Fixing the Priorities of Bnei Gad and Bnei Reuven – For Our Very Survival

Parshat Mattos-Masei 

by Rabbi Avi Billet

One of the tales in our parsha concerns the tribes of Gad and Reuven who come to Moshe with a request that they believe will benefit them financially – they have many animals and they find that the land recently conquered by the Israelites is fertile and good for their flocks. 

 Moshe’s initial response concerns the fact that they are projecting preference for a land that is technically NOT the Promised Land as it is east of the Jordan. This sounds eerily like those who rejected the Promised Land in the times of the spies, preferring other lands (even a return to Egypt!). 

 With a little encouragement they quickly change their tune, noting how inappropriate it would be for them to sit comfortably in their new homes while the rest of the Israelites are fighting to conquer the Holy Land. “We will build enclosures for our sheep, and cities for our children. Our children will stay home while we are fighting, and we won’t come home until everyone else is settled. Our portion that’s coming to us is on the eastern side of the Jordan.” 

There are two glaring errors in the words they say. Firstly, they speak of building homes for their sheep before concerning themselves with their children. Secondly, they don’t mention God at all, even after Moshe told them about how their request to stay east of the Jordan sounded like those who challenged God at the time of the spies. 

 So Moshe responds to both issues by putting what should be their order of priorities, while doubling, tripling, quadrupling down on Who is in charge. “Moses said to them, "If you do this thing, if you arm yourselves for battle before the Lord, and your armed force crosses the Jordan before the Lord until He has driven out His enemies before Him, and the Land will be conquered before the Lord, afterwards you may return, and you shall be freed [of your obligation] from the Lord and from Israel, and this land will become your heritage before the Lord. But, if you do not do so, behold, you will have sinned against the Lord, and be aware of your sin which will find you. So build yourselves cities for your children and enclosures for your sheep, and what has proceeded from your mouth you shall do." [translation from Chabad.org] [32:20-24] 

 Their response indicates that they “got it.” Note the change of the order, and the mention of God. (32:25-27) 

“The descendants of Gad and the descendants of Reuben spoke to Moses, saying, "Your servants will do as my master commands. Our children and our wives, our livestock and our cattle will remain there, in the cities of Gilead. But your servants will cross over all who are armed for combat before the Lord, for the battle, as my master has spoken." 

We live in a very challenging time for our people. This is not just because the month of Av, the “bad-luck month” of the Jewish people, is upon us. But it is because the priorities of the Bnei Gad and Bnei Reuven are guiding much of the thinking of today, and our community (the greater Jewish community) is not immune from this challenge. 

 I was speaking with a colleague this week who told me how things have changed with the congregants he encounters. Those who used to be in higher-income professions, physicians and lawyers, are the current middle-class. On both sides of them there are the haves-very-much and the have-nots. And the haves-very-much have so much they don’t even know what to do with it. For example, there are people who charter planes to fly domestic at the cost of $20,000 and think nothing of it. 

 And on the other side, despite inflation and recession, there are people who do not know the secret of navigating this all-in business-gimmick getting-the-right-khap economy and world, who are struggling mightily. 

I asked him if he has seen philanthropy on the rise in the haves-very-much group, and the answer was not in as significant a way as it could be. Of course there could be those who give privately so no one knows. But the truth is, even those who live modestly despite their means are usually known to be generous if they are in fact givers. 

So the finances are a priority in a manner quite similar to that of the Bnei Gad and Bnei Reuven. 

 Are children marginalized? It’s a loaded question. I have no doubt that parents love their children. In fact I think parents try to do the best they can for their children, wanting to give them everything, and wanting to make their lives the easiest they can be.

However, as I have heard from Dr. David Pelcovitz on a number of occasions, that desire leads to an illness he refers to as “Affluenza.” The illness of having way too much and still not being happy. The privilege of not having to work for anything, and therefore not appreciating anything. 

 And while I do not know if this is a sign of finances, a product of tuition expenses (for those who can less afford), or other factors, but as a mohel I often hear people tell me after their third child – in quite definitive terms – WE ARE DONE. THERE WILL NOT BE ANOTHER. We’ve gone from a time when Jewish families more often had four or five children to three being the magic number. [This is simply an observation, and more of a lament than a criticism towards those who are blessed to be able to choose when to start and when to stop. It should certainly not be viewed as a criticism towards those who struggle with infertility, who, even when blessed with a child or two, know all too well that each child is a miracle, especially if each child was preceded by numerous miscarriages.] 

 And, putting it all together, God’s role in all of this. Those who prioritize their children and descendants, and their education in the ways of God and the ways of the Torah, are doing their best to demonstrate an understanding of the lives we are blessed to live. 

 But when there is no significant observance or enhancement of this life outside of what schools might offer, then even a kosher home and home that observes Shabbos will not be enough for us to see future generations holding fast to what should be our priorities. When davening (or even shul attendance!) doesn’t happen when school is out, when modesty rules are ignored by parents and children, when Torah study is confined to what we learn in school only, when people aren’t as strict about Kosher rules as they should be when on vacation, we are setting kids up for failure. 

Spending so much to send children to day schools and yeshivas, while not practicing the Torah-priority that the schools teach and preach, is the kind of thing children see through really quickly. In some cases it gets the kids to become more religiously attuned than their parents (thank God), and in some cases it leads them to drop everything altogether when they finish high school, if their questions were never answered or addressed, or if all they saw seemed hypocritical to them. 

No matter how we feel Bnei Gad and Bnei Reuven followed through with their commitments on the battlefield, the fact is that they remained outsiders to the rest of the tribes. And when time came to send the tribes off into exile, they were the first to be exiled and the first to be lost forever. 

 May our priorities of children and grandchildren being our most precious possessions shine through. May our focus on finances be balanced by a desire to be givers and to remember that our success comes from the Almighty. And may we always keep God front and center in our lives so that all that our ancestors lived and died for can remain their legacy as the Jewish people remain a significant force in the world, representing God and His Torah as best as we can.

Taking the Right Stand, Awarded Covenants

Parshat Pinchas

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The District Attorney of Manhattan dropped the murder charge against Jose Alba, partly due to the public outcry of his being arrested and held in Riker’s Island on $250,000 bond, and partly due to the reality that he was threatened by someone and defended himself through killing the man who attacked him. The surveillance video showed who was the aggressor, and who was the victim. Score one for Self Defense. 

 Contrast that to the story which concluded Parshat Balak, and whose aftermath opens our parsha, in which Pinchas takes a spear and stabs Zimri and Kozbi, the two of whom were committing a crime, but one which would be argued in our times as a presumably consensual act, which is at most a sin between Man and God if both Zimri and Kozbi are otherwise unattached. Therefore it is no person’s business, and Pinchas should have stayed out of it. 

 The Talmud Yerushalmi (Sanhedrin 9:7) notes the halakha that a man who is having relations with an Aramite woman (who can be defined as a woman from any enemy nation) is to have zealots kill him. This is codified in Maimonides, and the Shulchan Arukh writes (Even HaEzer 16:2) that IF the zealots DON’T kill him, only then is he in fact subject to a punishment from heaven (kares). Raavad (on Rambam Issurei Biah 12:4) notes the need for a warning to have taken place, even and especially if the act in question is taking place in public. Rama (Choshen Mishpat 425:4) notes that the perpetrator must be caught in the act (if the act has been completed, the zealot may not take matters into his own hand anymore). And if the zealot asks permission from the court (Bet Din) to act upon this halakhic dictate, the court may not grant permission, and he is not allowed to do what would have otherwise been his responsibility had he simply acted alone. 

The fact that all of these use a circuitous argument that the justification for such action is the tale of Pinchas lends itself to remind us of a few things. First, that God’s reaction in the aftermath is what tells us with 20-20 hindsight that Pinchas did what God wanted to be done. Second, the circumstances of vigilantism are dependent on outside, unpredictable factors. Third, while this is (unlike the case of Mr. Alba) not a case of self-defense, there is a place for standing up when a crisis is unfolding and the cause of the crisis is clear (note: it must be absolutely clear), and doing what must be done to stop that crisis. In Pinchas’ defense, there was a plague devastating the people on account of the sins of Baal Pe’or, which included the immorality of the Midianite (and Moabite) women enticing the Israelite men, the Zimri case being the poster-example of this problem. 

Rabbi Moshe Shternbuch noted that while the Torah tells us “And the name of the man of Israel who was struck with the Midianite woman was Zimri ben Salu, Prince of Shimon,” it does not tell us that “the name of the man who struck Zimri and Kozbi was Pinchas” because that wasn’t the goal here. Pinchas viewed himself as defending God and the Jewish people (the latter were being struck down by a plague), and the taking of Zimri’s life was of the ilk that caused him (Pinchas) only pain and stress. The Torah doesn’t call him a murderer or killer because he didn’t want to do it! He was trying to honor and sanctify heaven, and it was as if he killed the amorous couple against his own will. 

 It gave him no pleasure to do what he did. 

This approach to this tale helps us understand why God had to award to Pinchas two covenants – the ברית שלום (a Covenant of Peace or Wholeness) and a ברית כהונת עולם (Covenant of Priesthood for Eternity). 

 On the one hand, Pinchas had been “grandfathered out” of being a Kohen, because he was already born when he grandfather and father became Kohanim, and it was only all males born after that time would automatically become Kohanim. Because Pinhas was already alive, he did not go through the process that would turn him into a Kohen. On another hand, Pinchas was the grandson of Aharon and the son of Elazar. Surely he was brought up in a home in which what was modeled for him were the ways of being אוהב שלום ורודף שלום – a lover and pursuer of peace. 

 The two covenants, then, put Pinchas in a position in which he can be a Kohen and ALSO put this episode behind him, as he will now focus solely on the spiritual side of his existence, which is to train to one day take over for his father as the Kohen Gadol, and to be a lover and pursuer of peace. 

 And yet, the passage in the Yerushalmi quoted above tells us that the rabbis of his time wanted to excommunicate Pinchas over the role he played here. תני שלא ברצון חכמים. ופינחס שלא ברצון חכמים א"ר יודה בר פזי ביקשו לנדותו So which one is it – did he do the right thing or the wrong thing? 

It seems the “Hakhamim” were in a particular pickle, because from their vantage point, even if Pinchas was proven justified, he still put his life in danger through picking up a weapon. Even to fulfill the rule of “one who has relations with an Aramite is to be killed by a zealot” one is not required to risk one’s life. It was God’s declaration of giving Pinchas these covenants that ultimately vindicated Pinchas and demonstrated to the rabbis not to excommunicate Pinchas. 

What were these covenants about? 

The Bris Shalom: That he would live a long time (possibly forever) [Targum Yonatan, Seforno]; that he is untouchable, that no one could hurt him – especially the relatives of Zimri and the relatives of Kozbi [Midrash Aggadah, Rashi, Ibn Ezra, B’chor Shor, Chizkuni, Daas Zekenim]; that he is now complete as a Kohen, a status that he didn’t have earlier [Daas Zekenim, R’ Chaim Paltiel]; that he wouldn’t lose his Kehunah on account of killing someone [Chizkuni, Riv”a]; 

The Bris Kehunas Olam: that he could become a Kohen [Rashi, Rabbenu Bachaye]; that his line would be the Kohanim Gedolim [Targum Yonatan, Ibn Ezra, Rashbam, Chizkuni , Netziv]. 

Under certain conditions, a Kohen who kills someone becomes unfit to serve as a Kohen. While he wasn’t technically a Kohen at the time of this tale, the act of killing Zimri should have nonetheless disqualified him. But it didn’t, because God, who makes the rules, declared upon him these covenants, thereby clearing the path for his ultimate destiny. That he didn’t get any joy or pleasure from killing Zimri and Kozbi certainly goes in his favor as being one who pursues peace, and pursues the sanctification of heaven. 

Every time there is a news story of an individual who stops a “bad-guy” (such as what happened in Indiana this week), good people look at it and say “this is what swift justice looks like.” We can argue whether a person should let the police take care of it, but as we are learning about Uvalde (and saw in Parkland a few years ago), sometimes the police are not enough, or show up too late. 

 While hopefully none of us are ever challenged with the kinds of situations Pinchas faced, or even Mr. Alba faced, what we learn from both stories is the need to protect and sustain lives worth protecting. 

For our purposes, we should ask ourselves, especially in this time period leading to Tisha B’Av, where and under what circumstances we would be ready to take the ultimate kind of stand. To defend the defenseless. To call out bad behavior. To stand for God and truth. 

 If we can recognize that which we value most, we should lift it up and cherish it. And then hopefully we too can feel that we have earned our own Covenant of Shalom – whether it be of peace, of wholeness, or of knowing that we did the right thing. And that Covenant should be one that is everlasting, one that we carry to our graves and hopefully bequeath to whoever is left to carry the torches we bear to illuminate our world with goodness and light.

The Unity We Learn From Bilaam

Parshat Balak

by Rabbi Avi Billet

This Shabbos is the 17th of Tammuz (which will be observed as a fast day on Sunday), which means the 3 weeks begins today, and that 9 Av is around the corner. This makes this times of year a time of reflection.

It’s not just that 9 Av is a sad day and we need to prepare ourselves, through a gradual but relatively quick mourning period, to be ready for 9 Av. It’s because the Talmud Yerushalmi (Yoma 5:1:1) tells us – כל דור שלא נבנה בית המקדש בימיו כאילו נחרב בימיו – every generation in which the holy Temple isn’t (re)built in its days [should be viewed] as if it were destroyed in its days. The main reason for it not being rebuilt in our time is because we (the collective Jewish people) are unworthy of experiencing that blessing. 

 One can easily point to the sad reality that far too many Jews know very little about Judaism. If even connected to any communal infrastructure, many more are connected to a JCC than a synagogue. 

 Too many Jews know little to nothing of Shabbos, of kosher, of davening, of shul. Too many Jews think “a mitzvah = a good deed” (a mitzvah, in fact, is “a commandment”), and that the most important principle of Judaism is “Tikkun Olam” (which truthfully means nothing beyond bringing God’s reign back to the world – see the reference we say daily in the prayer of עלינו/Aleinu). 

 Too many Jews think their politically-informed identities stem from their Jewish values, and are unaware that God, Torah and Mitzvot are supposed to inform the lens through which we model and showcase who we are and what we stand for. 

The idea that “The Book” refers to only the Five Books of the Torah, and that Mitzvot are suggestions, indicates an ignorance of who we are supposed to be as individual people and what we are supposed to be as a People. Torah as we define it is much more vast than five books. It includes the 24 books of the canon of the Bible, as well as all of the Talmud, and the commentaries on all of these books, as well as Halakhic Codes and Responsa Literature across the millennia. 

 Too many people are on the edge, or close to gone. It’s been said that more Jews have been lost to Judaism through assimilation and ignorance-of-Judaism than through the Holocaust. 

 After having been hired by Balak, Bilaam appears on the scene, and after spending the night in Balak’s place, the Torah tells us “In the morning, Balak took Bilaam, and brought him to the High Altars of Baal, וירא משם קצה העם - where he could see [as far as] the outer edges of the [Israelite] people.” 

What does קצה העם mean? What did Bilaam see? 

From the Living Torah: The idea of his seeing “as far as the eyes can see” is advanced by Baaley Tosafoth; Paaneach Raza; cf. Ramban. Now he saw the entire camp, because later he saw only part of it (Numbers 23:13; Lekach Tov). Others, however, maintain that he only saw 'the edge of the camp' (Tur; cf. Ramban). 

 Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan mentions those and also includes the possibility that it means that he saw the camp's outcasts (Midrash HaGadol; cf. Targum Yonathan).

Let us explore two more commentaries - Kli Yakar and Netziv – perhaps to see what Bilaam was looking for, what he found, and what our mission in life has to be. 

 Kli Yakar writes that in the first place it says he saw קצה העם. Then it says (second time) אפס קצהו תראה וכולו לא תראה – he only saw the קצה, but not everything. Third time it says וירא את ישראל שוכן לשבטיו, which implies that he saw everyone just before he said the famous words of מה טובו. 

 Kli Yakar explains this was in fact a 3-stage process. First he looked at their קצה, which is not their out of touch cohort, but is the edge which is their “front-line”! It’s the fathers! If the fathers (the roots and trunks) are valueless and powerless, then the branches and leaves have nothing holding them up. 

 The second stage was to look at the branches to see if he could find a flaw in future generations. This is כולו לא תראה, because when you’re only looking at the children and not the parents, you’re missing something in translation.

Third, when he couldn’t find a flaw in the parents, nor in the children, he needed to look at them in their totality, and throw an עין הרע (evil eye) against a complete entity. 

Netziv offers a counter approach that Bilaam was perhaps unable to see the entire population because he had enough self-awareness to realize that he was not going to be successful against the entire nation. He purposely did not look to see everyone because it was an exercise of futility, leading to failure. 

 What is most clear from all these commentaries is that what Bilaam actually saw is quite unclear. And, with rare exception in the course of Jewish history, it can be argued that clarity has always been lacking. Our people are not always on the same page. Not politically. Not religiously. Not in terms of how we learn and study Torah. Not in terms of how we educate our youth. Not in how we daven. Not even, sadly, in how we view where we are headed as a People. 

 What are our common goals? 

What unites the Jewish people other than “being Jewish”?

That certainly is a place to start… it may not bring the Messiah or the Temple, but “being Jewish” is a uniter in a way that is hard to explain. When compared to other groups who have differences within their ranks, Jews were far less likely to take up arms against one another in the last two millennia.

Who kills the most Muslims in the world? Muslims. Who is responsible for the most violent deaths of African-American youth in this country? African-American youths. In the history of the world, people under smaller tents of a larger group were often at each other’s throats over their differences – even when, for example, they both identified as Christians. Think Protestants and Lutherans and Catholics. 

This is not to say there hasn’t been violence of Jew against Jew. Tanakh mentions several Jewish Civil Wars. And there have been murders in Israel, of a Jew murdering a Jew. 

 In his book “It’s a Small Word, After All” Hanoch Teller tells a story of a battalion leader in WWI who has caught the enemy battalion leader in his sights through his telescope. As he plans his attack, he tells his men, when we get there and defeat them, you leave that one for me. And he looks forward to taking the other man’s life. 

To make a long story short, when his battalion does attack and defeat, he’s about to take the life of his adversary, when the latter cries out “Shema Yisrael Hashem Elokaynu” and his mortal enemy, who is also a Jew, says, “Hashem Echad” and spares him. Because how can he knowingly kill a fellow Jew? Maybe קצה העם means the extremes. Bilaam looked at the extreme right. He looked at the extreme left. And he couldn’t understand. These people have nothing in common! How could they get along? 

And when he tried to curse them the third time, the words just came out. מה טובו אהליך יעקב משכנותך ישראל. 

 There’s something about your אהל (tent). Something about your משכן (dwelling place) Or, perhaps, your place of worship, which connects you in a way that nothing else can. 

 When we can sit next to someone with whom we might share little in common, but we can daven together and have that religious shared experience together, we let differences fall aside because of our commonalities in our dedication to God, Torah and Mitzvos, we demonstrate who we are, and why Bilaam was unsuccessful in each attempt.

 אהבת ישראל defeats differences in upbringing, in life experiences, in politics, because in our kind of community setting, barring the exception of each person’s individuality, our commonality makes a bond which is really unexplainable. 

We feel pain when a Jew is murdered for being a Jew – no matter where in the world. We are bitter over the high standards to which Jews are held by society. We are embarrassed by Jews who make it to the newspapers for crimes in which their Judaism is brought up, as if Judaism informs their immoral or unscrupulous behavior, behavior which is certainly not guided by any semblance of Torah. 

 Bilaam couldn’t understand it, but he was nevertheless able to perceive and intuit that which went beyond his skill set. He saw that the Ohel and the Mishkan, the Jewish home and the Jewish Temple are incubators for a different kind of unity than we see in other groups. 

Are we (the global Jewish community) therefore the perfect community? We certainly have much to improve upon. We don’t always put the “You are my Jewish brother or sister” directive at the front of what guides our encounters with other Jews. This is the challenge of the 3 weeks and 9 days. To at least explore if there is a possibility of finding common ground. Bilaam saw a group of individuals and was looking for what divided them. Instead, all he could see was what united them, and that made them untouchable. 

Bilaam certainly saw the unity in the Ohel and the Mishkan. That may be a starting point. Perhaps Israel can be a uniter. Perhaps Shabbos can be a uniter. Perhaps loving one’s fellow Jew can be a uniter. Perhaps the Torah will one day be the uniter. Maybe God Himself will be Who unites us all once again – לתקן עולם במלכות ש-די 

If we can find what unites us, and highlight it and emphasize it, hopefully we’ll merit for this time period that is upon us to turn מיגון לשמחה with the arrival of Moshiach Tzidekinu.

When Did Miriam Die?

In which year did Miriam die? 

The Torah tells us (Bamidbar 20:1)- וַיָּבֹ֣אוּ בְנֵֽי־יִ֠שְׂרָאֵל כָּל־הָ֨עֵדָ֤ה מִדְבַּר־צִן֙ בַּחֹ֣דֶשׁ הָֽרִאשׁ֔וֹן וַיֵּ֥שֶׁב הָעָ֖ם בְּקָדֵ֑שׁ וַתָּ֤מָת שָׁם֙ מִרְיָ֔ם וַתִּקָּבֵ֖ר שָֽׁם 

"And the Children of Israek came to Midbar Tzin in the first month, they settled in Kadesh, and there Miriam died and was buried." 

Targum Yonatan is more specific on the date, claiming בְּעַשְׂרָא יוֹמִין לְיַרְחָא דְנִיסָן, which means this was on the 10th of Nissan (the first month). 

As far as the year number goes, most commentaries follow the viewpoint expressed by Rashbam, בחדש הראשון שלסוף ארבעים שנה, that it was in the 40th year of their being in the wilderness. 

How is Rashbam so sure this was the 40th year? He writes הרי מת אהרן אחריה בחדש החמישי בשנת ארבעים לצאת בני ישראל כדכת' בפרשת אלה מסעי. He makes a basic association to the death of Aharon, described later in the same chapter (Bamidbar 20), and since that clearly took place in the 40th year, her death must have also taken place in the 40th year. Rashbam is sure to show us how we know Aharon died in the 40th year, which is not actually mentioned in Bamidbar 20, through pointing to the verse in Masei (Bamidbar 33:38-9), which says וַיַּעַל֩ אַהֲרֹ֨ן הַכֹּהֵ֜ן אֶל־הֹ֥ר הָהָ֛ר עַל־פִּ֥י יְקֹוָ֖ק וַיָּ֣מָת שָׁ֑ם בִּשְׁנַ֣ת הָֽאַרְבָּעִ֗ים לְצֵ֤את בְּנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ מֵאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרַ֔יִם בַּחֹ֥דֶשׁ הַחֲמִישִׁ֖י בְּאֶחָ֥ד לַחֹֽדֶשׁ: וְאַהֲרֹ֔ן בֶּן־שָׁלֹ֧שׁ וְעֶשְׂרִ֛ים וּמְאַ֖ת שָׁנָ֑ה בְּמֹת֖וֹ בְּהֹ֥ר הָהָֽר.   Aharon died on Hor Hahar "in the 40th year since the Exodus... in the first day of the fifth month (what we would call Rosh Chodesh Av)... and he was 123 at his death."

But there is a small problem. The Torah equates Midbar Tzin with Kadesh. How long were they in Kadesh? 

In Masei (Bamidbar 33:36-37) we are told of certain stops along the journey, “They went from Etzion Gaver to Midbar Tzin which is Kadesh, and they went from Kadesh to Hor Hahar, which is at the border of Edom.”

We knew of this location, because Edom and Seir are essentially the same place, and the opening verses of Devarim remind us that Kadesh is near Har Seir (which includes Edom area). When Moshe began speaking the book of Devarim (1:2), we are given certain coordinates as to where Bnei Yisrael are. אַחַ֨ד עָשָׂ֥ר יוֹם֙ מֵֽחֹרֵ֔ב דֶּ֖רֶךְ הַר־שֵׂעִ֑יר עַ֖ד קָדֵ֥שׁ בַּרְנֵֽעַ   

        “11 days from Chorev, by way of Har Seir until Kadesh Barnea.” 

Moshe also notes there (Devarim 1:19) that after leaving Sinai, they traveled through all of the wilderness until they arrived at Kadesh Barnea. 

וַנִּסַּ֣ע מֵחֹרֵ֗ב וַנֵּ֡לֶךְ אֵ֣ת כָּל־הַמִּדְבָּ֣ר הַגָּדוֹל֩ וְהַנּוֹרָ֨א הַה֜וּא אֲשֶׁ֣ר רְאִיתֶ֗ם דֶּ֚רֶךְ הַ֣ר הָֽאֱמֹרִ֔י כַּאֲשֶׁ֥ר צִוָּ֛ה יְקֹוָ֥ק אֱלֹהֵ֖ינוּ אֹתָ֑נוּ וַנָּבֹ֕א עַ֖ד קָדֵ֥שׁ בַּרְנֵֽעַ: 

It is in that context that Moshe tells over that from Kadesh Barnea the spies went out and gave their bad report. This is supported by the verse in Sh'lach in which another Midbar is associated with Kadesh - Midbar Paran: וַיֵּלְכ֡וּ וַיָּבֹאוּ֩ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֨ה וְאֶֽל־אַהֲרֹ֜ן וְאֶל־כָּל־עֲדַ֧ת בְּנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֛ל אֶל־מִדְבַּ֥ר פָּארָ֖ן קָדֵ֑שָׁה (see Bamidbar 13:26) 

After recounting that tale in Devarim, the Torah tells us וַתֵּשְׁב֥וּ בְקָדֵ֖שׁ יָמִ֣ים רַבִּ֑ים כַּיָּמִ֖ים אֲשֶׁ֥ר יְשַׁבְתֶּֽם (1:46) – you settled in Kadesh for many days (years), as the days (years) you dwelled in other places. This equivalence prompted the Midrash Tannaim to suggest they were in Kadesh for 18 years, while Rashi notes they were there for 19 years! ותשבו בקדש ימים רבים - י"ט שנה. After noting how much time they were in Kadesh, Rashi adds that they wandered around for 19 years, and then at the end of their journeys they returned to Kadesh. This begs one question, of where Kadesh was.

But perhaps more significantly, are Kadesh and Kadesh Barnea the same place? 

Ramban says they are not (we'll get back to this shortly).

According to Ibn Ezra (Devarim 1:46) they indeed are the same place! ותשבו בקדש - קדש ברנע. 

Moshe recounts in Devarim 2:12-16 that the time from their being in Kadesh Barnea until crossing Zered River was 38 years, until the entire generation that left Egypt had passed away. This covers the 18 or 19 years of Kadesh, plus all the other journeys in between. Different things happened there at different points in time! 

The part that gets hazy, though, is when Moshe conflates a few stories in a certain recounting of events in Devarim 9, that seems to be a retelling of the episode of the Golden Calf. In that context he specifically mentions God getting really angry at Aharon, wanting to destroy him (presumably over his role with the Golden Calf), and while mentioning in quick passing certain other events, Moshe concludes this passage saying that “When God sent you out of Kadesh Barnea telling you to conquer the land, you rebelled against God’s word, not trusting Him and not listening to Him. You were rebellious against God from the day I first knew you” (Devarim 9:23-24) 

וּבִשְׁלֹ֨חַ יְקֹוָ֜ק אֶתְכֶ֗ם מִקָּדֵ֤שׁ בַּרְנֵ֙עַ֙ לֵאמֹ֔ר עֲלוּ֙ וּרְשׁ֣וּ אֶת־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר נָתַ֖תִּי לָכֶ֑ם וַתַּמְר֗וּ אֶת־פִּ֤י יְקֹוָק֙ אֱלֹ֣הֵיכֶ֔ם וְלֹ֤א הֶֽאֱמַנְתֶּם֙ ל֔וֹ וְלֹ֥א שְׁמַעְתֶּ֖ם בְּקֹלֽוֹ: מַמְרִ֥ים הֱיִיתֶ֖ם עִם־יְקֹוָ֑ק מִיּ֖וֹם דַּעְתִּ֥י אֶתְכֶֽם 

A few pesukim later we hear Moshe describing his descent from the mountain with the second tablets, and how they traveled from “Bee’rot Bnei Yaakan to Moseir where Aharon died and was buried.” 

We know from other sources (see above, 4th paragraph from the top!) that Aharon died at Hor Hahar, not at Moseir, and that he didn’t die in the immediate aftermath of the Golden Calf, but he died in the 40th year. [There are many answers to the question of Aharon’s death being reported in this context, which is not our topic here!] 

What is clear is that Aharon’s death is being reported upon not in the time frame when it happened, nor in the place where it happened. Could we suggest the same thing about the Kadesh references, that they appear sporadically through the Torah, and they take place in the same space? Ibn Ezra obviously thinks so.

But Ramban takes Ibn Ezra to task, saying NO, Kadesh and Kadesh Barnea are two different places, and the death of Miriam absolutely happened in the 40th year. 

Ramban writes: 

וטעם וישב העם בקדש - לומר כי כאשר נכנסו במדבר צין עד קדש מתה מרים. וטעה ר"א שאמר בעבור שישבו שם ימים רבים כי כן כתוב. כי קדש אשר כתוב בו (דברים א מו) ותשבו בקדש ימים רבים כימים אשר ישבתם, הוא קדש ברנע והוא במדבר פארן, ומשם נשתלחו המרגלים בשנה השניה ושם חזרו, אבל קדש זה הוא במדבר צין ובאו שם בשנת הארבעים ושם מתה מרים, ומקראות מפורשים הם: 

The following translation is taken from Sefaria: "The intention thereof is to tell us that when they had entered the wilderness of Zin as far as Kadesh, Miriam died. Rabbi Abraham ibn Ezra erred [here] when he commented: “...because they stayed there for a long time," for so it is written. Kadesh that is written of (in Deuteronomy 1:46): So ye abode in Kadesh many days, according unto the days that ye abode there. It is this Kadesh-barnea which is in the wilderness of Paran [and not in the wilderness of Zin, mentioned here]. It was from there that the spies were sent out [to see the Land] in the second year [after the exodus], and thence that they returned. But the Kadesh [mentioned] here is in the wilderness of Zin, and they [only] arrived there in the fortieth year [after the exodus], and there Miriam died. The verses are explicit [on this matter]. 

The problem with Ramban here is that he is ignoring a verse in the episode of the spies (Bamidbar 13:21) that would seem to equate Midbar Paran with Midbar Tzin, which would thereby suggest that Kadesh and both of those wildernesses (Paran and Tzin) are the same place! 

וַֽיַּעֲל֖וּ וַיָּתֻ֣רוּ אֶת־הָאָ֑רֶץ מִמִּדְבַּר־צִ֥ן עַד־רְחֹ֖ב לְבֹ֥א חֲמָֽת: Translation of the verse: "They went up and toured the land, from Midbar Tzin until Rehov to arrive at Hamath

Chizkuni is on the same page as Ramban, however, as he writes: 

 וישב העם בקדש עמדו שם ארבעה חדשים עד חדש אב שבו באו להר ההר ושם מת אהרן ואין זה קדש שנאמר עליו ותשבו בקדש ימים רבים שהרי אותו קדש איל פארן הוא ונקרא קדש ברנע וממנו נשתלחו המרגלים וקדש זה שנאמר וישב העם בקדש הוא במדבר צין בגבול ארץ אדום. 

Translation: “The people settled in Kadesh, and there, 4 months later, in the month of Av, they came to Hor Hahar, where Aharon died. And this is not the Kadesh about which it says they were there for many years, because that Kadesh is “Eil Paran” and its called Kadesh Barnea. It was from there that the spies were sent out, while this Kadesh is in Midbar Tzin and it’s on the border with Edom.” 

As noted, the spies left from Midbar Tzin, which presents a problem that both Ramban and Chizkuni ignore. 

But there is another perspective which winds it all together, and that is Rabbenu Bachaye: 

He first suggests that Kadesh here (in Bamidbar 20) and Kadesh Barnea are different places. “Kadesh is a city and it is Midbar Tzin” (based on Bamidbar 33:36) “It can’t be Kadesh Barnea beause Kadesh Barnea is in the wilderness.” He goes on to distinguish between Midbar Tzin, Midbar Sin, and Midbar Sinai, all of which are different places. But he concludes this segment saying the following: 

 ודע כי ימים רבים ישבו בני ישראל בעיר הזאת ששמה קדש, הוא שכתוב: (דברים א, מו) "ותשבו בקדש ימים רבים". ודרשו רז"ל: (תנחומא וישב א) כל מקום שנאמר "וישב" אינו אלא לשון צער, ולפיכך כתיב: "ותמת שם מרים", וסמך מיד ענין הסלע שהיה סבה למיתת משה ואהרן במדבר ולא זכו ליכנס לארץ. 

“Know that the Bnei Yisrael lived in this city, called Kadesh for [a long time] (as in Devarim 1:46), and anytime they lived somewhere – as described used the word וישב – it is a language of pain/suffering. Which is why Miriam’s death is noted as having happened there, and is immediately followed by the tale of the rock (Mei Merivah), which was the [main] reason given for the deaths of Moshe and Aharon and their non-entry into the land.” 

Knowingly or unknowingly, Rabbenu Bachaye is opening a few interesting doors of possibility here. 

1. That Miriam’s death and Aharon’s death are thematically connected more than chronologically connected 

2. That Miriam’s death and therefore association with the well may be more coincidental to the theme hinted to in #1 than causal 

3. That the episode of Mei Merivah took place much earlier than the 40th year (to boot, why would the 2nd generation pine for Egypt when they have either hazy or NO memories of Egypt or bondage?) 

4. That Miriam’s death was much earlier in the wilderness experience than the 40th year. 

It should seem obvious, but we ought to wonder about the passage of time in the Torah. Typically we assume a jump of 38+ years between the end of Bamibdar chapter 19 and the beginning of chapter 20. Could it be that some of the tales we find in the Torah happened later - during the 38.5 years of waiting?

It is not uncommon for the Torah to insert tales based on a thematic connection rather than a chronological connection. See for example, the timing of the Blasphemer (Vayikra 23), the woodchopper (Bamidbar 15), Pesach Sheni (Bamidbar 9). 

While the majority of commentators seem very set that Miriam died in the 40th year, the more I look at it, I find inconsistencies that make me unsatisfied, and the more I am open to the idea that Miriam did NOT die in the 40th year, and that her death may or may not have been directly related, causally or not causally to the absence of water at that time. 

The idea that the consequence to Moshe and Aharon should be so severe, and so abrupt, honestly, troubles me. It seems that this story could have happened ANY TIME in the 40 years, simply because there are OTHER reasons Moshe and Aharon AND Miriam would not be leading the people or entering the land or both.

I think there is value and merit to Miriam’s death not being associated with a specific year (unlike Moshe’s and Aharon’s for which, despite some of the contradictory verses, it is clear they both died in the 40th year). 

Why does it matter, or why does it not matter? 

Because Miriam’s death was underplayed. That is the tragedy of Miriam’s death. The consequences of the story which follow may have been directly connected to her death – the lack of crying the lack of mourning, and the confrontation with Moshe and Aharon. And it may have been thematically connected: here is Miriam’s death, and here is a related event that led to the deaths of Moshe and Aharon.

In the end, the Torah leaves it vague. Anything other than the month of the year (1st month - which we'd call Nissan now) is not given to us, while the date itself, and certainly the year number remain open for interpretation. Which leaves us with the challenge of combing possibilities and possible conclusions to be drawn, and certainly deeper messages related to  Miriam's death, the deaths of Aharon and Moshe, and what water of the well and "waters of Merivah" have to do with all of this. 

Good luck to those who pursue this further!

Navigating the Battles of Life

Not to be confused with this similarly titled Dvar Torah 

Parshat Chukat 

 by Rabbi Avi Billet

Towards the end of the parsha we find four encounters the Bnei Yisrael had with opposing nations. The one with Arad was a little different from the other 3 (it appears at the beginning of chapter 21, which is after the initial encounter with Edom, see below, but before the Israelites travel around Edom), but of the remaining ones: the first was Edom, the second was Emori with their king Sichon, and the third was Bashan and their king Og. 

Each encounter is presented a little differently because a different thing happened in each case. After Aharon died they were attacked by Arad – a slightly different military operation, which we will get back to.

The first stop was Edom, distant cousins of Bnei Yisrael through Eisav’s family, to whom the request was made to go through their land on the Derech HaMelekh! (20:14-21) “Please let us go on a highway, as a shortcut through Edom to our Promised Land.”

Permission was not granted. Edom gathered on the border and said “You are not coming through our land.” So Israel went around. (21:4) 

Next stop, Sichon (21:21-25). They again ask to go through the land. Like the Edomites, Sichon gathers his army, but unlike Edom he has them attack the Bnei Yisrael. Israel first goes on the defensive, and then the offensive, taking all Sichon’s land in conquest.

 Final stop, Og (21:33). Before they even have a chance to request to go through his land, “At Edrei, Og king of the Bashan came out with all his people to engage [the Israelites] in battle.”

 One can easily look at these passages as Meshalim (parables) for how life works when dealing with different kinds of people.

It is worth noting, perhaps obviously because we are dealing with military encounters, that we don’t find a kind of social engagement that is idyllic or ideal. One should not expect to see here a portrayal of an easy trajectory of life, when everything goes your way, things fall into place perfectly, and life is almost perfect poetry in motion. Who needs help navigating that anyway?

Besides, how often do we really have that in life - and certainly never on any kind of battlefield? Life is more often hard, with challenges and difficulties that are anything but simple. The truth is that having a simple life is not so simple. There is always conflict in one form or another. How do we navigate?

The parable of the Edom conflict, is one where you ask politely, and though you don’t get your way, a compromise results. And even in a compromise, someone may still feel unhappy. While Bnei Yisrael needed to go around Edom, they also did not need to fight against their cousins (Edom is Eisav’s family). Military confrontation, especially when you are merely asking for a simple, peaceful “passage-through,” is something we’d all like to avoid. Edom was not really interested in a fight! They produced their military might to show what their capabilities, but they did not use their military because their rules of engagement said “If they don’t cross our border, we are not fighting them.” They didn’t want to fight against Bnei Yisrael. It’s not a perfect compromise, but each side ends off in a good space, even if one side feels inconvenienced.

Then there’s the confrontation with Sichon, which can be viewed as a parable in which a request is made politely, but the response is not only negative, but the request rebuffed as it is quickly discovered that a compromise is not feasible, because the other side just hates you.

Then there’s the confrontation with Og, which is a parable to when there isn’t even a chance to ask politely because the other side doesn’t acknowledge your right to exist. They just want to destroy you.

In all these cases Hashem helps guide the Bnei Yisrael to the other side successfully. Did people on the Israel side die in these military confrontations? We know that in the Arad encounter, the first confrontation which was sidestepped above, a captive or captives were taken (וישב ממנו שבי). What that means exactly is debated amongst the commentaries. But all of these military confrontations (Edom was not a confrontation as battle was avoided) ended with an Israelite victory, despite the Torah not giving us a specific casualty list.

Does it mean that the good guys always win in the end? No. But it does show that the people had a relationship with and a trust in Hashem that somehow things would work out. Sometimes the result we want is not what we think is best for us, or sometimes Hashem has other plans for us.

When Arad attacked (21:1-3), the Bnei Yisrael made a promise to Him – if You help us win, we will turn the city into a Cherem for You. No spoils will be taken. This kind of commitment is the kind people make in their own dealings and negotiations with God all the time. Hopefully we follow through with our commitments, especially when the outcome we were looking for came to be.

Our task is to work on our relationship with God so that we understand that while we have a job to do our hishtadlus in life, to make a sincere effort to plot the course and direction that our lives take, to have deep conversations about serious matters and decisions, to seek help and guidance and advice when we need it, we also need to remember that our successes and failures come from the Almighty. Sometimes our successes are unexpected and sometimes our failures help us grow or open up a new door for us.

 We certainly prefer to have things go perfectly in our encounters with others. But people are not all the same. We all have different motivations for the things we do, the activities we engage in, and the choices we make. Conflict arises, even between good people on both sides, who either disagree or see things differently. But it should never be that we have to resort to the Sichon or Og models, of either ignoring politeness or simply attacking without even listening. In that sense the Edom model is best – someone will be inconvenienced, but at least no one needs to get hurt. 

 The Arad model reminds us that part of life is also committing deeply to our relationship with God, and following through in our commitments. We all know people who attribute all the good and bad that life throws their way to God, but as the Talmud says, just as we bless Him for the good, we bless Him for the bad (Brachos 54a). We don’t always know or understand His ways, and we don’t always see what the Master Plan is. But if we follow through with our commitments, we can rest secure that we are doing our part, and we can trust and continue to pray that somehow, “All that God does is for the best.” (Brachos 60b)

Korach's Recipe For Disaster

Parshat Korach 

by Rabbi Avi Billet 

 While there are a few ways to look at the conflict that consumes the first part of Parshas Korach, it seems there are two distinct complaints. 

 Korach (cousin to Moshe and Aharon) seems to claim – the entire nation is holy, who gave you a monopoly on holiness leadership? 

 Dasan and Aviram are more concerned because "Af lo el eretz zavas chalav udvash haviosanu" – you made all kinds of promises, but you haven’t brought us to the Goldene Medinah that you promised – and you won't, apparently, because of the latest incident with the spies. Now we're all going to die in the desert. 

 Korach challenges Aharon’s right to be Kohen Gadol (some will argue he is also challenging the fact that Elzaphan, another cousin, was chosen as leader of the tribe of Levi), while Dasan and Aviram challenge Moshe as a leader. 

 Rashi explains that Moshe called Dasan and Aviram (who did not come to him) and Rashi says: מכאן שאין מחזיקין במחלוקת, שהיה משה מחזר אחריהם להשלימם בדברי שלום: 

 Artscroll records this Rashi, but with a flowery language. "Moses appealed to other leaders of the revolt, even to the veteran provocateurs, Dasan and Aviram. From this the sages derive that one should always seek to end a controversy." 

 Looking at the tale objectively, we know that Korach and co. were concocting a recipe for disaster. As a recipe always has a few ingredients, let us explore three of them that made up this avoidable disaster. 

 Ingredient #1: When only one side is willing to actually have a conversation 

 The only person in all this story who seems to respect and who seems to want to address the opinions held by others is Moshe. Korach certainly doesn't respect others' opinions. He has goals that are only self-serving and he tells everyone we'll all be equal. 

Seforno notes how Moshe identified with their grievances! He wanted to talk things out. But there was no partner in the conversation. 

 Korach, Dasan and Aviram all had wonderfully logical arguments. But the problem they posed to Moshe was not so much in their logic as much as in their entire approach to whatever it was they were trying to accomplish. And herein lies the second ingredient in the recipe for disaster. 

Ingredient #2: Thinking I don’t need a spiritual guide 

Rabbi Soloveitchik recounted the Midrash quoted by Rashi in which Korach came before Moshe wearing a techeiles (blue) colored tallis, asking Moshe if it required a techeiles string in its tzitzis. To which Moshe of course said it does. 

Rabbi Soloveitchik went on to explain that "In the Torah, as in life, there are some things which are clear to all and easily understood, while other things are hidden and contain very deep secrets which may even be quite difficult to understand. This may even be the symbolism between the white strings and the blue string or strings of the tzitzis. 

"The white strings of the tzitzis represent things which are clearly spelled out and understood. The blue threads represent things which are hidden from us, which we are incapable of understanding. The gemara in Menachos includes an analogy which many may be familiar with from Rashi: Techeiles is reminiscent of the sea, the sea is reminiscent of the sky, and the sky is reminiscent of God's throne of Glory. 

"Well, we have no concept of the Throne of Glory, the sky and sea are so vast we can hardly conceive of them. We therefore need to have the "techeiles in our tzitzis" so to speak, to remind us that every person needs a rebbe or a spiritual guide. Even the greatest scholar needs to have a rebbe, and if the rebbe is gone he needs to ask himself "What would my rebbe do in this case?" 

 The problem with Korach was that he felt "We were all at Sinai! We can all pasken! We all know everything! We certainly don't need you, Moshe!"

Moshe's answer that every garment would require techeiles included a symbolic message: not everything is black and white. Sometimes things are grey, [or blue, one supposes] and even you, Korach, will need someone to guide you. 

Though somewhat justified in their words, Dasan and Aviram had a bigger problem than just the things they spoke about. They assumed that because logically their arguments were stronger than Moshe’s, they were correct to deny his authority and to challenge the premise of his leadership, which is actually Ingredient, #3. 

Ingredient #3: Thinking we’re better off self-governing 

The main problem – the last ingredient in the recipe for disaster – was that Korach, Dasan and Aviram felt there was no need for leadership. That anarchy should rule. That everyone is holy and special, which is a way of saying no one is. 

Those who bought Korach’s argument lost sight of the fact that in reality he was trying to force that he should be the leader instead of Moshe, or perhaps the Kohen Gadol instead of Aharon. He may have said “everyone is holy,” but like the pigs in “Animal Farm” who argued that all animals are equal but some are more equal than others, Korach’s real goal was to demonstrate that some (himself) are more holy than others.

The impossibility of placating everyone and ending the disaster amicably 

It is certainly important for a leader to exhibit compassion towards the concerns of individuals or even of the masses. But compassion and placating feelings cannot dictate policy. It can be taken into consideration, but it cannot rule the day – especially when the ideas which are put forth by compassion are detrimental to the society which otherwise works. 

In Moshe’s case, he could not allow every single person who wanted to be a high priest to become one. He could not accede to the desires of Dasan and Aviram who wished to undermine his authority – which was given to him by God – because their vision of equality was a political atmosphere of anarchy. 

 On an individual level he could certainly feel their pain and their desire to be heard. But on a collective level, he needed to hold the nation together, especially in light of the umbrage and despair felt by some (many?) who now understood their fate was not to enter the Land, but raise their children to do just that. On a macro level, the feelings of a few individuals were a pittance in comparison to what would now be required of him to maintain stability, inspire a People, and hold together the fledgling nation through the remainder of the 40 years. 

 The people collectively had sinned with the spies, and the Divine punishment dictated the current generation would not enter the land of Canaan. Nothing could change that decree! 

To summarize: the Recipe for Disaster has three ingredients 

1. Being unable to have a conversation about how to improve and to figure out steps forward 
2. Disrespecting the leadership position 
3. Believing that “no leadership” (which typically leads to anarchy) is better because “everyone is equal.” 

In much of our society, people run from difficult conversations. People don’t like hard questions. People especially don’t like questions or answers that challenge their assumptions and their beliefs. Respectful conversations with those with whom we disagree help us understand one another better, and, when we don’t judge others for their different perspective, the conversation can actually draw people closer. 

 All people need leaders that they look to, admire, learn from, and from whom they draw inspiration. Even leaders need leaders. Sometimes the leaders of leaders have passed on and they continue to serve as inspiration to those who admired them in their lifetimes. Rabbi Soloveitchik would often stop his discourse in class and mutter aloud "I wonder what father would say about my ideas." 

 The opposite of the recipes of disaster are to: Listen to others' opinions. Respect the premise of the leader's position. Respect the need for there to be leadership. 

 Korach, Dasan and Aviram went about it absolutely in the wrong way. And their punishment is their lasting legacy.