Parashat Balak, Numbers 22:2 - 25:9

This week’s portion – Balak, named after the Moabi king – is, in my mind, the most interesting, intriguing, and fascinating of all portions of the week. It is interesting, because it contains prophecy prose that Yehoshua Leibovitz himself described as “the most exquisite of the entire bible.” For example, it includes the famous “Mah Tovu O’halei’cha Ya’akov” (“oh, how fair are your tents, O Jacob”), the first verse read by every believing Jew in the morning from his Siddur.  It is intriguing, because of its protagonist – a non-Jew named Bil’am, who is such an amazing and perplexing figure that many a commentator could not quite figure out who he really was. For example, Leibovitz is of the opinion that he might be Jessus Christ himself; Avrum Burg, in contrast, thinks he’s Moshe’s alter ego. That alone – and the fact that there is absolutely no consensus around his figure -- is quite unique in the entire cannon, and therefore intriguing.

And it is fascinating, especially to me, as it presents a wonderful question – a question so bizarre, so perplexing, so frightening, that its mere recitation alone may be considered serious blaspheme: Was the greatest believers of all time a non-Jew?

Today I would not be able to explain the many facets of this amazing story. I would ask you to read every word, and every line of it, of course. Instead, I would go over the story’s main themes, and try to explain them in an introductory manner for trying to understand the greatest, and deepest, of all portions.

The Story of Billam

Our story begins this week with a routine tool of international non-warfare at the time of the bible: A curse by a reputable “magician.” (We will not go into the deep meaning of the description of Billam as a magician, but those of you who are interested are welcome to ask me about it.) Thus, the King of the "cursing" nation – here, Balak, King of Moab – asks the magician, Billam (whose name alone reads like the Da Vinci code) to go and curse the Israelites. The actual invitation to curse by King Balak to Billam is executed through all the rules of diplomatic protocol: The King sends a group of dignified messengers to Billam (called in the Hebrew originals “angles,” perhaps for a reason); he asks Billam to curse the Israelites; and then the King, appropriately, closes by acknowledging Billam’s greatness: “For I have known that which you would bless shall be blessed, and that you shall curse will be cursed.” This so-far typical story for its time reaches a sudden turn when Billam -- a non-Jewish sorcerer -- opens his mouth for the first time to answer the dignitaries who came on behalf of the regional King: “Stay the night here, and I shall reply to you that thing which God would speak to me.” (Numbers, 22:8). This is very surprising, as the text doesn’t leave any trace of doubt as to which God does Billam intend to consult that night: we have the actual Holly name of being coming out of Billam’s mouth, unedited. 

The next verse is nothing less than shocking: “And God came to Billam and said: who are those people with you?” The conversation between God and Billam seems almost trivial, something that happens every day. And God doesn’t “speak” to Billam like He does to Moshe (so many times); rather, God “comes to” Billam. Indeed, later on, we hear (from Billam himself) the greatest praise a human has ever received from God (including Abraham, Mosses, and all the rest): “[He who] hears the words of God, and knows the opinion of the Supreme.” (24:16). So we are dealing here with someone who is in a higher level of intimacy with God   than any person before or since.  And, he is not Jewish. This is shocking. 

Moving along in the story, God refuses to send Billam to curse Israel, and Billam not only fully accepts that -- throughout the story, Billam will never once question or argued with God (even when his life hangs in the balance due to God's word), as Moshe has done many a time – and thus he orders the King's men to leave.  The King is not persuaded, however, sending Billam even higher dignitaries who promise Billam many more gifts for his services. Billam’s answer, again, is a classic: “Even if Balak (the King) would give me his entire home full of silver and gold, I would never violate the word of the Lord my God, whether it is to do the smallest or the biggest of things.” Again God “comes to” Billam at night, but this time orders him to go with the men in the morning.

So then Billam wakes up in the morning, and he saddles his mule.  Why would the text tell us that, and where have we heard that before? Well – and this answer may send chills down your spine – we heard that before in the story of the Akeda, when Abraham wakes up in the morning and saddles his donkey (Genesis 22:3). Yes, the preparation of the first “Slave of God,” the Father of our nation, to his greatest – and fiercest – test of belief, is now likened to that of this strange “magician” who came out of nowhere.  To eliminate any doubt of coincidence, comes the next verse – “and he is riding his mule and the two young servants with him,” exactly like Abraham, who was accompanied – other than by his son – by two young servants. (Finally, Balak also prepares “a ram on the altar” – just like Abraham’s.)  

The next part of the story is the most famous, when “an angel of God” stands in front of the said mule, with sword at hand. Initially Billam cannot see him, and therefore he gets angry with the poor mule. The mule, on its part, opens its mouth and begins talking. Only then, does God “opens his eyes” so Billam could see the angel. The symbolism, depth, and originality of this segment are so profound that I cannot begin to comment on them in this short space. But please, do read.

Importantly, Billam continues to produce pearls that only a true believer would: Thus, when he sees the angel for the first time, he immediately suggests to return home despite the fact that God himself ordered him to go. Like Job, Billam, too, accept God as is – without rhyme or reason.  

In the next parts of the story – which I cannot go over here, for lack of space – Billam repeats, time and again, that he would neither course nor bless Israel but rather do as God would tell him to. This is, again, nothing less than shocking, considering the fact that his professional reputation is riding on his performance; moreover, since the King and all his leadership team are present during those elaborate ceremonies, it very well might be that Billam’s life, too, were in danger (public disobedience of Kings' orders at the time was not often met with favor).  But instead, Billam time and again repeats: “whatever God would tell me to say, that I will keep to say.” (e.g., 23:12). And then, to top all that, Billam produces the most beautiful of prophecies, the most divine, ever-lasting collection of truly uplifting descriptions of the ideal nation of Israel.  And all that, we should recall, from a non-Jew.

The Lesson of Billam’s Story

Expectedly, the story of Billam presents huge difficulties to orthodox Judaism. Something is simply wrong here. It cannot be – cannot be – that a “goy” (non-Jew) would be so intimate with God; would be so courageous – in public – in front of Kings and leaders, citing as his only source of belief God himself (recall that Abraham, for example, was not that courageous when it came to his wife with the regional Kings); and, perhaps worst of all, that this man produced the most exquisite, the most often-cited, prophecies about Israel.

Far it is from me to solve this conundrum, which interpreters have been quarreling over for thousands of years. But allow me to offer my two cents here.  To me, this story is a cautionary tale – a precursor, if you will, to what is happening in these very days in Israel (when religious people prefer to go to jail and violate court orders, rather than not discriminating against poor Mizrahi girls in their school, citing as their only reference God himself).  And the message is this: We are the chosen people only to the extent that we act as one – vis-à-vis each other, and vis-à-vis God. "Chosen" is a burden, a liability, not a God-given right (pardon the pun). God is too great, and too powerful, to leave us with the monopoly over His representation on earth. He may choose His messengers – prophets, magicians (and that has another precedent, too, when God brings Shmuel to Saul, the King, through a woman-magician in Ein Dor who is not Jewish) , and others – and those messengers do not have to be Jewish. Just like not every Jewish person believes in God, similarly God does not have to believe only in Jewish persons. And to the extent that we think that only “we” produced the “slaves of God” (Abraham), or people who knew him “face to face” (Moshe), comes the great story of Billam and teaches us that it is among the non-Jews a person may emerge who would carry God’s message better than us, especially if we fail to behave as God expects us to. 

Thus, the G’mara said: “From Moshe to Moshe there has never been as Moshe” – In Israel, there has never been as Moshe; but in other nations, there has been; and who is he? Billam ben Be’or.”

Enough said. Shabbat Shalom.  

Parashat Chukat, Numbers 19:1 - 22:1

The portion of Chukat (literally, “the constitution of”[1]) is one of the most baffling of all Torah portions. At its center – like many a portion before and after – stands Moshe. The same Moshe who was aptly named “the slave of God.”[2]  The same Moshe on which the Torah bestowed the greatest of honors: “And never again has a prophet risen in Israel as Moshe, which God Himself knew face to face.”[3]  And yet, in this week’s portion, Moshe is not being praised. He is not being hailed as a great leader. Instead, Moshe is being punished.

This, of course, is the story of “Mei Ha’meriva”—the water of dispute.  According to the story, the People of Israel were complaining, not for the first time, about the harsh conditions in the desert. This time they demanded water. Moshe, as usual, turns to God. And God, as usual, does not let His slave down: “Take this cane and assemble the community . . . and you shall speak to the rock in front of their eyes, and it shall provide water.”[4]   Moshe, as always, complies: he takes his cane; he assembles the community; he tells them that from this very rock he would produce water.  But then something else happens: “And Moshe raised his arm, and hit the rock with his cane twice. And many waters came out [of the rock] and the community drank.”[5]

For this act – apparently[6] – Moshe was punished.

And the punishment was severe. God famously prevents Moshe from entering the Promised Land, the same land towards which Moshe has led the People for over 40 years.

Other than the reasons for this punishment, many of the commentators dealt extensively with its proportionality, or the relation between Moshe’s “crime” and the severity of the “punishment.”  Today, however, I would like to comment on another aspect of the punishment: its content. As far as we know, this was the first immigration restriction.  God, “Adon Kol Ha’Aretz” – the Lord of all the Universe – prevents Moshe from entering into a country he very much like to enter. Today, this “punishment” is extremely prevalent – indeed, the immigration policy of many countries is specifically designed to prevent people who want to enter from doing just that. Technically speaking, however, such a restriction is no longer considered a “punishment” at all (therefore, for example, the constitutional prohibition on “cruel and unusual punishment” does not apply to refusals of entry into the United States). 

But it is. For anyone who ever attempted to flee one country – either due to slavery, personal attacks, or persecution of any kind – and enter another, the inability to set foot in the new country is one of the harshest punishments imaginable. That is how many Jews felt as they were trying to flee Nazi Germany in the late 1930’s and early 1940’s, only to receive a cold shoulder from many nations in the West, including, unfortunately, this great country.

Today, too, the sign of “no entry” is shown too often to people the world over who attempt to find a new, safer home for themselves and their families.  But not only people who move across countries are subject of harsh immigration restrictions; in some cases, people become refugees in their own countries. These “Internally Displaced Persons” (IDPs) are growing in an alarming rate, and their current number eclipses 27 million.[7] 

Social-justice organizations, such as the AJWS, are stepping in to help. In the last year alone, the organization raised substantial funds and mobilized volunteers and resources to provided humanitarian aid to the millions – millions! – of refugees and Internally Displaced Persons who are the victims of the Darfur genocide.[8]  Other organizations lend their hand to refugees and IDPs world over – from Azerbaijan to Zimbabwe – in order prevent them from “dying on the mountain,” overlooking their own Promised Land – as happened to Moshe.

All this brings me to my final point:  Moshe may have been punished because he disobeyed the word of God.[9]  But this was not the underlying reason here. The real reason was the “meri’va” – the dispute over water in the community.  In other words, whenever a community is torn – over water, over land, over whatever resource – refugees and IDPs are the inevitable outcome.  That was the case at the time of the Torah; that is the case today.  Our first step in helping those victims, therefore, should be in trying to avoid disputes within our communities in the first place.  Only when peace – Shalom – would finally arrive, the problem of refugees and IDPs would also come to an end.   

Shabbat Shalom.

    

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[1]  Numbers 19:2; see also Numbers 20:21 (“And [the Torah] shall be for them an eternal constitution.”).  

[2] Deuteronomy 34:5

[3] Deuteronomy 34:10.

[4] Numbers 20:8.

[5] Numbers 20:11.

[6]  There are a myriad of views among the sages relating to the precise reasons for which Moshe was punished.  Suffice it to say that Eben-Ezra, the famous middle-ages scholar, noted that there “too many” views, which is a good enough reason to assume that none is particularly persuasive. 

[7] http://www.internal-displacement.org/

[8] http://ajws.org/emergencies/darfur/sudan_relief_and_advocacy_fund.html

[9] Numbers 20:24; see also Numbers 27:14.

Parashat Korah, Numbers 16:1-18:32

This week’s portion, Korah – named after its protagonist – brings home an important point about opposition and factions in Judaism: Both are not welcome.  The story is well known: Moshe encounters an opposition in the desert; he calls God for help; God kills them all. End of story. No other reported accounts of opposition appear throughout the forty years of wondering the desert. A very effective lesson.

I would like today to dedicate my limited space to a closer look at that story, and see whether the point about controversy – which, of course, failed as a matter of principle in Judaism ever since, as Halacha is the place for finding a plurality of opinions – was justified in the first place.   

Korah and His Followers – The Text

The story of Korah and his band of supporters (or, as they may be called today, his “posse”), is much more interesting and nuanced than appears at first site – the way it is abbreviated above, for example, which is the common (abbreviated) form of telling that story. 

Our first encounter with the figure of Korah is as a Levite – a servant of God, a person who has a special status among the many former servants who by now are walking for a little over a year in the desert. Recall also that only recently those people have accepted – in essence – their divine death sentence, as they all – as a generation – were judged to not enter the Promised Land by virtue of their collective adoption of the libelous report issued by the Spies.  So the People are angry; they are frustrated; they are tired; and they just learned that there’s no end in sight. With such leadership, it should not come as a great surprise that opposition emerges.

What is interesting about Korah’s actions is how calculated they are. Again, Korah himself is no shrinking violet – he’s a member of (in today’s terms) the North-Eastern Elite. But he doesn’t stand alone; along for the ride he brings an all-star team of 250 “chieftain of the community, chosen in the assembly, men of repute.” (Numbers 16:2) (Etz Hayim trans.).  Then these 250 “men of repute” gather, publicly, against Moshe. But in a very clever political maneuver, they do not argue that he never fulfilled his campaign promises, or that the water is no longer tasty.  They do not argue that they should arrive in Israel way prior to the forty-year mark, or that Moshe is no longer fit to lead.. Instead, Korah raises a philosophical-religious point, which is not only more sophisticated than the ones you even hear today in political rallies across the world; rather, it is a point which remains without a good retort until today. And here is Korah’s crystallized, short-but-crisp argument:

The entire People – everyone – is holly, and God is within them; Why would you [Moshe and Aharon] raise yourselves above the God’s congregation? [Num. 16:3]

 

Note that the argument, which is multifaceted, contains two political-science concepts: First, equality. Everyone is equally holly; God resides within all of us equally. Why would you stand above us? [The notion of equality, as it conflicts with the idea of human leadership (as opposed to divine leadership by God), was a source of great contention among Halachic scholarship. Our sages, who were experts on providing catchy phrases as answers to incredibly complex issues, tried to solve this dilemma with the famous (paradoxical) statement that the human leader is “a first among equals.”] Second, and very close to equality, is the populist notion of the sovereignty of the people (a variation on the theme of the notion of direct democracy as introduced by the ancient Greeks): We, the people, are all capable of leading ourselves; why should you select yourselves to do the job for us?

Note that though the argument is a direct attack on Moshe, it is not, at least on its face, either a direct attack on God (which is represented, according to the story, by Moshe) or a direct endorsement of Korah (or any of his people) as alternative leaders.  All it says is that since we are all equal no one human should feel – and act as if they are – superior.

Clearly, however, Moshe understands the challenge well. In a series of elaborate maneuvers – which involve fire, sacrifice, dramatic showing, and, of course, the by-now-unavoidable plea by Moshe to an angry God not to kill all of them (“would one person sin and You shall be wrathful on his entire community? – Moshe “kills the opposition” by creating a miracle, whereas “and the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them whole with their households, all Korah’s people and all their possessions, they went down alive into hell, and the earth closed over them and they vanished from the congregation.” (Num. 16:32-33).

Lessons from the Korah Story

What are the lessons of this story? Clearly, first and foremost – just as we learned in the story of the sons of the High Priest who dared suggest additional (“foreign”) fire and were killed for that – opposition to God, and in particular to his only true messenger, Moshe, is forbidden, and punishable by death.

Second, we learn that ever since early history, every society – even one governed by a true slave of God, a person who is extremely humble and always thinks about the good of the community – would, at some point, yield a band of strong opposition. The Founding Fathers have hoped that this would not happen here in America (see Federallist No. 10 on “factions”).  Others may have hoped that it would not happen in the Promised Land itself (indeed, throughout the first 29 years of its existence, between 1948-1977, Israeli was ruled by one party only (not to mention one person, who, eventually, was voted out by his own ruling party). But it happened both in Israel and the U.S., as it happened in every democracy before or since. The question of whether democracy is the best form of government has also been resolved, or so it seems, following a horrible world war. Still, it is useful to compare those models to the God-centered, one-man model that rejected the notion of opposition with all its might.

            Finally, it is worth mentioning that even within Judaism, the idea of one-view-trumps-all was rejected eventually, and rejected entirely. The entire Halachic canon – the Mishna, the Talmud, the Tosfot, the Q&A, and many, many other documents – are rife with opinion pluralism. Even this humble blog represent yet another drop in the ocean of Jewish pluralism. And that’s the model which, eventually, won. So thank you Korah for your important lesson, and our sincere regrets for your bad timing.

Shabbat Shalom.                                                                                                                            

Parashat Shlach Lecha, Numbers 13:1-15:41

This week’s portion, Shlach-Lecha (literally, “send over,” as in “send over people to Israel”) tells one of the most famous stories of the Desert Generation – indeed, a story that defines that generation – that of the Twelve Spies.

The Story of the Spies

The story, in essence, is that:  God instructs Moshe to send people to scope the Land of Canaan.  (This seemingly minor point – that God instructs Moshe to do so rather than that it was Moshe’s idea – is quite important. More on that later.)  Moshe, in essence, sends an “all-star team” consisting of all twelve leaders their tribes. Among them are two that would become very famous later – Ye’ho’shu’a Ben Nun (also known as Joshua here), and Calev Ben Yefoo’nai (aka Caleb). Moshe does not satisfy himself with mere forming of the committee; he also provides them with a detailed framework of their report: where to go, what to look for (“Is the people sitting there strong or weak? Consisting of many or the few? And what is the nature of the country? Is it good or is it bad? Etc., etc., - Numbers 13:17-20).  He also instructs them to bring “from its fruit.” The narrator is kind enough to tell us that that was the season for grapes (Num. 13:20).

The twelve spies are on sent their way, and they return after 40 days. They do bring grapes – hence the famous picture of two men carrying a huge cluster of grapes on a pole – as well as some other fruits. They also praise the Land as “flowing with milk and honey.” But then they come to the thrust of their report (and, interestingly, unlike most “spies-report” before and since, this one is done in public, when the entire people can listen and opine):  “Alas, the people occupying in the Land is fierce, and the cities are as fortresses and very big, and we have also seen the offspring of the Giant.” (Num. 13:28).  This, understandably, upset the listening people to no end; Calev, in response, is required to “hush all the people,” and tell Moshe that “[despite all that] we could still do it”; or, in more modern parlance, “Yes we can.”  The rest of the spies, however, concluded differently: “No, we would not be able to come to this country, as the people there are stronger than us.” (Num. 13:31)

The rest of the story is well known: The people of Israel become incredibly upset – they weep the whole night and complain to Moshe and Aharon, demanding that they would return to Egypt; Calev and Jushua try to save the day, claiming this Land is “very, very good” (twice the text reads “very”) and begging the people to trust God. The people, in return, decide to stone them (nothing new here – just read some of the responses (called in Israel “talk-back”) to the pieces published in the Israeli e-newspapers on the same Land today). God – not for the first time – has had enough; just like after the Golden Calf story, he confesses to Moshe on His wishes to destroy the people. Moshe pleads back – in one of the most moving and inspiring defense “closing arguments” ever heard (do read: Num. 14:13-19). God, in response (like any great Judge), decides to split the offer: While not killing all the people, He would “only” condemns them to wonder in the desert for 40 years – “as the number of days that you have wondered the Land; forty days – one day for each year” (Num. 14:34). In addition, God kills all of the spies – other than Calev and Joshua, of course – and then, to complete, kills (through the Amalekies, the eternal enemy of the Israelites) many other Israelis who dared challenge Him and climb to top of the local hill. End of story.

Lessons of the Story

The most obvious lesson of the story – as it is taught for years in Israeli schools, Sunday Schools, and otherwise – is that those who trust God are rewarded accordingly, and those who do not are punished accordingly.

Moreover, those who dare “libel” the Land of Canaan should be severely punished – by death, no less; while those who only sang its praises and described its beauty and fertility will become the future leaders of the People of Israel.

So far, so good. Or is it?

As loyal readers of this blog may come to expect, some serious doubts may be casted on this narrative upon closer reading. First, it was neither Moshe’s nor the people’s idea to be sent as spies to Israel – God Himself gave the order. That, of course, leaves us scratching our heads – why would God need to gather intelligence about the Promised Land? Is there anything He doesn’t know about it? “Of course not,” our religious friends would smile to us, knowingly, “He did not do that for Himself, He did it for the People – so they would know.” [Another option, according to which it was Moshe’s idea, but that he only invoked the highest authority possible to persuade the best-of-the-best to go is not “religious enough,” so we can put it aside for the moment.] Let us assume, then, that this task was, in Lincoln’s famous words, “of the people, by the people, and for the people.” So what went wrong?

The people who were sent – not shrinking violets are they – felt a duty to report things “as they saw it.” This is the most sacred duty of every spy and reconnaissance unit person ever since: as someone who was trained to perform this very same task more than 3,000 years later, I can personally testify that the value of “truth in reporting” is the most basic – and sacred – value we were taught to keep from day one; even – and in particular – if the news we had were not good news. Indeed, in military news, “good news” are often very suspicious; the spies – or the reconnaissance people – are expected to bring bad news, so the generals in the back can properly prepare for the worst.

The ten spies, therefore, didn’t “libel” the Promised Land at all. They told the story as they saw it (which, to be sure, is also extremely logical): There is a Land, at the heart of the Middle East, surrounded by deserts, hostile nations, and rough weather. Yet the Land is awesome – it is fertile, it is lush with milk and honey, and it is beautiful. Not surprisingly, this piece of land is dutifully guarded – the cities are fortified, and the people are fierce. It would not be easy – if at all possible – to concur it from them.

Any of that sounds not familiar today, 3,000 years later? Maybe they were not so wrong after all…

Shabbat Shalom.