Parshas Shelach: Finding Bitachon

The parsha of Shelach is one that reverberates through history. It is, as is commonly known, the source of Tisha B’av, as the day that the Jews cried out their fear of entering the Promised Land was the 9th of Av; and, alas, throughout history, Hashem has given us reasons to feel true sorrow on that day.

Parshas Shelach is a parsha from which one can mine deep hashgafic questions and delve into the relationship of Klal Yisrael and Eretz Yisrael. This year, however, it seems almost cavalier to discuss the situation in Eretz Yisrael, as if it is minimalizing the events taking place, chas v’shalom. However, not noting the important connections to this week’s parsha would, perhaps, be obscuring an opportunity to work on ourselves as individuals and as a nation.

One of the most frequently spoken of lessons from Parshas Shelach is one of distorted reality and the power of language. The scouts returned and described what they saw in such a way as to disparage the land and make it seem as if a terrible fate awaited them. And the nation believed them… and cried… and were punished. We often wonder how this could have happened - how leaders of the shevatim could have forgotten everything Hashem had done for them and seen such a negative space. 

The sin of the scouts has been writ large in 5785. It hasn’t been just our enemies who have vilified klal Yisrael, but our own fellow Jews who have joined rallies that distort reality and spread lies, that repeat old tropes of anti-Semitism in a new light. What started as a sliver of negative voices persisted and grew throughout the last almost 2 years, and it has an effect. Doubt begets doubt; people are drawn to a negative world view and a sense of doom - just look at the news. 

Noticing the effect of these voices, however, is a reminder to Klal Yisrael that our view of the world - of world events and of personal events - should be filtered with the lens of bitachon. 

One of the primary concepts that are drawn from Parshas Shelach is the importance of understanding emunah and bitachon. On the verge of entering the Promised Land, the people asked Moshe if they could send men to scout out the land. They spoke of their motive as a need to know what they would be facing, as a lacking in themselves, but they were projecting. They were not doubting their abilities; they were doubting the divine promise. Their emunah was strong; they did not doubt Hashem as the ultimate power. What was lacking was their bitachon, their belief that Hashem intercedes for them in the common actions of mankind. Bnei Yisrael could believe in miracles, especially after they had lived through so many wondrously- miraculous situations, but they had trouble believing in the continued manifestation of that help. They looked at the world from their perspective only and neglected to remember the basic bitachon. What we perceive as miracles are simply larger demonstrations of what Hashem does every moment of every day of every life. 

This is all too relatable to 5785. In truth, this lesson is relatable in all times - not just in crisis. It is all too common to believe in Hashem and to believe in His guidance of the world, while, at the same time, not truly trusting what the future will bring. Bitachon in its highest practice is understanding that Hashem will make the best future for you (whether it is what you want or not does not always reconcile). We try to view the world as if it is in our control, but far, far greater guidance is always at play.

The world at large wants to believe that they have control, that they have power. They want to attribute their successes to themselves alone (and their defeats, of course, to someone else). Those who have joined the ranks of Hamas supporters, who chant terrible slogans and look the other way, deliberately, at acts of violent anti-Semitism believe the reality they are looking for rather than the reality of Hashem’s world. The scouts came back and reported that the land devoured its inhabitants when, as the Midrash details, Hashem caused illness in the land so that the Cananites would be preoccupied while the scouts were wandering the land. The scouts wanted to have a reason to avoid entering the Promised Land. They were afraid of what the next step in life would be.

It’s possible, even probable, that they themselves did not understand their underlying fears and motivations. We often neglect to analyze our own drives. And it is possible, even probable, that the biggest fear they had was living bitachon. 

Bitachon is the heartbeat of Jewish faith. Accepting that everything Hashem does is for the good is easy in words and much more challenging in thought and action. Recognizing that we must put in effort even as Hashem controls all outcomes is almost contrary to human nature… but that is the work that we all strive to do on ourselves. That is the essence of living Torah. 

The world right now is in a crossroad of upheaval. It feels like so many facets are out of control and misaligned. None of that is by chance. None of that is human doing alone. The lesson we can take from Parshas Shelach is that it is the responsibility of Klal Yisrael, of the nation who has benefitted and continues to benefit, from so many miracles, to look beyond the surface and find the reality of Divine will in our lives. 

I speak this lesson of bitachon to myself as I remind myself that when it is the right time, Hashem will fit all the pieces together for us to be able to bring Shevi home. For now, however, I hope that she can see the miracles involved when Israel is at war.

May this Shabbas be one that brings blessing and peace and hatzlacha to the world and to Klal Yisrael in particular.  

Parshas Shlach – Named to Fame

The penultimate subject of Parshas Shlach Lcha begins with anonymity. “And it was that when Bnei Yisrael was in the Wildreness, and they came upon a man gathering wood on Shabbas” (Bamidbar 9:32). While the Midrash provides details on the who, where, when, and even why, the fact that it is written in such an ambiguous and anonymous manner communicates in itself something profoundly meaningful.

Before exploring the wood-gatherer further, however, let us look at the very beginning of the parsha. “These are their names: For the tribe of Reuben, Shammua the son of Zakkur. For the tribe of Simeon, Shaphat the son of Hori. For the tribe of Judah, Caleb the son of Jepphunneh. For the tribe of Issachar, Yigal the son of Joseph.  For the tribe of Ephraim, Hoshea the son of Nun. For the tribe of Benjamin, Palti the son of Raphu.     For the tribe of Zebulun, Gaddiel the son of Sodi. For the tribe of Joseph, for the tribe of Manasseh, Gaddi the son of Susi. For the tribe of Dan, Ammiel the son of Gemalli. For the tribe of Asher, Sethur the son of Michael. For the tribe of Naphtali, Nahbi the son of Vophsi. For the tribe of Gad, Geuel the son of Machi. These are the names of the men Moses sent to scout the Land…” (13:4-16).

 

The parsha starts out with recounting the journey of the spies, how they went into the Promised Land, looked around, and declared that the land was too difficult and dangerous for them. Ten of these 12 men led Bnei Yisrael into despair, into crying out that they were being led to their death. Their behavior effected not just Bnei Yisrael in the Wilderness, but every generation since.

 

Parshas Shlach highlights two places where people did wrong, where there were actions and punishments and significant consequences. Their crimes were very different, but it is interesting to note that whereas the wood-gatherer is given anonymity, the spies are listed by name. This leads us to two interesting and opposing questions. What is similar about these two situations? What is the difference between them?

 

The two main narratives of Parshas Shlach are connected in a very subtle way. According to tradition, had Bnei Yisrael entered the Promised Land at that time, they would have done so with Moshe as their leader, and they would have been given a situation much as we imagine the forthcoming days of Moshiach (bimhairah b’yameinu). But with all the blessing that includes, it also precludes spiritual growth, and Bnei Yisrael really weren’t ready for that. Similarly, it is a well-known statement that if Klal Yisrael keeps two consecutive Shabbasim, they will bring Moshiach, and, again, they weren’t ready for that. In fact, several commentaries assert that the wood-gatherer acted deliberately in order to break the second Shabbas and to teach his brethren about the true significance of guarding Shabbas because they were not yet spiritually strong enough.

 

Both actions had dire consequences for Klal Yisrael, so why are the spies named but the wood-gatherer left anonymous?

 

The wood-gatherer was a man who sinned. Whether he sinned on purpose, as some commentaries say, or by accident, whether he chose to ignore the warning he received or didn’t understand the consequences of his actions, he was just a member of the kehilla. His transgression was grave. And while there is an idea that except for him Klal Yisrael would have kept a perfect Shabbas, that is also not a foregone conclusion. Someone else might have erred.

 

The spies, on the other hand, were not just members of Klal Yisrael. The Torah wants it made clear that they were men of significance, that they were leaders of their tribes. Interestingly, the Torah describes the wood-gatherer’s actions from the point of being caught, after the act is done; the narrative of the spies, on the other hand, is related from before they acted.

 

The actions of Shammua, Shaphat, Yigal, Palti, Gaddiel, Gaddi, Ammiel, Sethur, Nahbi, and G’uel were compounded by their name. They had influence. They knew that their brethren would listen to them, would follow them. They are named because they were significant people to others.

 

We live in an era where celebrity comes and goes, where too many people are pushing for their five minutes of fame, where everyone and their brother seem to think that if they have a smartphone with a camera they can be touted as experts on something or other. But being known, being famous, being a person people immediately think of and turn to, means that one’s every action has a greater impact on other people.

 

The Torah doesn’t name the wood-gatherer because who he is is not important, and he has the right to privacy and respect. His actions are significant and so must be publicized, but his name does not have to be. Who the spies were, on the other hand, had a direct connection to the impact of their actions, and they cannot be shielded from being named and connected to the great travesty that sent Bnei Yisrael back into the Wilderness.

Parshas Shelach – When and Where and Why

People often joke that students taking classes in psychology are prone to “diagnosing” their friends, to analyzing the personalities of those close to them. The truth is that it is human nature to want to understand what makes others “tick,” most probably as a way to help us understand our own motivations. Parshas Shelach is a parasha that leaves particularly gaping opportunities for asking the question “But why?”

You might think that this question is directed at the primary narrative of Parshas Shelach, the narrative of the scouts who misrepresented Eretz Yisrael to the nation and therefore caused their entire generation to be denied entry into the Promised Land. And, indeed, understanding why they behaved as they did is the source of a great number of commentaries and divrei Torah. Tucked at the very end of the parsha, however, is a completely different narrative - that of the man who gathered wood on Shabbas and received the death penalty for it.

This narrative is contained in five verses, Bamidbar 15:32-36, that begin with a vague statement of time: “And it was when the Israelites were in the wilderness…” Being in the wilderness, according to many commentators, such as Ibn Ezra and Rashi, is understood as being in the Wilderness of Sinai. According to other mepharshim, such as the Ramban, the incident took place in the greater wilderness after the report of the scouts.

If the incident occurred in the Wilderness of Sinai, then it happened shortly after the Jewish people received the commandment to remember the Sabbath day. In fact, Rashi notes that it would have been the second Shabbas. Indeed, he cites the idea that had Bnei Yisrael managed to keep two shabbasim, mashiach would (have) come.

Assuming it was the second Shabbas since the Israelites had been commanded to remember the holy day, one can speculate that perhaps the man forgot, or perhaps he didn’t understand. Assuming it was the second Shabbas, maybe he did not truly conceive of what the punishment would be, even though it had already been declared a capital crime. The idea of the man forgetting, explains the Daas Zkainim, connects this section to the final section of the parsha, which is the commandment to wear tzitzit as a constant reminder of Hashem’s presence. According to this commentary, Moshe told Hashem that it was because tefillin are not worn on Shabbas that the man forgot, so Hashem commanded tzitzit as a constantly available mitzvah for men.

It is interesting to note that the section just prior to the narrative of the man collecting wood discusses bringing a karbon for a shogaig, an unintentional action. Torah law leaves a lot of room for teshuva and very little blame for accidental actions. This, however, leads one to question why, if the man simply forgot, was he sentenced to death? The sages state that those who “came upon” him were witnesses who warned him, for capital punishment can only be decreed if at least 2 witnesses saw the person and warned them against the transgression. We are then left with the question that if he was warned, how can it be a situation of having forgotten?

Assuming that the man collected the sticks on Shabbas after the scouts had returned and the people rebelled, then the hypothesis of the why changes. There is no possible “he forgot” in a camp full of men and women who had kept Shabbas for at least a year. If the entire camp of over a million people are keeping Shabbas, it seems unlikely that he lacked awareness. That fact and the understood warning make one think of the two verses concluding the section on karbanos for accidental incident that precedes it:

 “And the person who acts with a high hand, whether from the community or a stranger, and reviles Hashem, that person shall be cut off from within the people; because it was the word of Hashem that was spurned, and his mitzvos were violated, that person shall be cut off and bears the guilt” (15:30-31).

This is a far more difficult situation. The use of the phrase “high hand” implies that there is a deliberate arrogance in this person’s transgressions. But perhaps that is the case of the wood-gatherer. Perhaps in reaction to the incident of the scouts and to the new knowledge that he himself would never see the Promised Land, we find an insight into the man’s mind-frame. Perhaps we can speculate that the man had a great need to test the boundaries of Hashem’s commandments and Hashem’s forgiveness, which was not the right reaction, but which could be understandable in the realms of human psychology.

To make matters all-together more confusing, there is one Midrashic commentary that notes that the man who gathered wood was named Tzelophchad, famous for his five daughters, and that he acted deliberately. Tzelaphchad, this midrash says, actually sacrificed himself for the greater good. He chose to commit a capital crime so that other Jews would see the complete process of the Torah’s system of law. This motivation could, in fact, place the incident of the wood gatherer in either interpretation of the wilderness.

One might, of course, determine that the man’s motivations are irrelevant as the punishment was the same either way. Put together, however, one realizes that both ignorance and arrogance – either insolent arrogance or benevolent arrogance - leave us prone to making mistakes.

When the man was seen gathering wood, he was brought to Moshe, Aaron, and the community leaders, who placed him under guard, “for it had not been clarified what should be done to him” (15:33-34). Moshe then sought out guidance on how to handle the incident. This is significant to our discussion of motivation. The desire to try to understand another person’s reasoning is natural, but we must always remember that only Hashem is truly capable of understanding a person’s motivation. Indeed, Hashem sees through even the lies we tell ourselves about why we act as we do.

Why did the man gather sticks on Shabbas? We will probably never know. Does it matter? Only in that it helps bring the events into perspective. There are many, many reasons that people transgress. Sometimes we simply mess up and sometimes we deliberately disobey. We are, however, far less likely to do so when we make ourselves mindful of Hashem’s constant presence.

Parshas Shelach - They Gave Their Voices, They Made Their Choice

From a 21st century point of view, every action, and in particular every reaction, has a source and a reason. Modern culture has made it an art to find a label, and perhaps, a diagnosis for just about everything. Indeed, a few months ago there was a radio ad in Quebec in which a woman voiced her frustration that female workers were now suffering from “extreme exasperation syndrom.” But the cold, hard fact of the matter is that every person has free will - every person makes a choice in how they act. Sometimes the influences within or without are difficult to resist, but, nevertheless, there is almost always some measure of culpability for one's actions.

Pages upon pages of commentaries and discussions have been written about Parshas Shelach and the underlying reasons for the actions of both the scouts who gave a negative report about the Promised Land and the reaction of the people to their report. From a modern pop-psychology point of view, one might even say that Hashem’s punishment, which was the forestalling of the nation’s entry into the Promised Land until after the generation died out, was unfair since the generation was burdened with the trauma of slavery and impeded by a lack of confidence in their spiritual acceptability. And yet, at the apex of the narrative, there is an intriguing placement of words that could be read as a potent reminder of free will; "Va’tisa kol ha’aida, ba’yitnu es koolam. Va’yivkoo ha’am ba’layla ha’hoo. And the congregation lifted up, and they gave their voices. And the people wept that night” (Number 14:1).

This is a grammatically interesting verse. There are two sentences, so the speak, in this verse. They separated from each other by the esnachta trop. Also, the first of these two sentences is divided by a zaken katon trop into two separate phrases. With these grammatical nuances in mind, let us look again at the actions of the nation. Va’tisa is based on a verb that means to lift up or carry. It would be completely within the norms of Biblical grammar for it to be written here that the congregation lifted up their voices, for indeed this construct is used elsewhere in the Torah ("and Eisav raised up his voice and cried"). Instead, the Torah states that the congregation lifted themselves up, and then the Torah adds another verb and direct object: Va’yitnu, which is from the verb to give (and they gave). Herein we see that there is a choice of action implied in the the active nature of this verb.

Furthermore, it is interesting to note that the first verb phrase is singular; the congregation was lifted up together as a unit. The whole congregation suffered from a reaction to the words of the scouts, from the incongruity of what they expected from the Promised land, and from the frightening need for conquest being described. The second phrase, however, is in the third person plural (Va’yitnu es koolum, They raised their voices), which infers that now each voice was the voice of an individual within a larger group.

The response to the words of the scouts started out as a national reaction, but that unity was false, for each person gave their own voice. When they cried through the night - again with phraseology set in third person plural - they each cried from their own fear, and anguish, and insecurity. They cried through the night because the night is when we process the information we are given throughout the day. And they cried individually, but collectively, because their bitachon - their trust in God's active guidance - was gone, dashed as a result of truth spoken wrongly by the scouts. The scouts did not lie. After all, they were well-respected leaders of their tribes. However, they told the truth as they wanted it to be understood, and that use of truth without honesty undermined everything that Bnei Yisrael was building (With the exclusion of Yehoshua and Kalev, who understood that their mission was not about themselves and their feelings or their perceptions, but about the path laid out for them by Hashem.) The people cried through the night because their minds were trying to process all of the events of the day: the truths of the scouts, the truth spoken by Kalev, the emotions of the nation as a whole, the plethora of voices that they heard among their fellows, and also their own reactions to which they had given voice.

Perhaps, after having actively joined in the national reaction, the majority of the people felt broken, and this was why they "murmured against Moshe and Aaron" (14:2). Perhaps having seen themselves take one step off the derech (path) provided, they thought there was no alternative but to wish to go back to Mitzrayim, to a place and a time when they had no free will, no choices to make. Additionally, one might note that there is a not uncommon reaction in people when they make a large error or are greatly embarrassed by something they have done: to think or even state, with belief or not, that they wished they were dead. It is a feeling of wishing to avoid the consequences of the mistake, even when those consequences are not, in the end, truely dire. Humans do not like to acknowledge their wrong doing, and, in the face of a large mistake in which they know they were culpable, there is a desire to change reality. Thus the people could utter "if only we had died in the wilderness" (14:2).

There are many ways in which the situation of the People of Israel could have been different. Even in this one situation, there are a thousand different ways we could wish there had been different reactions. They could have listened to the honesty of Kalev’s report. They could have prayed for guidance instead of turning on Yehoshua, Moshe, and Aaron. They could have immediately repented for giving voice to their fears. But even as they expressed a wish to alter history - to go back to Mitzrayim or to have died in the Wilderness, which was really a wish not to be in their current situation - they had opportunities to choose a different path. They did not. They continued to rebel, even to the point of being so stubborn as to mount an attack after they had been punished and thus completely missing the point of bitachon.

We could sit for hours and dissect their motivations, their reactions, their histories, and their psychologies. In the end, however, it does not matter. What matters is the actions. What matters is the choices we make and the way in which we use our free-will.

Repetitive for a Reason (Shelach)

 There is an accepted idea that there are no wasted words in the Torah, which makes it rather interesting that twice in this week’s parsha, Parshas Shlach, the Torah literally repeats itself. Furthermore, these two repetitions appear to be at opposite ends of the narrated events, as if bookmarking the events and alerting us to the fact that we must learn from our ancestors’ actions.

The first repetition is at the opening of the parasha: “Send for yourselves men to scout the Land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Children of Israel; send one man one man from each of their ancestral tribes, each one a chieftain among them” (Bamidbar 13:2). Most translation don’t write “one man one man,” but the Hebrew text is written “eesh echad eesh echad.”

The second use of repeating language is as the episode of the scouts comes to a conclusion. Having undermined their own mission and with the entire gathering of the Children of Israel having panicked at their words, Hashem doles out His displeasure by condemning the entire generation to live out their lives in the Wilderness. “You shall bear your punishment for forty years, corresponding to the number of days – 40 days – that you scouted the land: a year for a day a year for a day. Thus you shall know what it means to thwart Me” (14:34). Once again, most English translations do not include the word repetition, but the Hebrew is written: “yom lshana yom lshana.”

Is there a connection to these two repetitions? Double language in the Torah is a means of stressing a point. What that point may be is one that we have to consider. 

The first repetition is “one man one man,” which reminds us that each person is unique. Hashem did not tell Moshe to round up random individuals, but rather to think through the choices of the unique individuals. Judaism has a very strong ideology of each person being singularly important in their own right and as part of the general community of the nation. This is part of the lesson of eesh echad eesh echad. Hashem was hoping that the men chosen to be scouts could each demonstrate their abilities to be their own man, so to speak. To not need to do as the crowd does. Two of the scouts, Yehoshua (Joshua) and Caleb, were men of such caliber. The lesson for us is that we do not have to go with the crowd, to be part of the multitude. This brings us to the second repetition, yom lshana. The root of the word shana, which means year, is the same root as the verb to change or to make different. When we are able to stay true to our essential selves, we can come to yom lshana, day for change. Whether that means making changes for ourselves, like self improvement projects, or making changes to affect the world as a whole, positive change can only come from understanding our own unique gifts.

Looking at the language of yom lashana, one could also find a similarly significant message. While the usage here is that the letter lamed is the preposition "for" (a day for a year), the word lashona by itself is connected to lashon – language – and thus to the lashon harah (wicked speech) that the scouts spoke about the Promised Land. When one brings this shift in meaning to the first repetition – eesh echad eesh echad, one man one man – one can see the lesson that each person is responsible for their own speech. A person can easily be carried away by a crowd speaking lashon harah, but that is not an acceptable excuse for speaking negatively or gossiping about someone. This was the case of the scouts, who, except for Yehoshua and Caleb, did not have the courage to raise their voice separately but followed the lead of the crowd.

Lessons on the importance of speech are always meaningful. The double down of the repetitive language in Parshas Shlach is a message that encourages us to be strong and know that if we can stay true to ourselves (and be a Kiddush Hashem through our own unique talents), we can use each day to make a positive change on the world.

What’s Wrong with a 24-Hour News Service? (Shelach)

I was 6 years old when CNN, the Cable News Network, first started broadcasting. It was one of those stations I used to flip past as absolutely too boring to watch, until 1991. It was a watershed year for the channel as millions of people tuned in to follow the Gulf War. I was so desperate to follow the unrest in the Middle East that I watched CNN even while on a vacation in the Caribbean.

When I was a student, I was taught that journalism differed from other writing in that a news reporter was meant to be committed to reporting the news objectively. In history class we learned about the development of “Yellow Journalism,” newspapers written to be sensationalist, and it was definitely a negative lesson.

As a lover of words, I have noticed (as have so many) how, over the last ** years, an objective journalist has become a rare gem. Even when journalists don’t outrightly state their preferences, the way they choose their words often leaves one heavily favoring one position or another. And while this may have always been the case, perhaps in earlier times the reporters were just better at being subtle in their preferences.

These were the thoughts that crossed my mind as I reviewed this week’s parsha, Parshat Shelach. It’s a pretty famous parsha, the majority of which presents an account of the men sent to scout the Promised Land. Twelve men leave the nation and return 40 day later. Their first report appears to be a straightforward response to the task they were given, which was to “See the Land - How is it? And the people that dwell in it - is it strong or weak? Is it few or numerous? And how is the Land in which it dwells - is it good or is it bad? And how are the cities in which it dwells - are they open or are they fortified? And how is the earth - is it fertile or is it lean? Are there trees in it or not?” (13:18-20).

When the scouts return, their initial report was short and seemingly objective: “The land flows with milk and honey, and this is its fruit. Efes - the people that dwell in the Land is powerful, the cities are very greatly fortified, and we also say that the offspring of the giant. Amalek dwells in the area of the south, the Hittite, the Jebusite, and the Emorite dwell on the mountain, and the Canaanite dwells by the Sea” (13:27-29).

Efes. In most English translations this is rendered as “But,” a word that certainly has the capacity to transform the tone of any sentence. However, the Torah does not say Aval, the Hebrew word for 'but.' Rather it uses Efes, the Hebrew word for 'zero.' As Rav Hirsch says: “literally, nothing: but all this is nothing, loses all value for us, for the people are too strong for us.” It’s amazing what one word, subtly injected amidst the rest of the seemingly objective statements, can do to transform the sentence.

And perhaps the subtlety of the report would have been lost on the majority, perhaps they would have spoken with one another about the report and then looked at Moshe to decide what to make of it. But Kalev heard the Efes and he jumped in to support forward motion, he “stilled the people” (from their questioning each other) and encouraged them that “we can surely do it!” (Now you know where Nike got it!)

If the scouts had left it there, perhaps the people would have rallied or perhaps they would have feared. But the scouts assumed that the people didn’t understand their message and so they gave an out and out subjective report, declaring the impossibility of conquest. It is interesting to note that some commentators have said that the scouts' negative report was based on their fear of leaving the special Divine protection they enjoyed in the Wilderness. They did not care to be contradicted and spoke up without any pretense of objectivity, even drawing on hyperbole: the land consumes its inhabitants, the sons of the giants are so great that we are as grasshoppers in their eyes.

The People of Israel who gathered together to hear the report of the scouts had each been witness to a host of miracles. Their own common-sense knowledge and experience should have guided them and given them the security of knowing that if God promised them this land, He was going to give it to them. This was why the Divine consequence to their action was that none (ok, almost none) of that generation could enter into the Promised Land. Their throw-back identity as slaves inhibited their ability to trust their inner voices, and they would never have the courage to stand up and be God’s army and claim the land.

In 2019, we are surrounded with a constant stream of “reporting.” What is true, what is objective, what is fact without bias...this is something that we have to continually strive to find. So often we have our common-sense knowledge, things we feel are inherently true, and we let ourselves get waylaid by “talking heads.” The voices of others who want us to agree with them.

If you are political, you may be nodding your head and saying. Yup, we gotta shut those ___ down, they use such ill-conceived arguments and logic. And while I do tend, politically, to veer to the right, I am most definitely criticizing both the conservatives and the liberals. It’s time for the return of objective reporting, to letting the people develop their own opinions, and for reporting the facts - and just the facts with zero else (no ifs, ands, or buts).