Parashas Behaaloscha: To Stand at the Front You Need…

 This week’s parsha post will be rather quirky because, alas, I am still working my way through my pile of grading… It’s the raw side of being a teacher. Speaking of teachers, I see a particularly easy segue into this week’s Dvar Torah: How do we know that Moshe Rabbeinu was the first of Klal Yisrael’s teachers? It’s right there in pasuk 16:14 – “I cannot carry all this people by myself, for it is too much for me.” – Every teacher has days when they have just this feeling!

 In all seriousness, however, in the middle of Parshas Behaaloscha, after Bnei Yisrael are led by the eruv rav to want meat over manna, Moshe “heard the people weeping, every clan apart, at the entrance of each tent” (16:10). And he goes to Hashem fed up and frustrated. The people are too much…why? It isn’t their complaints specifically; Moshe knows that Hashem can do what ever is needed. It’s the complaining. It’s that when people get to that level of complaint, they are not able to be talked down – they aren’t able to see that they are being unreasonable.

 But, it’s also more than that. Moshe is an empath…Moshe feels their pain – his deep caring and empathy long proven beginning from the connection to the Israelite slaves even as he lived in the palace and through his days as a shepherd when he worried even after one little lamb. Imagine being an empath and all that feeling of urgent want coming at you. Moshe wants Bnei Yisrael to feel secure, which they expressively do not. He wants them to feel secure not just because it will make his life much easier, but because he KNOWS that there really is no better place to be than where they are at and they just can’t see it as he does. He wants them to understand the world with the Divinely guided senses that he has, and they can’t, and that hurts him.

 Hashem understands. Hashem sees that Moshe’s seeming anger is actually pain. And so Hashem tells Moshe: “Gather for Me seventy men from the elders of Israel of whom you have experience as elders and officers of the people, and bring them to the Tent of Meeting and let them take their place there with you.”

 Now I may be an English teacher, but mathematically speaking 70 doesn’t seem like quite enough to manage the needs of all of Bnei Yisrael. If there are 600,000 men of fighting age, then there are far more than a million in total… and just 70 elders plus Moshe. Also, if you hadn’t noticed, 70 is not divisible by 12, so it wasn’t as if Hashem was setting up a representational system in that every tribe had the same number of elders.

 Since I am an Engllish teacher, I will present a metaphoric idea. Seventy represents the bones of the nation.  In many ways, seventy is a continuum. It’s the multiplication of teva, nature, with infinity. Numerous commentaries bring down the correlation of the 70 elders to 70 descendants of Israel who came down to Egypt with Yaakov. What is important about that correlation? Over and over, Jewish society is built on 70. These were not the first seventy elders (though the first 70 died in Terebitha), and they were not the last (Indeed, did not Napoleon gather 70 rabbis plus one to try to form a new Sanhedrin!) But more than that, human civilization is built on 70. At the tower of Bavel, the Midrash says, Hashem split the people into 70 languages, and throughout the Midrash and aggadata we hear of the 70 nations.

 With Moshe and 70 elders, Hashem was laying down the foundation of building civilization, because a civil society needs a multi-faceted government. Everything cannot depend on one person or they either abuse that power or give up, the way Moshe feels in this perek, because there are so many different needs and different personality types and different ways of finding solutions. And 70 seems the perfect numerical unit for addressing this plurality of needs…an idea aligned with a statement in Bamidbar Rabbah – not connected to this particular perek – that reminds us that shivim panim bTorah, there are 70 faces to the Torah.

 This brings us to another concept brought down by quite a few commentators. Rashi attributes the idea to Sifrei Bamidbar. The commentary stems from the fact that Hashem did not literally say 70 men of the elders of Israel, He says 70 man – eesh – of the elders. He uses the singular. This, along with the description, “of whom you have experience as elders and officers of the people” lead us to understand that the men Hashem specifically had in mind were particularly unique, as Rabbeinu Bahya put it:  “G’d meant that Moses was aware that the people in question had demonstrated empathy for the people in Egypt absorbing physical punishment on their own bodies rather than inflicting it on their charges. The officers were the ones of whom we read in Shemos 5:14 that ‘they were beaten by their Egyptian counterparts’ for having displayed sympathy for the Jews they were in charge of. They had acquired experience in the qualities needed to deal with the people, and they had established a reputation for fair play.”

 Hashem saw that it was Moshe’s empathy that was causing him pain and frustration in dealing with the people, and while that did not feel so good for Moshe, it was exactly what made him a good leader. And Hashem wanted those who would share some of the burden of caring for Bnei Yisrael to have that quality to.

 It was, perhaps, Hashem reminding Moshe  - or the Torah reminding us all – of another fundamental concept. Hashem initially was going to create the world solely through His persona of Elokim – justice, but, before He began, He realized that a world based on justice, rules and laws, would not stand, and so He brought forth His attribute of rachamim, compassion. Moshe wanted help so Hashem sent him the necessary number 70 for setting up a court but made certain that those men were men of empathy, the critical characteristic of a true leader.

 And so, even as I face the chaos at the end of the school year and wonder how we survived the complaints and the challenges, I think back on my students and recognize the special and unique place they hold in my heart, and how I look forward to starting all over again next year… or I will look forward to that, just as soon as I finish these essays.

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An additional thought that came up as I was reading the pasuk: “Gather for Me seventy men from the elders of Israel of whom you have experience as elders and officers of the people, and bring them to the Tent of Meeting and let them take their place there with you.”

 I saw commentaries on the use of “lee” to Me, but as I read I was struck by the incredible compassion within Hashem’s response. He doesn’t say get these elders to help you for your sake. Hashem claims these elders. “Gather for Me.” And at the end of the pasuk, He says: vhityazvu sham eemach – they will take their place WITH you.

 At this moment of vulnerability for Moshe, Hashem doesn’t thrust another layer of leadership on him. He doesn’t say, “Okay, go form a committee to help you.” He tells Moshe to bring Him the men, that these elders will be His and that they will be WITH Moshe.

 It’s a subtle but profound lesson. When someone is overwhelmed, the solution is not to give them an additional level of responsibility…a lesson perhaps in the business world, but in day to day life – When someone is overwhelmed, don’t just tell them an organizational plan that they should implement – don’t add to their pile. Look to help them get out from being overwhelmed first. See the real problem going on.

 

Parshas Behalosecha: The Path was Always Meant to be Hard

 Parshas Behalosecha: The Path was Always Meant to be Hard

 Dedicated with tefilos for the safety of klal Yisrael in this tenuous time, and to a refuah shelaima for Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, and Sharon bas Shoshana

 Do you know what happened on the 20^th of Iyar, the second month of the year when you count from Passover. Before you invest time trying to remember all your high school classes or to rack your brain thinking of a holiday that falls on the 20^th of Iyar, know that it is a date with a rare status. It is in the Torah, but it is not a chag.

 The 20^th of Iyar was the day the Jews left Horev, left the base camp around Har Sinai. It was a big deal. They weren’t leaving Har Sinai with the intent to go wander in the Midbar for 38 more years. They were heading for the Promised Land.

 What is interesting is that the Torah provides us with such a specific date. One might think that it was something we would continue to note, that there would be some spiritual resonance as we see on so many other specific dates. Wasn’t Hashem assembling us and setting us in motion an indication that we were ready?

 Bnei Yisrael probably thought so. They probably thought they had resolved their issues.  I mean, look at the time frame: They had been at Har Sinai almost an entire year, and that can feel like a long time. True, a little over forty days after they arrived they had undone themselves with the Chait Haegel, but there had been repercussions – deaths – and there had been heartfelt teshuva. Moshe had returned again to the mountaintop for another forty days, and thus the first 100 days (roughly, obviously) had passed.

 To a human being, one year (and we see this is less) can feel like an incredibly long period of time. And while research may suggest that it takes two months to form or break a habit, changing deeper personal issues, such as addiction, requires a much longer commitment. Bnei Yisrael’s habits had changed. They seemed more present and capable on the externals because they were more focused on the right actions and goals, but deep down they had not truly repaired their weaknesses. Bnei Yisrael only looked ready on the surface. From the very chapter where we are set in motion, we see the fading of our spiritual resilience. Hardly had the nation set out then the complaints began. Most famously, from this week’s parsha, is the demand for meat. There was literally food falling from the sky and a raucous group of people wanted to know where the McDs was, so to speak.

 So why did we go? Why did Hashem begin the journey since, surely, He understood Bnei Yisrael’s true state? Perhaps the answer is that the journey had to start. Ready or not here I come, as we all say in childhood. You can’t grow if you stay in the same place. You have to take the journey in order to get to the destination. You have to fight your own inclinations in order to really change.

 Moshe, a man, was frustrated and distraught by the continual complaints and weaknesses of Bnei Yisrael, as we see in Bamidbar 11:11-15

Moses said to God, “Why have You treated me, Your servant, so badly? Why have I not found favor in Your regard, that You place the burden of this entire people upon me? Did I conceive this entire people? Did I give birth to them, that You say to me, ‘Carry them in your bosom, as a nursing woman carries a suckling,’ to the land You promised their forefathers? Where can I get meat to give all these people? For they are crying to me, saying, ‘Give us meat to eat.’ I cannot carry the responsibility of this entire people alone, for it is too hard for me. If this is the way You want to treat me, please kill me first, if I have found favor in Your regard, so that I not see my evil.”

Hashem’s anger, perhaps, was not at their actions but at the frustration at the fact that so many of them were not doing the necessary internal work that was necessary. He did not care that they wanted meat; He cared that they thought He could not provide it. He cared that they could not see beyond the immediate and the physical when the going got tough – and it wasn’t that tough.

 Thus Hashem declared “Is there a limit to Hashem’s power? You shall soon see whether what I have said happens to you or not!” (11:23). Those words, powerful in the situation at hand, are even more powerful over the resonance of world history. Life, individual and national, was never going to be easy. The need and desire for easy was not how Hashem designed the world. Easy does not lead to appreciation or connection or growth. It leads to apathy.

 Anyone who expects life to be easy has not read the Torah with open eyes. Hashem never promised Bnei Yisrael a walk in the park. It is interesting to note that we see this even in the previous perek when Hashem commands the fashioning of the two silver trumpets and explains that they are to be sounded to bring the people to assemble or to commence the movement of the camp. Then, however, Hashem added that

“If you go to war in your land against an adversary who attacks you, you must blow a teru’ah with the trumpets and be remembered favorably before God, your God, and thus be saved from your enemies. On your joyous days, on your festivals, and on your new-moon celebrations, you must blow a teki’ah on the trumpets, over your ascent-offerings and your peace-promoting feast-offerings, and it will be a remembrance before your God; I am God, your God” (10:9-10).

 There will be war. There will be struggle. But there will be feasts and festivals and joy. This is life. This is the only path to growth, and we, Bnei Yisrael, each have our individual journeys through which we develop our spiritual muscles, and our journey as a nation.

 I wish you all a beautiful Shabbas and hatzlacha on your path of growth.

Parshas Behaaloscha: A Day or Two, a Decade or a Millenia

 We all know that history repeats itself. We all know that there are few constants in world history as anti-Semitism. We all just didn’t expect to be living through the end  of such a short period of a golden age, an era when Jews are able to flourish and thrive. And this golden age has been particularly significant after the drastic devastation of the Holocaust.

 

It is fair to say that while there are other nations who have a history of being oppressed, there is no nation on earth that has experienced anything resembling the cycle of success and persecution as the Jewish people. But even with the knowledge of this history of the world, we, as individuals, are still trying to understand why now – why so soon – and why here.

 

The world is a journey, a march through time. When Hashem made us a nation and set in motion our journey from Mitzrayim, Hashem knew that it would be a long path ahead of us. Hashem told us that we would come into the Promised Land and that we would mess up and be kicked out. Hashem told us that we would transgress and lose our way and that we would face devastating punishment, persecution and exile. The warnings are not subtle.

 

But in His Torah, and in His relationship with the Dor HaMidbar, Hashem also provided the guidance for us to build our Emuna and Bitachon that would allow us to survive thousands of years of challenge. Hashem provided us with all of our needs, our sustenance, our clothing, etc. We wanted for nothing, not even water. Understanding Hashem’s capability to give everything a person needs reassures us in every generation that Hashem does give each person what he needs, on an individual level rather than just on a national level. The key is maintaining Emuna and Bitachon (no easy task).

 

The unceasing cycle of Jewish history, so prominent in our perception right now as we try to understand the seemingly sudden and rampant anti-Semitism, is part of the journey and the unknowable pattern of exile and movement. It is also something we can find allusion to (and take comfort from) in Bamidbar 9:22 - “Whether it was two days or a month or a year—however long the cloud lingered over the Mishkan—the Israelites remained encamped and did not set out; only when it lifted did they break camp.”

 

The Dor HaMidbar did not move through the Wilderness at a steady pace. They did not know how long they would be on the move before they stopped and encamped, and once they encamped, they did not know how long they would stay. They knew only one thing – that Hashem would let them know what they were to do.

 

It is interesting to note the Ohr Hachaim’s commentary that explains, in summary, that Bnai Yisrael were not “anxiously awaiting instructions to move.” The verses in perek tes are meant to demonstrate how the Dor HaMidbar “completely assimilated themselves to what appeared to them to be G'd's wishes in the matter….[they] did not pre-empt G'd's instructions when it came to making or breaking camp…” (as translated by Sefaria).

 

Bnei Yisrael in the Wilderness did not go forward and look at every rock and crag and wonder if this was where they would camp. They didn’t harass Moshe with “Are we there yets?” When they were moving, they were moving with purpose, and when they were told to settle, they settled completely. They were aware that they might have to move, but it did not stop them from unpacking, so to speak. They were not anxious because they understood that everything was up to Hashem.

 

Right now, it feels like an appropriate time to be anxious. However, when we reflect on the core traits of emuna and bitachon that our ancestors fostered in the Wilderness, we realize that anxiety serves no purpose. There are challenges, very real and very scary challenges, as we journey forward. We must, however, be like the Dor HaMidbar and know that our way in this world is all Yad Hashem.

 

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.