Shelach
Shelach lecha is famous for the opening passage containing a description of the 12 spies entering the land of Israel. But it continues with those ubiquitous complaints about life in the desert from the children of Israel. It talks of sacrifice and a man found gathering sticks on the Sabbath who is stoned to death. It ends with what is now the third paragraph of the Shema – the command to make fringes in the corners of garments.
Shelach - Benjamin Ellis
Benjamin Ellis trained as a doctor, and lives in North London. Currently on a break from clinical work, he divides his time between the World Health Organization and working for the UK Department of Health as Clinical Advisor to the Chief Medical Officer. His views are his own, and do not represent any particular denomination, organisation or philosophy.
"The Lord spoke to Moses, saying, “Send for yourselves men to scout the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Israelite people." (Bamidbar 13:2)
Like so many political adventures, this week's parasha begins full of promise. The Israelites are in Paran, on the border of their Promised Land, and the preparations for conquest begin with a reconnaissance operation. And like so much in politics, the initial hope and anticipation are soon shattered. The scouts return with their cautious, pessimistic report; the people weep in despair and desperation and a generation is condemned to wander and die in the wilderness.
Where did it all go wrong?
The traditional explanations lay the blame squarely with the Israelites. Delving into the seemingly superfluous phrase "for yourselves", they detect subtle flaws in the Israelites’ motivation. According to Rashi's commentary of Bamidbar 13:2, their insistence on sending scouts implied a lack of reliance on God's direct help. Although God has instructed them to enter the land now, the Israelites ask first to send spies. Like an exhausted parent, God gives in to their demand, knowing full well that the cascade of events will lead to their ultimate punishment: to not enter the Promised Land. In the words of the Tanchuma (Tanchuma Shelach Lecha, section 5): "Now I will give them the opportunity to err through the words of the spies, so that they will not inherit it."
According to this explanation, their fundamental lack of trust leads directly to the dire outcome.
In his 1897 poem Metei Midbar Ha’acharonim, Bialik uses this story as an allegory for 19th century Europe. He urges those "lost in the desert" to leave behind the slavery, the death and the desolation and to embrace the new leadership, to walk "strongly and silently" towards the "new land". But some of the people won't move. They still want Moshe the rabbi, not Joshua the warrior. So, they too are destined to die in the wilderness. Written in the year of the First Zionist Congress (by a Volozhin-educated man who had come to embrace Zionism) the meaning is clear. Little did he know the wilderness that lay ahead in the next European century.
Rashi sees the parent-child relationship here in authoritarian terms, with disobedience leading to disaster. In a way, Bialik's reading reflects a different perspective on that same relationship. The parent generation, stuck in its ways, harks back to a previous era; the youth march on, crossing borders, conquering new physical, moral and spiritual territory. For Bialik, the death of the old generation is no punishment, but a sad, unavoidable necessity to allow progress. As Wordsworth said: "The child is father to the man".
Much has been written about the conflict of the generations, but can there be another way? Is there a way of relating to God where we are not wrongful children? Is there a way of relating to the past, our traditions - to God - where we treat each other as adults, behaving with respect and love?
The story of Joshua (read in this week's haftara) is different. He doesn't wait for God to instruct him; he simply sends the spies and gets on with planning the invasion. There are no terrible consequences. In this story, God's presence is in the background, supportive, loving from a distance. The work of raising the people is done. Now they must take responsibility for themselves.
It would seem we get the God we deserve, or at the very least the one we are ready for. If we, like the early Israelites, behave like needy children we will experience an authoritarian, didactic God, with both the security and control that entails. If we take an adult stance, assume responsibility for our own lives and futures, then we can aspire to a God who is a partner, a confidant, a rock of support and unconditional love.
Another Voice - Barbara Seaver
When Barbara Seaver isn't helping to organise Limmud Chicago (second weekend in February 2011!) or being a Limmud groupie (UK, Colorado, Philly), she teaches people how to use computer software.
Moses sends out spies
But only Josh and Caleb
Have faith God will help.
These three lines tell the part of this story that speaks to me every year because the message is so current. (Check out thetorahinhaiku.com for more.) The exaggerated reports about the "giants" in the "land that devours her settlers" rile up the masses just as unsubstantiated threats (weapons of mass destruction) lead the news stories today. The quieter, more positive stories about a community rebuilding itself after a flood and the establishment of a soup kitchen by high school students are relegated to later pages – if they're reported at all. The Biblical mass hysteria is subdued and the Land of Israel becomes home, albeit much later, just as Caleb quietly predicted "Ki yachol nuchal lah" (Numbers 13:30).
"We shall overcome," an almost exact translation of Caleb's words, was an expression that led the civil rights movement in the United States, too. And the words "Im tirzu, ain zo agada" (if you will it, it is no dream) spoken by Theodore Herzl, different words with the same message, guided a movement that eventually helped to bring about the State of Israel. In the face of apparent impossibilities, it’s important to listen to the quiet voice: "Ki yachol nuchal lah."
