Parsha Behaaloscha - The Source of the Taiva

In a parsha whose name seems to speak of a path of elevation – Behaaloscha, In your Going Up – it is interesting to find a chapter that speaks of a path of descent, of Bnei Yisrael falling low. The chapter is Perek t“h, and the main discussion of the perek is the complaints of the people about their food in the Midbar. It is a fascinating study in human psychology. The complaining in Perek t“h is not a single extended event, but it is sequential. It begins with a general sense of unease, a feeling among the people that leads them to grumble or look askance or even to just have heavy hearts of malcontent. It earns them God’s ire and Moshe’s prayers.

 

The second situation is, according to 11:4, set off by the riffraff, the camp followers whose allegiance to Hashem and the nation is highly suspect. They do not trust Hashem, and their lack of essential emuna undermines Bnei Yisrael. The people begin to speak of a longing for the foods they once ate in Egypt because food is comfort, it’s the familiar, and it gives direction to the sense of unease that is building inside of them. By looking back to Egypt, by looking at the outside world, they build false memories of a happier life. These false memories overshadow the facts, block out their ability to see the brachos that they have before them – namely at this juncture, the blessing of the manna, which fell as dew and, according to the Midrash, tasted like whatever a person wished it to taste.

 

This second time of discontent was almost as subtle as the first, and yet it was far more damaging. It undermined the nation because the people feared openly expressing their feelings. Perhaps each complaint seemed petty in their mind, and so they let it sit inside and fester. Or perhaps they did not wish to bother Moshe, but instead they let their unease continue to build within. By never speaking openly of their thoughts, however, they never had the opportunity to question them. Instead, they spoke of their longing and worries only in close quarters, in ways that created echo chambers and perpetual angst.

 

The final act of discontent is not a complaint. There are no words spoken. Rather it was expressed in action. When Hashem blew a squall of quails off course to land at the encampment of Bnei Yisrael, the Israelites gathered them with more than just enthusiasm. They gathered the quail “day and night and all the next day” (Bamidbar 11:32). Hashem presented them a path to what they thought they wanted, and those who were overwhelmed with taiva, with desire, fell to it in a way that proved that they could not be ovdei Hashem (servants of Hashem), for they were so detached from themselves they could fall upon the meat like animals. They gathered it day and night and all the next day, and it was a contrast to the Manna, which was gathered once a day – a sufficient amount. The quail made them ill. Their gluttony proved their disrespect and disregard for the steady, comforting blessing of manna that came from Hashem.

 

The underlying tragedy of the incident of the quail – highlighted by the language of the beginning of the perek that the people were like mourners or that the people took to complaining – was that the discontent really came from within, not from actual deprivation. The people were rife with emotions. They were overwhelmed at their new spiritual undertaking and believed they would not live up to Hashem’s expectations (R’ Shimshon Rafael Hirsch). They were disturbed by the tediousness of the journey (Rashbam) and the discomforts of travel (Rabbeinu Bahya). They were worried and already sorrowful at the thought of fighting (and perhaps of people dying) to conquer the land (Daas Zkainim). In modern terms, one might say that the people complained about food because it was familiar, that they “ate their emotions.”

 

What, one might then ask, is the connection of this discontentment to the secondary theme of Perek t“h, which is the granting of prophecy to the 70 elders who were gathered together at God’s command? Perhaps they were called forth now as a counterweight to the erev rav, the riffraff who lacked any spiritual anchor. Hashem granted them a share of the Holy Spirit that rested upon Moshe and, in so doing, allowed the entire nation to see that what Hashem asked of them was possible, that the promises He made were far more real than the watermelons they dreamed of back in Egypt. Instead of one man (Moshe) to whom some could probably not relate, Hashem gave them a Sanhedrin, a court of elders to whom they could look to find guidance – men who had come from backgrounds similar to their own.  

 

The choosing of the elders happened before the quail arrived, and it seems that the goal of returning hope and joy and a spiritual goal worked for many of the people. While the Torah says that the people went out to gather the quail, it does not say all of the people, and when the Torah records those who died of the gluttonous plague, the Torah says that the place was named as a reminder of those who had had the craving, inferring that not all of the people grabbed for the quail.

 

In a parsha titled with a theme of elevation, the discrepancy of a chapter detailing the nation’s descent into discontentedness may seem out of place, until one remembers that the Torah is a guidebook. Perek t“h demonstrates how something that seems like an external taiva (craving, desire) – in this case the quail – may, indeed, be a deeper reflection of a spiritual anxiety, and the way to sooth a spiritual anxiety is to draw oneself close to those who have a deep spiritual connection and can help you raise yourself up.

 

  

Parsha Naso – What the Nazir Saw

 The commentators say that the reason the portion of the Nazarite comes immediately after the discussion of the Sotah is because anyone who has seen the Sotah in her disgrace will wish to abstain from wine in order to avoid such a scenario happening again. This statement brings to mind the frequent conversations that one now sees online about the effects of trauma, driving home a bit of understanding at how horrific it was for others to witness the Sotah ceremony or perhaps even to witness the deterioration of the relationship that led to the ceremony.

The Sotah, the wife accused of adulterous behavior who must drink from a ritual formula that could, if she is guilty, cause “her belly shall distend and her thigh shall sag” (Numbers 5:27), is a drastic seeming section of the Torah. As horrible as one might perceive it, especially from a 21st century point of view where such strict monogamy seems to no longer be an accepted cultural norm beyond the religious community, there is much to be fascinated about in the Torah’s description of the process. Most particularly, the fact that great stress is placed on the husband’s attitude of jealousy and suspicion – emphasizing that getting to the point of bringing a woman forth to drink from the Sotah water is not simply a result of her behavior but of the dynamics of their relationship. Even having warned her before witnesses, the husband can choose to divorce the woman before publicly humiliating her with the test of the Sotah, before proving her wrong or, more drastically, making certain she suffers.

The fact is that it is very rare to see a Torah commandment that is so dependent on the emotional space of the people involved. And as we all know, human emotions can become extreme, which is, perhaps, what leads to the Nazarite. The person who takes a Nazarite vow is reacting to the world around them by attempting to control outside factors that influence their emotions.

The most obvious of these factors is alcohol, which a Nazir abstains from to the extreme in that the Nazir may not even taste something made with any part of the grape. Alcohol influences emotions differently for different people. In many, it lowers inhibitions, relaxes one’s concern about social mores and appropriate interactions. … which might lead to flirting and inappropriate behavior between people who should not be acting thus. It also can enhance one’s sense of self, meaning one’s righteous ire and one’s need to prove a point (often with anger – think of those notorious bar fights). In other words, it might make one more prone to jealous, suspicious thoughts even when the other party is innocent or make one prone to clutch on to a need to prove that they were right about their spouse.

Another major factor in seeking to control that which influences our emotions is attraction/love/lust. The second restriction of the Nazarite is cutting the hair, which Yochanan Kirschblum, in his book Thinking Outside the Box (published by Israel Bookshop), notes is really the only physical attribute given to us by God that we can shape and mold (without outside application such as make up). Most people put a great deal of their physical identity into their hair (or even their hair covering, in the case of married women). By letting one’s hair go “au natural,” without a razor or scissor touching the Nazir’s locks, one is setting a reminder to themselves that vanity, the primping and preening that lead to attraction/love/lust are the side of our emotional being that is connected to our more animalistic side, and one must look at one’s fellows (and be looked at by one’s fellows) for what is in their heart and soul. Looking at the world “all done up” in physical charm was, perhaps, what led to the terrible events of the Sotah.

The third powerful emotion is sorrow or despair. When a person witnesses a tragedy, particularly if it is one they have a hard time understanding the reasoning for, there is a desire to disconnect, to hide from the facts, or to fight to bring justice when one thinks justice has been mishandled. And while in this discussion, the Nazir may, perhaps, have witnessed the Sotah trial, watching a core of Jewish life be destroyed, that is a singular situation. A far more common situation is dealing with death. Witnessing or connecting to death can take a person, emotionally, out of focus from the world. The Nazir, who must, of course, still live in the world and be aware of death and sorrow, must set him or herself apart from the full impact of these emotions. The Nazir does so by refraining from any contact with a corpse, which for many people today seems easy but nevertheless having the need to remain conscientious of it at all times acts as a guard for the Nazir not to let the emotions of sorrow or despair become overwhelming.

Taking a Nazarite vow is an extreme reaction. While it is praiseworthy to want to protect oneself from letting one’s emotions become destructive, the Torah commands the Nazir to bring a sin offering at the end of their avowed time because, according to one widely held opinion, they have added unnecessary constraints to their life – perhaps inferring that the God given laws of the Torah were not enough (chas v’shalom).

It is interesting to note that the Nazir adds constraints, almost punishments, on his/her own life. The husband of the Sotah adds punishment to the life of his spouse. There is a prescribed death penalty for adultery, and there is the fact that Hashem knows all of our deeds and will offer our rewards and punishments as best suits His will. The ceremony of the Sotah, however, is for suspected adultery, and, in choosing this path rather than divorcing the wife whom he must surely have come to hate, the husband is adding his own level of punishment.

We live in a world that can be very confusing. There has been so much pain and suffering that we have witnessed – and pain and suffering always stand out, although there have been many wonderful blessings in the world as well – that it is easy to start demanding constraints and to suspect others of misbehavior and causing these tzoros. But the lesson that we can take from the Nazir and the Baal Sotah, perhaps, is to remember that Hashem created the world and gave us His Torah. Hashem and His Torah are perfect, we do not need to add to it, we need to strive harder to live up to it.

Parshas Bamidbar - Sometimes the Unexpected Happens

The third chapter of the fourth book of the Torah begins with what appears to be a straightforward recounting of the history of the kahuna, the priesthood. It does so as an introduction to the detailed accounting of the tribe of Levi, having already recorded the enumeration and placement of the other tribes in the first two perakim. All of this counting is why the English title for the book is Numbers, but in Hebrew it is called Bamidbar, In the Wilderness.

Midbar, the Hebrew word for wilderness, is actually rather interesting in itself. The core of the word is devar, which means word or thing, and the prefix mem usually represents the idea of "from," as in having come from or having derived from. This becomes even more interesting when one realizes that Bamidbar leads to Devarim, the fifth book of the Torah, which has the same core root and means "words" or "things," and which is the sefer that recaps almost all of the Torah from the Exodus on, including the laws. (Devarim is often referred to as the Mishne Torah or Second Torah.) In order to get to Devarim, to the end of the journey and the place of Hashem's words. Bnei Yisrael had to get through the wilderness.

While it is true that there are some people who prefer life on the wild side, most people by nature desire basic structure and stability. We build homes and families so that we can go about our lives with a sense of security that there is a place where our basic needs will be met. Indeed, we agree to live by rules and laws and mores so that those homes will be protected. Sometimes, however, we end up in the wilderness, whether deliberately so as one heads to new ground or by wandering because one has lost their way. This fact, that life does not always follow the plan that we expect it to, need not weaken our movement to our final goal - to structure and stability and, ultimately, to Devarim, the words/things with which we serve Hashem.

This is a lesson we see in Bamidbar 3. Sefer Bamidbar begins with who (the specific counting of Bnei Yisrael) and how (the detailed directions on the organization of their encampment) Bnei Yisrael got through the Midbar - that is until perek gimmel (chapter 3), which begins:

"This is the line of Aaron and Moshe at the time that the Lord spoke with Moshe on Mount Sinai. These were the names of Aaron’s sons: Nadav, the firstborn, and Avihu, Elazar and Ithamar; those were the names of Aaron’s sons, the anointed priests who were ordained for priesthood. But Nadav and Avihu died by the will of the Lord, when they offered alien fire before the Lord in the wilderness of Sinai; and they left no sons. So it was Elazar and Ithamar who served as priests in the lifetime of their father Aaron" (3:1-4).

A quick summary of the Levites' responsibilities follows, and then "The Lord spoke to Moshe, saying:I hereby take the Levites from among the Israelites in place of all the firstborn, the first issue of the womb among the Israelites: the Levites shall be Mine. For every firstborn is Mine: at the time that I smote every firstborn in the land of Egypt, I consecrated every firstborn in Israel, man and beast, to Myself, to be Mine, the Lord’s" (3:11-13).

Think about what the Torah has just pointed out! It was intended that Aaron and all four of his sons would be Kohanim, but Nadav and Avihu died. The firstborn were intended to be the ones to serve the Kohanim. Hashem even announced that He had sanctified them for this purpose, but they proved themselves unfit and the plan was "adjusted" for the tribe of Levi to assume that role. Slight shifts in the plan but all part of the ultimate journey through the wilderness.

Life often send us on unexpected paths, some times heartbreaking detours that drastically shift a structure of their life foundation. The path ahead seems less clear and perhaps there is a desire to throw one's hands heavenward and ask Hashem why. We who are on our journeys through the wilderness do not get to have the answers - and that is so very hard - but here in Bamidbar 3, Hashem does provide a guided response. The wilderness holds the unpredictable, but the journey must go on and so one must adjust. One must reframe their world and live it differently than expected, but one must always continue to move forward.