Parsha Themes Archive

INTRODUCTION:

Parashat BeHa’alotekha is a lot like its name: long and complicated. To appreciate this parasha, we need special preparation. We will first look at themes and events from a “bird’s eye” perspective to get a sense of the flow of things, and then will focus on a few specific incidents in the parasha.

Before we start, I want to say that my ideas about this parasha have been greatly impacted by the perspective of the Rav, Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, zt”l, who gave a shiur on this parasha many years ago (1974) which has become somewhat famous. The shiur is available as an audio cassette and is also transcribed and available somewhere on the internet, I’m not quite sure where. I have used several short pieces of this transcription in this shiur. Let me introduce the parasha with a quote from the Rav:

“Torah is not only important to explain intellectually in categories, but also in emotional categories. If you want to understand the beauty and greatness of the Torah, the emotional mood which is created by the reading of the Torah is perhaps more important than the intellectual gesture. Read BeHa’alotekha carefully.”

First we will take a bird’s eye view of the parasha and try to figure out what its theme might be in the context of the Humash Ha-Pekkudim (the most meaningful of the names for Sefer BeMidbar, as we discussed on Parashat BeMidbar; if you missed that shiur, it is pretty important to read it in order to understand this week’s).

What events occur in this parasha?

8:1-4 -- Moshe is given some instructions for how Aharon is to light the Menora.

8:5-26 -- Hashem gives instructions for the ceremony in which the Leviyyim are dedicated to Hashem as servants of the Mikdash under the supervision of the kohanim.

9:1-14 -- Hashem instructs the people to bring the Korban Pesah and provides a ‘second chance’ option for those unable to bring the korban on Pesah (i.e., Pesah Sheni).

9:15-23 -- An elaborate, repetitive description of the movement of the Divine cloud as the signal to the people to camp and to travel.

10:1-10 -- Hashem gives instructions for the creation and use of trumpets: to gather the people or their leaders, to signal travel or war, and to blow over certain korbanot.

10:11-28 -- A detailed description of the actual moving of the newly constituted camp for the first time, organized according to degalim (military formations).

10:29-32 -- Moshe’s invitation to Hovav, his Midyanite father-in-law, to accompany Bnei Yisrael to their land.

10:33-36 -- Description of the function of the Aron in the travels of the people.

11:1-3 -- The people complain and are punished (Tav’era).

11:4-35 -- The people complain for meat and are punished (Kivrot Ha-Ta’ava); Moshe complains to Hashem and is told to spread his authority among the Zekenim; in an aside, Moshe wishes that all of the people could be prophets.

12:1-16 -- Miryam’s complaint to Aharon against Moshe, and Hashem’s reaction.

Categories 1 and 2 occupy perakim (chapters) 8-10; category 3 occupies perakim 11-12. Right in the middle is the short section of “va-yhi binso’a,” which is surrounded by upside-down “nuns” like parentheses.

On the preparation sheet, we asked what these different sets of events -- those in perakim 8-10 and those in perakim 11-12 -- are doing together in one parasha. It is pretty clear that the commands to assign various functions to different groups (category 1) flow naturally into the narrative of how all these things swing into action (category 2). But how about 11-12? What is the connection between 8-10 and 11-12? They seem to be working in opposite directions.

In our introduction to Sefer BeMidbar, we talked about the two clashing visions expressed in the sefer (book): the vision of Hashem and Moshe and the vision of the people. Hashem and Moshe envision a grand, triumphant march from Sinai straight to Eretz Cana’an, where the conquest of the land will provide the nation with the home they have been promised. Preparing for this march, the nation is organized militarily and religiously:

This process is a nationwide revolution, the imposition of order on an unruly confederation of loosely organized tribes. Until now, no one had a particular job besides Moshe, the kohanim, and the tribal leaders. Now, 600,000 men are soldiers with commanders, several thousand are assigned to service in the Mishkan, and an intracamp communication system has been set up.

“There is a mood of expectancy and tension. Expectancy permeates the pages of BeHa’alotekha. There is a mood of mobilization and rigid order in the air. All conditions were met, the reward is about to be granted, finally the promise to Abraham is about to be fulfilled. The “I will bring them” will become the fifth freedom. The people are on their final, triumphal march. In this mood, Moshe was excited. He was expecting great things. There is tenseness in the air, and there is determination and boldness to break through if necessary.”

Now that all of these structures have been built, the entire camp shifts with ponderous, thunderous grace into motion. Imagine an elephant moving at the instructions of its trainer. Then imagine a herd of elephants all traveling together in formation; and now imagine 1,000 herds of elephants all moving together in perfect synchronization, and you will have some idea of the colossal scale of the movement of this group of people and the beauty and grace of its organization into formations, all around the Mishkan.

Confidently, Moshe invites his father-in-law to join in his people’s good fortune, as the Rav puts it:

“Join our triumphal march,” Moshe said to Yitro, “towards our destiny. It may become your destiny as well.” When I read this parasha, it attracts me; there is something moving, touching. Sometimes I want to cry when I read this parasha. The simplicity with which the great Moshe, the master of all wise men and the father of all prophets, speaks. He uses the grammatical first person: “We are setting out . . . come with us, and we will treat you well . . . whatever good the LORD does for us . . .” What does it mean? Moshe was certain. There was not even a shadow of doubt in his mind that he was going to enter the promised land. He and the entire congregation will be classified as both Yotz’ei Mitzrayim (departers from Egypt) and Ba’ei ha’Aretz (those who come into the Land). He was sure, he was convinced that he would see the beautiful land, the hills of Judea, the prairie land of the Sharon Valley, he was certain that he would climb the mount of Levanon.

But then comes perek 11. Suddenly, the entire flow of the parasha is reversed.

It starts quietly -- the first we hear is a murmured report of “mit’onenim,” complainers, but we get no elaboration. Then we hear the shocking news that Hashem is so upset with these complainers that He begins to kill them! This is “Tav’era.”

The next story launches into a full-blown report of another set of complaints: the people’s demand for food other than the “man” (manna). They are tired of the “same old same old,” and they look nostalgically back at Egypt and the great variety of different foods they ate there. They long for meat. Imagine what sort of mentality could look back at Egypt with wistful nostalgia.

What is Hashem’s reaction, and what is Moshe’s? Hashem becomes angry, and Moshe, the Torah tells us, sees the situation -- or the people -- as ‘ra,’ ‘evil.’ But then the Torah turns aside for a few moments from how Hashem deals with the desirous people and focuses on a shocking interaction between Hashem and Moshe.

Moshe is apparently so disheartened by the people’s behavior that he asks Hashem to kill him rather than saddling him with this burden. Moshe, never one to mince words with Hashem, says quite directly that he did not sign on as a nursemaid and that he refuses to bear this burden alone. It seems that the gulf between Moshe’s vision of the religious destiny of the people and the people’s own interests -- more varied foods -- is too much for Moshe, and he gives up. He cannot bridge the gap, he cannot educate these people, he cannot drag them along with him. He sees his failure looming up before him, and he prefers death over demoralization. Moshe is beyond disgusted with the people; he despairs of them.

Abravanel raises a key question: why doesn’t Moshe jump to defend the people against Hashem’s anger, as he did on other occasions, such as in the wake of the Egel?

“It was revealed and known before Moshe what punishment would come upon them because of this [their complaints]. When he saw this, the Master of Prophets thought of a strategy which would assuage His anger, blessed be He, so that He, in His mercy, would pass over their sin. It [the strategy] was that before the decree and punishment which He would do because of this, Moshe would ‘make himself’ pained because of the Bnei Yisrael and say that he does not want to lead them, so that Hashem would beseech Moshe to pass over their sin and not abandon them. This, [Moshe thought,] would be a way to have them forgiven, and so Moshe hurried to say before Him, “Why have you done evilly . . . .”

This is a clever suggestion, in my humble opinion, but perhaps too clever. There is too much authenticity in Moshe’s despair, too much melodrama in his request to die, to allow this to be a ploy. In any event, if this is what Moshe is up to, he fails, as Hashem is not “distracted” by Moshe’s complaint and, after dealing with Moshe, he punishes the people severely. We may come to a better answer than the Abravanel’s, but for now let us hold the question.

Now, it is clear that Hashem is upset with the people -- “va-yihar af Hashem” -- but is this Moshe’s reaction as well? A careful reading of the end of this same pasuk shows that Moshe’s reaction is hard to read at this point: “u-ve-einei Moshe ra” -- “and in the eyes of Moshe, it was bad”; it is not clear yet what this means. Was the people’s behavior bad? Was Hashem’s anger bad in his eyes? Was Moshe’s own position bad? But then Moshe turns to Hashem to complain and provides a fuller picture of what is on his mind.

Moshe, it seems, is not upset with the people. Moshe is upset with Hashem. If you remember back a long way, back in Sefer Shemot when Hashem commanded Moshe to go to Paro (Pharaoh) and demand the release of Bnei Yisrael, Moshe finally acceded to Hashem’s insistent command and delivered Hashem’s word to Paro. Paro concluded that his Israelite slaves had too much time on their hands and were relieving their boredom by cooking up dreams of freedom. His reaction was to increase the people’s already inhuman workload. The people, of course, were furious with Moshe. Using almost the same exact words as he uses here, Moshe turns to Hashem and complains: “Lama harei’ota la-am hazeh” -- “Why have You done evil to this nation?” (Shemot 5:22). Here, Moshe says, “Lama harei’ota le-avdekha” -- “Why have You done evil to Your servant?”

Back then, Moshe was angry with Hashem, not only for making him a villain in the eyes of the people, but also for worsening the plight of the people: “Why have You acted evilly toward this nation?” is the first complaint, and “Why did You send me?” is the second claim. Now, in Sefer BeMidbar, Moshe makes no complaint on behalf of the people; by now, Hashem has shown Moshe that He has the intent and power to immeasurably improve the lives of these former slaves. Back then, “And you have not saved Your nation”; by now, Hashem has indeed saved them from Egypt and honored them and elevated them with His Torah.

Moshe therefore has only one complaint: he feels like a complete failure, and it is Hashem’s fault for giving him a job he cannot do. “Where will I get meat for all of these people?”, Moshe complains despairingly. “Why have You done evil to me?” He that he cannot bear this burden on his own, and if he is forced to do so, he would rather die and “not see my own failure.” Here Moshe twice uses the same word -- “ra” -- as the Torah used just before to describe Moshe’s reaction to the people’s complaints. Hashem was angry, but “u-ve-einei Moshe ra.” What was the “ra?” Was it the “ra” of the people, their ungratefulness, their pettiness? Apparently not -- “al er’eh be-ra’ati” -- I would rather die than continue “to witness my own failure [ra].” The “ra”/evil that Moshe saw was his own: he felt so responsible for the people that he preferred to die than to lead them without being able to provide for their needs.

Moshe asks Hashem, “Am I a nursemaid, that I should carry them in my bosom?” Abravanel asks why Moshe uses the word “omein” as opposed to “omenet”; the first means “male nursemaid,” while the second means “female nursemaid.” In answering, Abravanel paraphrases Moshe:

“What is worse among all this is that you have made me like a male nursemaid, not a female nursemaid, for a female nursemaid, when she carries the suckling baby and he cries, can calm him by giving him milk from the comforting breast. But the male nursemaid, the husband of the female nursemaid, cannot calm the suckling, for he has no breast and milk. The baby will simply cry and cry and not be comforted! Similarly, I have become like a male nursemaid, since You have placed upon me the burden of this entire people; and I have not found favor in Your eyes, that You would give me the power to grant their request and petition, for where shall I get meat for this entire nation, since they are crying upon me and saying, ‘Give us meat so that we can eat it’! They are like a baby who demands milk from the *male* nursemaid’s breast, but he has nothing at all to give him to calm him.” Because of this, “I cannot alone bear this entire nation.”

According to Abravanel, Moshe uses this image to express his frustration at his failure to meet the people’s needs. A baby cries, the people cry. A baby wants milk, the people want meat. Moshe has no milk to offer as a nursemaid, and he has no meat to offer as leader of these crying people. Hashem has set him up to fail.

But why is Moshe not angry also at the people? Why is his frustration here not directed at them as well as at Hashem? Again, Moshe provides the answer: when he angrily insists that he cannot bear the burden of this people, he asks indignantly: “Did I father this people, did I give birth to them, that You should say to me, ‘Carry them in your bosom,’ as a nursemaid would carry a suckling?!” Moshe does not blame the people because he sees the people as a “yonek,” a suckling.

My son Avraham Yosef is just over two months old, a very cute and smiling little boy, but I don’t expect him to know better than to complain and whine (sometimes). He is quite literally a “yonek,” just a suckling. Moshe looks at the Bnei Yisrael the same way: he must hold them by the hand and provide for their every need, and he does not expect greatness from them at this early stage in their development. But now those needs grow beyond Moshe’s ability to provide, and he turns to Hashem to lay blame. Hashem has hired him to baby-sit, but has left him no food to feed the baby. What is he supposed to do when the baby gets hungry and starts to scream for food? He is powerless, so he turns to Hashem and tenders his resignation as baby-sitter.

Moshe remembers that these are the same people who became fearful when he did not return from the mountain, the same people who built an idol and danced around it to soothe their fears and provide themselves with at least symbolic leadership in his unexplained absence. Moshe knows this people well, and he has been hoping that as events unfold, the people will begin to trust Hashem and take an interest in the lofty goals Hashem has set for them as a nation. But as our parasha intimates, the people remain “yonekim,” sucklings. They are unable to mature, frozen in the dependent and insecure mentality of slavehood. They have no interest in a grand destiny. They want meat, fish, tasty vegetables. They are tired of “just one taste,” even if it comes straight from Hashem every morning with the dew.

Eventually, Moshe will lose patience with the people as well, as we will see later on in Sefer BeMidbar, but for now, he blames only Hashem.

Perhaps this perspective on Moshe’s sense of failure and consequent anger with Hashem can explain the shocking exchange which takes place between Hashem and Moshe in the next moment. Hashem first instructs Moshe to gather seventy elders to share the burden of leadership with him. Then he tells Moshe that He will soon provide the people with meat. But Moshe seems not to believe that Hashem can produce enough meat.

How can Moshe doubt Hashem’s power? He who split the sea, He who produced locusts beyond number, swarms of frogs, lice, wild animals, He who pelted Egypt with burning hail, cannot also produce some meat?

Many commentators attempt answers. Here, Rav Yosef Bekhor Shor (a medieval commentator) paraphrases Moshe:

Moshe said, “Six hundred thousand . . .” This is what it means: “What kind of meat will be enough for them? For if You had said, ‘I shall rain for them meat from the heavens,’ as You said regarding the ‘mon,’ I would not wonder. If You had said, ‘I will bring them animals and beasts,’ there would be no wondering, for I know that You are all-powerful. But You said, ‘I shall give them meat,’ which makes it sound like this meat is already somewhere in the world! Where in the world is there enough meat to satisfy them?!” This is the reason Hashem was not angry at him, for he never said that He *could not* give them, he just wondered where in the world it was, so Hashem answered him, (11:23) “Is the arm of Hashem too short?”, meaning, “Even in the world, I have many creations of which you do not know.”

This will not do, I humbly assert: Hashem responds to Moshe’s disbelief by saying, “Is Hashem’s hand too short? Now you shall see if My words come to pass or not!” It certainly sounds like Hashem understood Moshe’s statement as disbelief in His ability.

Abravanel suggests a number of answers; the first answer is that Moshe misunderstood Hashem’s instructions and thought that Hashem was telling *him* that *he* was responsible to gather meat for them. Moshe expressed disbelief, asserting he could not do it, and Hashem responded by telling him that he had misunderstood, that He Himself would take care of it and that it was not Moshe’s responsibility.

But this too is weak. Hashem’s response is unequivocal: he scolds Moshe for doubting His power. Hazal recognize the problem here, and they comment that Moshe was forgiven for this lapse because it was private. The people did not witness his doubting of Hashem. In contrast, later on in Sefer BeMidbar, when Moshe hits the rock to draw water from it instead of speaking to it as commanded, he is punished severely, losing his opportunity enter the Land because his faith faltered in public, before the people (or because he fumbled an opportunity to strengthen the people’s faith in Hashem through the great miracle).

Perhaps what is at issue here is not theology, but psychology. Moshe is not punished for doubting because he says what he says only out of despair. It is not his true belief. But he is so overwhelmed by his own failure to provide for the people that he begins to imagine that it is *impossible* to provide for them. Their needs are too great, their demands too high; he has encountered an insurmountable challenge and failed the people. That the challenge momentarily looms so large in his mind that even Hashem cannot meet it, is a stumbling which can surely be overlooked, considering the circumstances.

Sefer BeMidbar turns in the middle of our parasha: the orderly administrative process is actualized when the camp begins to move, but things quickly change course for the worse. What begins as a trickle of complaint turns to hemorrhage, growing into a torrent that before the sefer isover will sweep away Moshe, Aharon, Miryam, and all of the members of the generation which left Egypt. They will all die in the desert. The two visions of the sefer, the destiny-starred vision of Moshe and the mundane, security-hungry vision of the meat-hungry people, clash in our parasha. At first, Moshe maintains a deep feeling of responsibility for the people. In coming weeks, however, we will see the people turn with increasing aggressiveness against Moshe, and we will see Moshe’s bitterness rise and his anger and disappointment grow.

[As an afterthought, see Bekhor Shor on why the firstborn lose their “job” as servants in the Mishkan (8:19). If you’d like to talk about his idea, drop a line.]