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.
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