In Israel: Shelaḥ Lekha: Numbers 13:1-15:41
To Be an Ish
Commentators have long noticed a contradiction in the Torah’s account of the tribal leaders who were sent to spy out the land of Canaan. In this week’s reading, the idea of sending them clearly came from God:
And the Lord said to Moses, “Send out for yourself men to spy out the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the people of Israel; send one from each tribe” (Num 13:1-2).
But later, in the book of Deuteronomy, it would appear that the idea actually came from the people themselves:
[Moses said:] Then all of you [Israelites] approached me and said, “Let us send men ahead of us so that they may explore the land for us and report back to us about the way for us to take, and the cities that we are to enter.” This seemed good to me, so I chose from among you twelve men, one from each tribe. (Deut 1:22-23)
Whose idea was it, God’s or the Israelites’ (and, in the latter case, an idea subsequently approved by Moses)? The Talmud (Sotah 34b) notes that the passage in this week’s reading contains a bit of wiggle room. It reports in the name of Resh Laqish the observation that God had said, “Send out for yourself…” This phrase might indeed be implying that God’s words came in response to an earlier, unreported request submitted by Moses on the people’s behalf. Building on this, Rashi’s commentary asserts that “for yourself” means that God had actually told the Israelites, “I myself am not commanding you. If you wish to, then send [them], since the Israelites came [to you] and said, ‘Let us send men…’”
Thus, it was not originally God’s idea, nor even that of Moses, but a proposal that originated with the people.
Sometimes left out of this discussion is the word anashim. This is of course the common term for “men,” the plural of ish, “man.” But to think only of this meaning is incomplete. Often, ish in the Torah was in itself a term of respect. “When Moses he tried to mediate between two fighting men in Egypt, one of them objected: “Who appointed you to be an ish, a leader and ruler over us?” (Exod 2:14). Later, when Moses had stayed a seemingly impossible length of time on Mount Sinai, the people say, “This ish Moses, who brought us up from the land of Egypt—we have no idea what may have happened to him” (Exod 32:1). They apparently meant that without Moses, they lacked an ish and would need someone (or something) to lead them now that he was gone. Somewhat similarly, people in later times would address the High Priest honorifically as ishi kohen gadol (“My ish, the High Priest.” And indeed, in the continuation of this week’s reading the spies are described as “every one of them a chief…all of them anashim; the heads of the Israelites they were” (Num 13:2-3).
Why was this wording significant? From ancient times to the present, and especially for those schooled in the ways of modern democracy, leadership itself sometimes seems suspect. Those in high office, we feel, should devote themselves to carrying out the will of the people and leave their own ideas out of it. In fact, “Don’t trust leaders,” was a popular slogan of the 1960s (and justified in many respects).
But in practice, this is shortsighted. There is a reason why modern democracies are called representative democracies, in which people choose their leaders at the ballot box. Theoretically, a country’s whole population could vote by computer on any matter that might come up, registering their opinions two or three times a week on anything from garbage collection to going to war. But for the most part, we would rather let others—presidents, prime ministers, senators, and so forth—run things on our behalf. (Of course this can, and sometimes does, go terribly awry…)
So, what is the word anashim (“men”) in this week’s reading really telling us? Truthfully, it was not the idea of sending out the spies that was at fault. That was a perfectly normal thing for tribal leaders to suggest. The problem was with the anashim who were sent to do it. Apart from Joshua and Caleb, they were not up to the job, quailing and quivering when courageous resolve was what was required.
Back when the young Moses, fresh out of Pharaoh’s court, saw an Egyptian beating an Israelite man, he hesitated for a minute. “He turned this way and that and saw no ish there, so he killed the Egyptian and buried him in the sand” (Exod 2:12). The rabbis doubted that the capital’s bustling streets were inexplicably empty at that moment; “there was no ish” couldn’t have meant that. Rather, there were plenty of people, but no one else was prepared to take action. So the rabbis said, “In a place where there is no ish, try to be an ish.”
Shabbat shalom!
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Weekly Torah Reading, June 13, 2020
Outside Israel: Be-ha‘alotekha Numbers 8:1-12:16
The Good Old Days
In the book of Ecclesiastes, the author advises, “Don’t say, ‘How has it come about that things were better in earlier times than now?’ for you are not asking about this out of wisdom” (7:10). The word “wisdom” (hokhmah) in Ecclesiastes often means something like the search for truth (see Eccles 1:13, 2:3, etc.). What he’s saying here is that if you ask such a question, you’re really not looking for an answer, and certainly not calling for some detached, scientific inquiry. All you’re doing is complaining.
This verse comes to mind in contemplating this week’s Torah reading, and more generally the whole biblical book of Numbers. So many things go wrong! In this week’s reading alone, the people first complain about the manna (which elsewhere had been praised for its taste, Exod 16:31). Then two men, Eldad and Medad, apparently led to a dispute about Moses’ authority; after this come Miriam and Aaron, who challenge Moses’ standing as God’s prophet. In subsequent weekly readings come all sorts of other troubles: the cowardly spies who spread panic among the people; Korah’s rebellion; Moses and Aaron striking the rock, which resulted in their both being condemned to die before the people’s entrance into the land of Canaan; the bronze serpent, the sin of Baal Peor, and more. All these things are packed back-to-back in what seems like an unending series of woes. What’s the point?
Normally, there is a point. Biblical narratives don’t usually seem to have been told just because they happened; usually, their retelling has an apparent purpose. Often, the past is recounted in order to explain the present: in the book of Genesis, stories of Israel’s meritorious ancestors help to explain their descendants’ special connection to God. The book of Exodus likewise explains this connection. Jacob’s sons went down to Egypt and increased greatly; then a wicked Pharaoh enslaved them until God set them free and brought them to Mount Sinai, where He adopted them as His special people.
All in all, this ought to have been a happy story, Israel’s march from slavery to freedom, and from the lowliest of peoples to God’s chosen favorite. And perhaps in some other retelling of Israel’s history, that is all that would have been said. But the Torah’s account is clearly determined to assert that even within this triumphal framework, things kept turning awry. This, it seems, is indeed the whole point—not only of this week’s reading, but of much of the book of Numbers.
When, in this week’s reading, some of the people complain to Moses about the manna they have to eat, they utter this telltale sentence: “We remember the fish we used to eat for free in Egypt, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic…” (Num 11:5). Ancient commentators pointed out the falsity of such a “memory.” The Egyptians wouldn’t even give the enslaved Israelites straw with which to make bricks (see Exod 5:16). Did they ever give their slaves such delicacies? Truly, here is a case of what Ecclesiastes had in mind: “Don’t say, ‘How has it come about that things were better in earlier times than now?’ for you are not asking about this out of wisdom.”