” the text answers itself, “rather, the story is there to teach us that when the Israelites directed their thoughts heavenward and kept their hearts in reverence to their God, they were healed; otherwise they perished” (Rosh Ha-Shanah 3:8). About two centuries earlier, the unknown author of the apocryphal book known as “The Wisdom of Solomon” stated the same idea even more succinctly: “The one who turned toward the serpent was saved, not by what he saw, but by You, the One who saves all” (Wisdom 16:5-7).

In the Jewish tradition, the image of the snake wrapped around a staff, the caduceus, reminds us of the spiritual aspect of the miracle of healing. Our ancestors, like the ancient Greeks, understood that good medical care involves a concern for the spirit as well as the body. Therefore, it is most appropriate that there is a picture of the snake on a pole in one of the Jewish Geriatric Home’s chapel windows. This picture in our synagogue reminds us of the JGH’s sacred mission to provide physical care and spiritual strengthening to all those who enter as residents, guests, volunteers, or staff, so that all can feel a sense of renewed vitality at every moment, everyday.

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.

“THE DONKEY AND THE PROPHET”

“I erred because I did not know you were standing in my way.” (Numbers 22:34) With these words, the prophet Balaam apologized to the angel with the drawn sword whom his donkey had already seen twice before. It was not until God removed the blinders from Balaam’s eyes so that he saw the angel that Balaam admitted that his decision to accept the king of Moab’s commission was contrary to God’s will. What Balaam’s honest and loyal servant, his donkey, knew from the beginning was only then manifest to his stubborn and selfish master.

There are any many beliefs and behaviors that open the door to error (Genesis 4:7). The non-Israelite seer Balaam was a master of them all – pride, greed, desire, anger, self-righteousness – but he excelled at self-delusion and willful ignorance. He saw what he wanted to see. He did what he wanted to do. Though graced with great spiritual gifts, Balaam used them for his own purposes. He was willing to sell his access to divine knowledge to whomever paid the best. He was blind enough to think that he could bend God’s will to his own. In doing so, he failed as both an employee and as an employer. He served his master, God, badly and treated his servant, the donkey, cruelly.

The story of Balaam and his donkey is a parable concerning employees, contrasting the good servant, the donkey, with the bad servant, Balaam. The good servant eagerly serves, promotes, and protects his master’s interests without any greater reward than doing his master’s will. The bad servant believes that he can make his master’s will his own.

Balaam, the bad servant, pursued his own agenda not God’s. Balaam sought his own reward, the gifts he hoped to receive from Balak, the Moabite king. The donkey, the good servant, loyally fulfilled his obligation to his master. He expected no reward. Balaam only reluctantly carried God’s message, all the time hoping to pervert it to his own ends. The donkey, however, carried Balaam safely with little concern for his own wellbeing.

The story of Balaam and his donkey is also a parable concerning managers, contrasting the good master, God, with the bad master, Balaam. God, the good manager, attempts three times to talk to his wayward servant, Balaam. Balaam, the bad manager, however, responded to what he perceived as his servant’s failures by disciplining him. He beat the donkey each time the donkey saw God’s sword-bearing messenger, the angel.

When God finally obtained Balaam’s attention, He spoke to Balaam and explained the issue. The donkey, however, had to speak up for himself, attempting to convince Balaam, blinded by anger, why he did what he did. God restrained the angel bearing the sword from smiting Balaam. Balaam, however, showed no restraint in beating his donkey, who turned aside to protect him, with his stick while wishing it were a sword not a staff.

We all serve and are served by others. We are all responsible to those for whom we care and those who care for us. An interlocking network of mutual obligations and concerns connects us all. This is the great biblical covenant that sustains all creation. It is the covenant described by the Hebrew terms – chein, chesed and rachamin – “love, loyalty and compassion.” The good among us, whether we are serving or being served, know that these great concepts tie us to each other. The bad, however, while knowing this, pretend that they can succeed by pursuing their own needs. When called to account, their feeble defense, “I erred because I did not know” rings hollow.

In our story, God permitted Balaam to proceed with the proviso that Balaam only convey God’s words. Balaam remained true to his commission for at least a short while and blessed our Israelite ancestors much to the chagrin of Balak, the Moabite king. Sadly, Balaam could not retain the lesson for very long. He returned to his old ways and died in a battle between our ancestors and the Midianites. His donkey, however, survived and became a beloved character in the living tradition of the Jewish people.

"BALAAM AND ABRAHAM"

July 12, 2008

A talking donkey, an angel with a sword, a greedy seer, and a nervous king — what else does one need for a charming fairy tale? Not much more, but add little imagination, a good ear for folk memories, a bit of history, a sense of humor and a connection to a living spiritual tradition and what comes out is something remarkable. This literary recipe makes the story of Balaam, the seer from Mesopotamia hired by Balak, King of Moab, to curse our ancestors as they passed his kingdom an intriguing and moving narrative.

This story touches us in a number of ways. Liturgically, every time we enter a synagogue we remember the words Balaam used to bless the Israelite nation, much to the consternation of his employer, Balak. “How goodly are your tents O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel.” (Numbers 24:5). Spiritually, Balaam’s descriptions of Israel as the nation that dwells alone (Numbers 23:9) has helped us accept and understand our unique history as a people. Historically, as of now, Balaam is the only character in the Torah who appears in sources outside of the Bible. In 1967 Dutch archaeologists uncovered a late 8th / early 7th century BCE fragmentary Aramaic wall inscription in Tel Deir Alla that recounts another event in Balaam’s life.

On a deeper level the story of Balaam connects the Exodus and Wandering experience with the paradigmatic story of Jewish faith and destiny, the story of the Binding of Isaac. Balaam’s encounter with God, his journey to the mountain for sacrifice and blessing and his pronouncement of God’s blessing tracks in significant ways Abraham’s journey to Mount Moriah, the sacrifice he offered and the blessings he received there. The story of Balaam confirms the Torah’s understanding that God’s promise to patriarchs was more that the gift of a parcel of land. It asserts that God’s declaration to Abraham that his descendants will be both blessed and be a source of blessing to all people comprises God’s fundamental commitment to Am Yisrael, the people of Israel.

Balaam like Abraham comes from Mesopotamia. He, too, not only accepts YHVH as his God but also, like Abraham, related to the Eternal in an almost friendly, informal manner (Numbers 22:9-20). When called by God, both Abraham and Balaam rise in the morning and saddle their donkeys (Genesis 22:3; Numbers 22:21). They both take along two companions (Genesis 22:3; Numbers 22:22). Both stories involve miraculous beasts (see Avot 5:6) — Abraham’s ram which was caught in the thicket (Genesis 22:13) and Balaam’s talking donkey (Numbers 22:28). In both accounts an angel appears to steer the protagonists from a dismal fate (Genesis 22:11-12; Numbers 22:31-34)

Most importantly, both stories conclude with God’s words of blessing to Abraham and his descendants. At the end of the story of the Binding of Isaac, God reconfirms the blessing given to Abraham at the beginning of their journey together — the promise of a great people through whom and in whom all nations will be blessed (Genesis 22:17-18; cf. Genesis 12:1-3). This blessing forms the kernel of Balaam’s three utterances concerning Israel that so dismay Balak. In the last benediction Balaam reiterates God’s promise to Abraham that those who bless Israel will be blessed and those who curse Israel will be cursed (Numbers 24:9).

Though similar, Abraham and Balaam are not alike (see Avot 5:19). Abraham is God’s faithful servant, obedient to God’s will. Balaam is God’s ambitious employee who uses his position to gain honor and wealth. Although both men successful past the test God set upon them, the nature of God’s test underscores their fundamental differences, which allow Abraham to receive God’s blessing and force Balaam to deliver it.

Abraham grounds his relationship to God upon the promise that God will establish a people dedicated to God’s service. Abraham seeks no personal reward, and the Jewish tradition measures the wealth he and Sarah bring with them in the number of souls they brought to the One God. Therefore, God tests Abraham by asking him to offer his son Isaac, the physical symbol of future promise, on God’s altar. Abraham accepts the challenge. Although Abraham did not physically sacrifice his son on the altar on Mount Moriah, he willingly offered Isaac and, in an extended sense, all of his descendants to whatever demands God’s service requires.

Balaam, on the other hand, works as God’s spokesman and enjoys the riches and prestige this position offers him. He blesses those whom God blesses and curses those whom God curses. God tests Balaam to see if he would give up treasure and honor by refusing to curse Israel as Balak, the king of Moab, requested. Balaam barely manages to pass his test (Numbers 24:12-14), and leaves Moab empty-handed. Descriptions of Balaam’s base and avaricious nature in rabbinic literature rest on Balaam’s unsuccessful search with Balak and find a spot from which God will inspire him to curse, rather than bless, the Israelites, and, thus, faithfully relate God’s will and return home laden with Balak’s gifts.

God rewards Abraham’s willingness to follow God’s demands by granting him a blessing. Balaam, however, receives a lesser reward. God allows him to fulfill his obligation, seemingly in spirit of his desire, to be a faithful transmitter of God’s blessing for Israel.

Yet, in terms of the Torah narrative, Balaam’s three benedictions advance Israel’s mission in the world. Only Abraham and, perhaps, Isaac, heard God’s blessing on Mount Moriah. Balaam, however, had in his eyes the dubious honor of broadcasting God’s blessing of Israel to all the nations. After all the miracles, wonders, struggles and victories, Balaam, proclaiming God’s words from the hill overlooking the Israelite camp, declared that God’s intentions for Israel were far greater than merely planting them in the land of Canaan. Israel, the Jewish people, was to be a means for God to bless all nations of the world. Thus, God’s special relationship with us, the children of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the descendants of the people Moses lead out of Egypt, requires us not only to pursue a unique destiny among the nations but to bless and be a blessing for all people in God’s great world.

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.

THE NEW NATION

It is hard for many of us to believe that this year we, the Jewish people, are marking the fiftieth anniversary of the establishment of the State of Israel. We are celebrating all that our people have accomplished over the last half century in our struggle to establish and maintain a Jewish national state in our ancient homeland. We give thanks for our triumphs and recall our setbacks.

The vast majority of our people today, whether we live in Israel or in the diaspora, have come of age after the destruction of the Holocaust and the birth of the State of Israel. Many of us have grown up in a world in which the State of Israel is an established reality, in which most Jews are free and in which Jews have power. The suffering, struggle and oppression endured by the generations who built the American Jewish community and established the State of Israel are, for most of us, not within our personal experience.

Unlike the Jews of a half-century ago, we do not face the obstacles of building a new life in a new land or establishing an independent state. Rather, Jews today confront different, but equally significant, challenges — the practical challenges of everyday life in a Jewish state, the spiritual challenges of developing a meaningful and authentic Jewish life, and even the emotionally-charged question of who is a Jew. We wonder if we will find men and women with the commitment, strength, courage and wisdom of Chaim Weitzmann, Golda Meir, Menachem Begin and David Ben Gurion, to guide us through these issues and lead us into the future.

These concerns give this week’s Torah portion, Pinchas, a special resonance for us. The portion returns us to a moment in our people’s history similar to our own. Forty years have passed since the Exodus from Egypt. Moses is elderly and his death is approaching. Aaron and Miriam have died, as have virtually all of their generation, the generation that suffered as slaves in Egypt and experienced the miracle of the Exodus. The generation born in the freedom of wilderness has come of age and new leaders are needed to meet new challenges.

In the Torah portion, the Jewish people are about to take possession of the Land of Israel. The pressing issues are not building a new people out of a group of ex-slaves, but the practical issues of ordering life in the new homeland and discovering leaders of Moses’ caliber, and the theoretical issues of what it means to be a part of this peoplehood and what it means to be a Jew. These issues are not unlike those facing us.

The story of Pinchas (in English, Phinehas), Aaron’s grandson, and his bold and brutal defense of Israelite faith in the face of a challenge by a pagan fertility cult, opens the portion. This narrative underscores the fundamental conviction that Israelite belief and practice exclude the traditions and customs of the polytheistic faiths of antiquity. It helps differentiate and define the Jewish people and what it means to be a Jew.

The weekly portion then turns to the practical problem of parceling out the land of Israel among the various tribes and clans of Israel. It relates the results of the second census of the Jewish people. God instructed Moses to use this census, which parallels the one in the opening chapters of the Book of Numbers, to determine the distribution of the land of Israel among the tribes and clans of Israel. This second census concludes with the telling notice that of all those counted by Moses and Aaron, the priest, in the wilderness of Sinai forty years earlier, only two, Caleb ben Jephunneh and Joshua bin Nun (the two spies who brought back to Moses a favorable description of the land of Israel), remained alive.

As we all have observed, running a country presents a myriad of unexpected concerns. After describing the census, our portion presents us with an example of one of these unanticipated problems that our ancestors were to face in the land of Israel, a problem that they did not have to deal with while they were slaves in Egypt and nomads in the wilderness — the preservation of tribal identity and territory. The portion tells of the challenge presented to Moses by the five daughters of Zelophehad, who demanded that their father’s share of the tribal lands not be lost to his family just because he did not have sons. The establishment of the right of daughters to pass on the tribal holding when there are no sons resolved this issue.

Before ending with a description of the sacrifices to be offered to God on the Sabbath and festivals, our reading confronts us with the issue of leadership. As each generation of Jews faces its own challenges, the ability of our people to meet these challenges depends on the quality of our leadership. While no leader, even Moses, is without faults, we seek leaders who, like Moses, are both inspired and inspiring. We look for leaders who are committed to our people’s highest vision and have the wisdom and skill to guide us in its direction.

The Torah recognizes this when informing us that Moses, upon being told by God of his impending death, has only one request. He asks God, the source of inspiration, to provide the people of Israel with inspired leaders so that, in Moses’ words, “God’s people may not be like sheep that have no shepherd.” (Num. 27.17) God answers Moses’ request by instructing him to appoint Joshua bin Nun, “an inspired man,” to be his successor.

This year, as we celebrate Israel’s Golden Anniversary, we need to remember that the issues that seem so overwhelming today are part of our natural growth as a people. We can celebrate our past without despairing of our future. This week’s Torah portion reminds us of the challenges we face as we move from one stage in our life as a people to the next. They are not always easy. The issues that arise are often of fundamental importance. The solutions are not always obvious. But with faith, courage, practical wisdom and inspired leadership, the Jewish people have overcome our obstacles and grown. We should expect no less from our own generation.

A FLOCK WITHOUT A SHEPHED

The Quality of Leadership

July 23, 2005

In this week’s Torah portion, Pinchas, when God informs Moses that he will not be leading the Israelites into the land of promise, Moses’ only concern is that God appoint a new and worthy leader to guide the people. Moses does not ask for mercy or forgiveness but rather implores God that his beloved people not be a flock without a shepherd. It is as if Moses already knows that his time is passing and his concern is, as it always was, for our ancestors, the Israelites.

The transfer of leadership and the nature of a good leader make up one of the major themes of the latter part of the Book of Numbers. The generation born into slavery and escaped Egypt is passing and a new generation of Israelites born in the freedom of the wilderness are taking their place. Moses is aging and slowly losing his ability to lead. He is at times impatient (Numbers 20:10-11) and at times unable to act (Numbers 25:6). Moses’ concern is our concern. Who will be the next leader of the Jewish people?

Moses’s sister, Miriam, and his brother, Aaron, have already died. Moses’ sons, in the context of Scripture, are nonentities. Aaron’s grandson, Phineas (Pinchas), is impetuous and hot-tempered. The elders and tribal leaders do not inspire confidence.

Moses’ vision of the proper leader as a good shepherd reflects a well established image of leadership in Ancient Near Eastern culture and in the Bible itself. Moses, himself, was a shepherd. He cared for his father-in-law, Jethro’s flocks. David was a shepherd boy long before he became king of Israel. Psalm 23 describes God as the shepherd who guides and protects us.

To our biblical ancestors leadership was a divine blessing. It could not be simply passed down from generation to generation. Many great biblical leaders had children who lacked the gift. It was not as much earned as demonstrated or discovered. Like the prophet and the artist, the good leader was one who was filled with God’s spirit. The good leader was graced with courage, honesty, wisdom, patience, humility and humanity. In this week’s portion, God reassures, Moses, the biblical model of the good leader, that Joshua will be a worthy successor because the divine spirit rests in him (Numbers 27:18)

It is always a challenge to find good leaders – men and women who respect their positions of leadership as a holy gift. The biblical tradition shows little respect to those who seek leadership to enjoy power, honor, respect ,and wealth and condemns those who abuse their position for personal gain.

Much later in Jewish history, just after the Roman destruction of Jerusalem, another major transition point in Jewish history, another great leader, Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai, asked his disciples to go out into the world and discover was the best quality towards which an individual should strive. Each of his five disciples pondered the question and after searching deeply into their hearts and minds, they presented their answers to their master.

Rabbi Eliezer came back and said, “Eyin Tov - A Good Eye.” meaning one should be generous.

Rabbi Joshua returned and declared, “Chaver Tov - A Good Friend” – one should cultivate good relations with others.

Rabbi Yose’s response was, “Shachen Tov - A Good Neighbor” – one should show goodwill to those with whom he lives.

Rabbi Simeon answered, “One who considers consequences, that is, one who has forethought and does not act rashly.

Rabbi Elazar replied, “Lev Tov – A Good Heart”

Whereupon Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai spoke and said that of all his disciples’ answers he preferred that of Rabbi Elazar because one who possesses a lev tov – a good heart possesses all the other qualities. (Avot 2:13)

It is still hard to find good leaders. The image of a shepherd is obsolete in today’s world. We probably lack the spiritual acumen to see if one of us is filled with the divine spirit. But we can still understand what it means to have a lev tov – a good heart, and, if Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai is correct, that should be enough because one who possesses a lev tov possesses all good qualitites.

© 2005 Lewis John Eron
All rights reserved

Matot – Numbers 30:2 – 31:42

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.

HOLY WAR OR WHOLLY AWFUL

August 3, 2024

Some stories in our Torah are appalling and our first response should be to be appalled. The account of Moses' war against the Midianites in Parashat Mattot is one of these. After a successful divinely sanctioned campaign against those Midianites who were allied with the Balaam (Numbers 31:1-2), Moses ordered, on his authority, the death of all the captives, except the young girls (vv. 13-18). As a result, part of the Midianite nation was annihilated, their settlements destroyed and their property seized. Moses justified this desolation as divinely inspired revenge for the attempts of the Midianites to undermine his people by turning them away from God (v. 16).

This is a difficult story. Our ancestor's relationship with the Midianites was complex. There were "good" Midianites, like Jethro, Moses' father-in-law. There were "bad" Midianites like those who sold Joseph into slavery (Genesis 37:28) and those whose assault on the Israelites was thwarted by Gideon (Judges 6-8) a few generations later. In our story, the Israelites destroy some but not all the Midianites, however, this does not lessen the horror of the slaughter ordered by Moses.

How do we deal with a story like this embedded within our holy scriptures? This is always an important question, but it is even more pressing in a time of war against those, like the Midianites who were committed to defeating and destroying our ancestors. What can and should we do to protect ourselves? What are our responsibilities towards our foes? The choices we make have consequences, but we need to make choices. We can be at the same time frightened for the safety of our family, friends, and neighbors and appalled at the death and destruction needed to secure their safety. Will short-term success lead to long-term security? The situation is appalling and our first response should be to be appalled. But we cannot stop there.

There are several takeaways from this story.

Firstly, war is terrible. War is not good. War allows bad people to do evil deeds and forces good people to commit evil acts. Necessity does not justify evil although it may clarify the moral dilemmas. Therefore, we need to investigate matters deeply. Nothing is as simple as it first appears. Human relations are complicated and there may be good reasons behind bad decisions.

Did Moses have other options? Would they also have been successful? Was a good resolution even possible? Why did God tell Moses he would die after this war (v. 2)? Was death a reward or a punishment? Could anyone survive Moses' moral dilemma?

Secondly, no one leaves battle without wounds. Some may be physically injured but all are spiritually hurt. In war, people are changed and relationships are broken. The Israelite warriors had to undergo a purification ritual before returning to the community (vv. 20-24). How did this war affect Moses' relationship with his Midianite wife and in-laws?

Thirdly, God is distant from the battlefield although we may pray that God will be with us. How do we hear God's voice through the din of battle and the fear and pain in our hearts? Even if we believe that the war is an expression of God's vengeance for unspeakable crimes, how do we know if our actions reflect God's will or if they express our vengeance which we justify by invoking God's name? God may have commanded Moses to attack the Midianites but God did not direct the battle or its aftermath.

Finally, we need to remember that biblical narratives are not stories of perfect people acting perfectly. They are not examples of proper behavior but stories of people, with conflicting motivations, trying to do the right thing in a complicated world. They are case studies. They teach valuable life lessons and we learn more from failure than from success.

Life is difficult. There are often no good decisions. Often, we are confronted by moral dilemmas. But we need to survive and learn from our wounds there so that next time we might do better. Being appalled by this story is appropriate, but it can only be our first response.

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.)

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.