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 Behaalos’cha - Family Dynamic

Brothers and sisters - if you have them or you parent them, then you know that the relationships can be complex. From love to hate, from insepreable best friends to bitter rivals, we find even in the Torah that these are some of the most complicated dynamics that people have to deal with in life. In Parshas B’haalos’cha, we get a close up view of the fascinating dynamic of the children of Yocheved and Amram.

Not included in this week’s parasha are some vital facts to their relationships. Miriam was the oldest, and she was so dedicated to her family unit that Miriam risked her life by approaching Pharoah’s daughter after Bisya had pulled Moshe’s basket from the river. 

Aaron was the oldest son of Amram, a leader of the tribe of Levi, and yet he had no reservation about stepping aside and letting his younger brother lead the Jewish people. He felt no jealosy and presented himself as ready to assist. In the dynamic of Moshe and Aaron, we see the first sibling dynamic in the Torah in which there is no strife (except perhaps Menshe and Ephraim). 

Miriam, Aaron, and Moshe are a family united in their desire to uplift the Jewish people and serve Hashem, which is why we are shocked by the well-known events of Bamidbar 12. Miriam speaks lashon harah (gossip or conjecture) with Aaron about Moshe. 

The midrashim and commentaries generally make it clear that their intentions in discussing Moshe’s marriage were not to demean him or his wife but out of concern for him. Nevertheless, it is considered lashon harah, and the consequence is that Miriam is stricken with the affliction of tzaraas. But some of the details, some of the easily overlooked wording in the Torah, adds a beautiful sense of the dynamic of these incredible siblings. 

For instance, after the Torah alludes to their conversation and asserts that “Moshe himself was very humble, more humble than any man on the face of the earth” (12:3),  the Torah records that Hashem called to Moshe, Aaron, and Miriam to come to the Tent of Meeting and then He called Aaron and Miriam out to rebuke them. This was a situation that effected all of them as a family and as leaders of klal Yisrael. The fact that verse 3 describes Moshe’s humility implies that Moshe knew that they had spoken of him and had chosen not to react. Hashem is showing him that it is okay to stand up for himself and for his special and unique role, but that it is important still not to embarrass those who did wrong by rebuking them in front of him. 

After Hashem gives them tochacha, when Miriam is stricken with tzaraas, the Torah strangely notes that “When Aaron turned toward Miriam, he saw that she was stricken with tzoraas. And Aaron said to Moshe, ‘oh my lord, account not to us the sin hwich we committed in our folly” (12:10-11).  And Moshe immediately did pray for her.

Why does the Torah describe Aaron seeing that Miriam was afflicted, since it would seem obvious as he was standing there and the first half of the verse states that she was thus afflicted? Why does Aaron speak in the first person plural of their sin when only Miriam appears afflicted?

The dynamic of these siblings is, perhaps, a model for us all to understand the broader concepts of self and family, that family being all of klal Yisrael. People make mistakes. Siblings hurt each other, even when they don’t intend to. But when push comes to shove, they stand together. 

Aaron did not accept that Miriam’s tzaraas indicated only her guilt. He saw that his sister was stricken, and he held himself to account, he asked Moshe to forgive both of them. Moshe did not hesitate one moment before praying for his sister’s recovery, recognizing that there was no malicious intent. 

People do bad things. People say things that hurt each other, and often they do so with only the best intentions. And when those incidents occur, we must not look upon the person as an other, as an offender, as an enemy - but rather we must look upon them and see a person who is like ourselves, a member of our family. 

Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom

Parshas Naso – So What It’s Not Your Fault?

Have you heard the recent trend in conversations about how children require more grit, about how the younger generations of our age lack a sense of stick-to-itness. The experts point to the increase in attention issues, to online shopping’s near-instant gratification, and to a lack of job loyalty when compared to older generations. One might think that children being raised in a Torah environment, in a society with intricate rules and sometimes lengthy rituals, would not have the same issues, but we do. Just think about the difference in the selection of kosher food thirty years ago and today…as a minor demonstration. There is almost nothing we must defer having or having a near perfect imitation of (Why should there be fish shaped like shrimp?) We have, in many ways, lost the art of accepting limitations.

Although there have been some some-what modern era examples, most of us today have trouble imagining the life of a Nazir, of a person who has dedicated themselves to Hashem and taken a special vow not to cut their hair, not to partake in anything made from a grape plant, and not to come in contact or proximity to a corpse. We understand, perhaps, the drive for dedication, the urge to gain control over one’s spiritual life – indeed, we see people taking such steps today in cutting themselves off from technology that they feel brings them down spiritually. Withholding from using technology, however, is an understandable reaction; withholding from cutting one’s hair or eating stuffed grape leaves is far less concrete.

   

Within the laws of the Nazir described in Parshas Naso, there is a wonderful lesson in having grit. We assume that a person who becomes a Nazir does so at a point of high motivation, whether the source of that motivation is positive or negative. To make such a defined and encompassing vow, a vow that becomes publicly obvious, requires a driving force. Being vigilant to keep the prohibitions during the entire time period requires dedication and mindfulness. But true grit comes into play when:

   

"And if any man die very suddenly beside him, and he defiles his consecrated head, then he shall shave his head in the day of his cleansing, on the seventh day shall he shave it… And he shall consecrate unto God the days of his Naziriteship, and shall bring a he-lamb of the first year for a guilt-offering; but the former days shall be void, because his consecration was defiled” (Bamidbar 7:9 &12).

   

Imagine a Nazir - a week in, three weeks in,to the usual 30 day vow -sitting at the park and the man next to him has a sudden heart-attack and dies on the spot. Without question there is a trauma for anyone just from having watched this tragic event occur. For the Nazir, however, there is a deeper impact. All of the time he has passed as a Nazir until now is null and void, defiled and done. And he starts again.

   

There isn’t an option to opt out. You tried, life got in the way, so you try again. A recent discussion noted that there seems to be an increase in the “not my fault” culture in Western society. It’s the next step of everyone gets an award, and it is an attitude contrary to the values honed by living a Torah lifestyle. Leaning against a light switch as you enter a room and accidentally turning on the light on Shabbas is still a melacha.

   

When we take away personal responsibility, we diminish both our selves and the society in which we live. A Nazir may not be in the proximity of a dead body. This is it. This is the rule. You chose to become a Nazir, and you may not be near a dead body. If a person died next to you, this means that there is a reason, a part of a Divine plan, why you need to be a Nazir longer.

   

Giving up is easy, especially when the thing that interferes with success is “not your fault.” But that doesn’t build you as a human being, that doesn’t make you stronger; it doesn’t give you the internal koach to face the other challenges that life might throw at you.

   

It seems obvious that Bamidbar 7:9-12 is there because of very real and possible situations. Like all pasukim in the Torah, however, it also helps us find ways to live better lives. We hope to never face situations that require deep levels of grit and resilience, but the truth of the matter is that life is full of those challenging moments and the Torah helps us to prepare for them.

   

Wishing you all a good Shabbas.

(My grit story is that this is the second worked on for this parsha. When the first one fell apart, or wouldn’t really come together, at 9 am, I could have sent a message declaring no parsha this week, but I pushed forward and started again.)