Chukat

With God's help, you and I are beginning the study of the weekly portion Chukat, and we will read chapter 19 of the book of Bemidbar. In the previous weekly portion, Korach, we read, among other things, about the terrible tragedies that befell the people of Israel and as a result of which several thousand Israelites died. And, naturally, many people had to take care of the burials of their relatives, of their loved ones, or the burials of those whom there was simply no one to bury. And as a result all these people who buried the dead were defiled by the impurity of the dead (tum'át mét). The problem of purifying those who had been defiled by the impurity of the dead became highly relevant, and therefore our portion describes precisely this problem. How do you purify people who have been defiled by the most terrible defilement of all? There is nothing more impure than a dead person, and there is nothing more opposed to holiness than death. Touching a dead person requires a special procedure of purification. To this I will add that in the absence of everything that is written in our portion about the red heifer, all people, absolutely all inhabitants of the Earth, are impure with the impurity of the dead. And if (when) the Temple is built, and if (when) it becomes necessary to enter it, then purification from the impurity of the dead will be necessary for everyone.

What does a red unblemished heifer mean (or a red cow, there are different names in the Russian translations)? It is a heifer that is unblemished in its redness, one can translate it that way. If it has, as is commonly held, even two hairs that are not red, then it is already unfit, which is why the heifer was carefully examined before it was used to fulfill this commandment of the LORD. And today many who await the restoration of the Temple – both among Jews and among Christians – closely follow every birth of a red heifer, seeing in it a sign: here it is, it has begun! It is good, of course, when a red heifer is born, it is good when someone remembers God's commandments. But still, one must hurry events along with caution.

So, it must be an absolutely red heifer without a physical defect, which has never done any work.

When we read about the sons of Aharon, as here about Elazar, we must understand that in future generations this will be any ordinary kohen (not necessarily the high priest) to whom this red heifer is given.

So, Elazar (or any kohen) supervises the process of slaughtering this heifer, but he does not slaughter it himself, this is a very important detail: the red heifer is not slaughtered by a kohen.

We said many times in the book of Vayikra that splashing, sprinkling with blood is a kind of becoming kin with the Most High and a sanctification of the animal. But in this case we are dealing with a unique sacrifice whose blood will not be used.

Who will burn her? Whoever slaughtered her is the one who will burn her before the eyes of the kohen. That is, this cow was not gutted, not butchered, but all of her (together with the hide, with the blood, with the entrails and even with the dung) was burned. What an astonishing sacrifice!

We have already talked about all these details in chapter 14 of the book of Vayikra. Usually it is commented on like this: the cedar branch symbolizes height, human pride; the hyssop symbolizes abasement. The scarlet thread as it were binds them together, its red color symbolizes that both excessive self-exaltation and excessive abasement are sin. This is one of the understandings, there are many different interpretations.

So, these are the three components of such a peculiar bouquet. And as a result of this procedure all its participants become impure.

And, as we have read many times already, after a person becomes impure, he cannot become pure right away. It is not the same as pressing a button. And therefore, after he purifies himself, he still remains impure until evening.

Here, now we clearly see that this is not one and the same person.

A third, pure man appears, who will also become impure after he gathers the ash. Such is the complicated recipe of preparation, when we will need the ash of the red heifer for purification from the impurity of the dead.

At the very beginning I said that all this is intended for purification from the impurity of the dead, but we have not yet read this in the text. It is from verse 11 that the actual explanation begins of why this whole recipe is needed.

 There are two stages of purification upon contact with the dead. This purification is not all that simple, and it must be carried out in two stages. The first stage – on the third day, the second stage – on the seventh day. Today in our traditions there is also a similar division. If people mourn their loved ones, they sit in mourning for them for seven days, this is called shiv'á. When three days have passed, people receive (in the traditions of mourning) some relief. The Talmud says on this matter that for the first three days a person weeps for the dead, for seven days he grieves for them. That is, of the seven days of grief the first three days – this is unceasing weeping for the deceased. There is such a chronology of accepting grief from human experience, which describes how a person comes to terms with the death of his loved ones.

So, a person is purified on the third day and on the seventh day. If on the third day a person did not purify himself, then he remains impure, and this impurity, let us say, will not dissolve by itself, he will need to purify himself later.

So, we have seen a very unusual procedure of purifying a person from the impurity of the dead. Very many lances have been broken over this, very much ink has been spilled in an attempt to understand what kind of process this is. Why is the ash of a heifer needed at all? Why must it be the ash specifically of a red heifer?

There is a story from the life of Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai, a man who lived through the destruction of the Second Temple, that is, he lived quite a long time ago. Once a pagan asked Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai: “Aren’t your laws connected with the red heifer like sorcery? You take a cow, burn it, take its ash, sprinkle it two or three times on the one who is impure with the impurity of the dead, and say to him: you are pure. Isn’t this some kind of sorcery?” Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai said to him: “Has a demon ever entered into you?” He says to him: “No, it has not entered” – “And perhaps you have ever seen a person into whom a demon had entered?” He says: “Yes, I have seen one, I have had occasion to” – “And what do you pagans do with such a person?” He says: “We bring roots of trees, kindle them under the person, and then pour water on him, and then the demon goes out. That is, we fumigate him, then pour water on him, and the demon goes out of him.” And Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai said: “There! There, there, there, let your ears hear now what your mouth has said. The spirit of impurity – it is like a demon, they sprinkle the water of purification on it, and it goes out.” That is, Rabbi Yochanan said to the pagan: “Our faith is no worse than your faith. If that is how it is done among you, then that is how it is done among us too.” For Rabbi Yochanan in this case what matters is not to win the argument with the pagan, but simply to show that “we are no worse.” But this story has a continuation. When the pagan, with the feeling that he has learned something new for himself, goes out, the disciples of Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai say to him: “Well, all right, you got rid of this one easily (in Hebrew they say: ‘pushed him away with a straw’). But what will you tell us? After all, this really does look like sorcery. Why then do we do this?” And Rabbi Yochanan answers them: “I swear to you, a dead body does not defile and waters do not purify. But the Most High Himself, blessed be He, said: ‘This is the law which I have given you, and you have no right to break it.’” That is: “It does not matter what I answered the pagan. What matters is that he does not think that Judaism is sorcery. And I will not explain anything to him about the nature of the red heifer, and I will not explain anything to him at all: it is simply enough that he backs off with his complaints. But to you I will say this: this is a law which the Most High established.” That is, it is impossible to understand this, and there is no need to understand it – this is how the Most High made it.

There is another story. It is contained in the midrash Yalkut Shimoni. The thought is very similar. This is the interpretation of Rabbi Yitzchak on the words of King Shlomo in the book of Kohelet (7:23). Shlomo says: “All this I tested by wisdom, I thought I would become wise, but wisdom is far from me.” Rabbi Yitzchak interprets it this way: “Thus said King Shlomo: ‘I studied the Torah, the whole Torah, but every time I came to, read up to this chapter about the red heifer, however much I tried to understand it, interpret it, investigate it, analyze it, nothing worked for me. I thought: now I will figure it out, now I will understand, this time I will understand, but wisdom is far from me.’” Most teachers, most commentators say that the nature of this red heifer is incomprehensible. It is incomprehensible why the Most High arranged everything exactly this way? One can say simply: this is the law. Why? – Just because. This is, of course, an option, but I do not much like such options.

Imagine that there are some forces, some laws that operate in this world. Because of the position of the Earth relative to the Sun there are climatic changes. There is the force of gravity, which makes objects fall. There is also a mass of all kinds of laws: the law of communicating vessels, Newton’s laws, the laws of physics, of chemistry, a multitude of other laws that operate in this world. Once established, they work as in a living mechanism. Everything is set up, the processes follow their course.

There are some situations when the Most High intervenes directly, changes the nature of things, works miracles or simply changes the circumstances. And there is a special reality about which we know little: the reality of purity and impurity. On the one hand, it is wholly and completely subject to the Divine laws. And on the other hand, it is not the kind of reality that is set up and already works by itself, no. Every time a person touches something impure, God’s will, God’s providence is manifested, and the person becomes impure. Every time a person is sprinkled with the ash of the red heifer dissolved in water, he becomes purified. This is also a law, but a law that does not work in automatic mode. It is God’s will, which manifests itself this way every time. This is one of the views which I propose that we accept as an understanding of the law of the red heifer. And when our sages say that something cannot be understood, that it simply is so and that is that, and there is nothing to be done about it, this does not at all mean that one may not try to understand, may not put forward some versions of one’s own. And the sages themselves reasoned and said that, for example, the red, the crimson color of the heifer symbolizes sin, and the perfection of its “redness” symbolizes death, that is, absolute impurity. And therefore the one is healed by the other. Or, for example, there is the thought that ash is what remains of any animal after it has been burned, what remains even after the burnt offering and what cannot be given to the Most High. Even through the burnt offering some particle remains which is not passed on to the Most High, and this too symbolizes a kind of impurity, and one can see a parallel with the red heifer (if we do want to look for parallels and try to understand this law).

We are talking about a situation where someone dies in a tent and next to him in this tent there are some people and some objects. And besides that, someone may enter this tent while the body of the deceased is still there. And everyone: both those who were there at the moment of death and the one who entered after the person had already died, if his body was still there, – are defiled by the impurity of the deceased. In this case we see that the impurity of the dead as it were rises upward and fills the whole space under one roof, under one and the same canopy. Everything that is under it, everything that is united by this canopy – all of it becomes defiled (just like all the open vessels). That is, if a person did not touch the dead, but was in the same house, in the same tent, under the same umbrella as the dead, he too becomes defiled by the impurity of the dead.

That is, this is such a special water that makes the impure pure and makes the pure impure. That is the kind of astonishing property this water has.

That is: here is a pure man who served by purifying, sprinkling the impure with water that made them pure. But the purifying water made the purifier himself impure. And now everything that this man who has become impure touches, and everyone who touches him, also becomes impure (as in the ordinary case). That is, the impurity of this purifier is just as contagious as any other impurity. A very strange phenomenon, of course, and one can ask the question: “How can it be that one and the same water makes the impure pure and the pure impure?” And again, one could answer: “Well, that's the law. That is how the Most High decided.”

Rav Saadia Gaon in his book Emunot vede'ot (Beliefs and Opinions) says: “There are, after all, different situations. We know, for example, that fire can be used to curdle milk, when the milk thickens. But it, fire, acts differently on ice or on lead.” Fire melts solid lead and at the same time curdles milk. There are plants that, when watered, fill with life. And there are plants whose roots rot from water: if they are watered artificially, they stop receiving moisture from the earth and die. We have seen many times that one and the same remedy, applied to different people, to different situations, has a directly opposite effect. And, in the opinion of Rav Saadia Gaon, the red heifer is precisely such a case.

Such is this complicated commandment, which neither the sages can understand to the end, nor the interpreters, nor the commentators. But we know, we can say with certainty, that in this is God's will, that this is how the Most High decided and decreed for the Jews of the wilderness: purification from the impurity of the dead will take place by means of the red heifer, and this is a law that is given for the generations.

First of all I want to say that chapter 20 of our book is devoted to tragic events, although I said the same thing in the previous chapters too. It so happened that the whole book of Bemidbar is permeated with tragedies, as if the whole stay in the wilderness is one big tragedy. Problems, their solutions, tragic situations connected with the emergence of these problems run through the whole book. And although there is a counting of the people at the beginning and at the end of the journey, there is actually little arithmetic in it, it is not some mathematics textbook. No, it is a book about problems, about the spiritual wilderness in which people find themselves, about human tragedies connected with the people's stay in the wilderness, in exile, on the way to their spiritual destiny.

Our chapter 20 of the book of Bemidbar is very tragic also in terms of personal tragedies. Personal tragedies of people whom we have already, as I think, come to love. Their causes are not always clear, but we will still try to understand, because the events that take place are truly terrible. So, let us begin from the very beginning.

Such an unexpected leap. Once upon a time there lived Miryam. The midrashim tell that it was she who in her time persuaded her dad to return to his wife, and a third child was born in their family – Moshe. This is a midrash. And from the direct text of the Torah we know how she ran in her time after the little basket in which Moshe floated on the river, how she dared to approach Pharaoh's daughter and play out such a complicated combination, so that Moshe would again find himself in his own home, so that he would be nursed by his own mother, and so that his own mother would not only not fear punishment for it, but would also receive money for it. This is the very same Miryam who, at the crossing of the sea, led the women's part of the praise and sang a song of praise. We have, of course, all come to love Miryam very much. She is a truly extraordinary woman. And now we read a stubby line: “And Miryam died there, and she is buried there.” And it is not written “they mourned her.” And it is not written what her younger brother, Moshe, felt, what her older brother, Aharon, felt. None of this is there, such a fleeting episode. All that the Torah tells us is: “In the first month (it is not clear in which year) the people of Israel came into the wilderness of Tzin and lived there in Kadesh. There Miryam died, and there she is buried.” And then it speaks of the fact that there was not enough water.

Tradition says, and has always said, that the well that traveled together with Israel through the wilderness is called Be'er-Miryam (the well of Miryam). Actually, it may not have been a well at all, its other name is séla (rock, stone). A movable rock from which water came out, and this rock (as, once again, the midrash says) got lost, disappeared among other stones after Miryam's death.

So, the people are in the wilderness, there is no water, Miryam died and is buried in Kadesh. And the Torah does not tell us in which year this happens. Later on the reader will learn from the subsequent chapters that this happens thirty-eight years later, that the Torah made a leap in time of thirty-eight years, stepping over many years in the wilderness. But for now this is not clear, and it may seem that it speaks of events that follow one another without a break. Why was it important here to mention Miryam, and why was it important not to mention which specific year it was? Let us try to answer these and many other questions.

So, Miryam died and is buried in Kadesh. And the people gathered, as always, to Moshe and Aharon to complain that there was no water.

The attentive reader will remember that we already read something similar in the story with the scouts before Korach's rebellion, and there the people spoke in literally these same words. That is, the situation repeats itself.

The complaint that there is no water is, of course, understandable. Without water things are bad, and this really is a great misfortune. But why suddenly did the people expect that precisely in this place, unlike all the other stopping places that there were during the wandering through the wilderness, precisely in this place it would be possible to plant, to sow, to grow figs, grapes and pomegranates? Where did they get this idea? Why suddenly did they think of this?

Let us remember that the people are carrying two boxes with them: arón ha'edút (the ark of the covenant) and one more box – a coffin with the bones of Yosef. Why did the people carry the box with Yosef's bones out of Egypt? For a simple reason: Yosef did not want to be buried in Egyptian soil, he wanted to be buried in the land of Israel. Therefore his bones were carried to the land of Israel. The midrash says that there is a general principle: if a righteous man can be buried in the land of Israel, he is not buried outside it. That is clear. Then the question arises: so why is Miryam buried in Kadesh? If the righteous woman Miryam is buried in Kadesh, then the people could have decided: “That's it, we have arrived, here it is, the end point. And if she was buried here, that means the land may already be here, that means we have already arrived. After all, the land of Israel begins just beyond the mountain!” Precisely the fact that Miryam is buried in Kadesh could have served as a sign: that's it, we have made it, we have arrived. And therefore a simply terrible complaint against Moshe appears: “Where have you brought us, guys, Moshe and Aharon? You led us from Egypt for forty years, promised us some awesome blessed land, and suddenly you have brought us into a wilderness. How can one live here? How do you expect us to live here? And why was it necessary to yank us out of Egypt, to bring us here? We have heard a lot about this land, our fathers told us about its fruits.” But those who saw the fruits of this land, that whole group has already died. And a doubt arises: “Maybe it is not all that good, this land, if you look at it. And this, this is the land of Israel, flowing with milk and honey? This is exactly where you, brothers, wanted to bring us?” There is no love at first sight.

Moshe and Aharon were frightened. Moshe and Aharon here as it were seek political asylum with the Most High. Why? We again know, as if we were reading the Torah for the second time, that these events take place almost forty years later, these are no longer the slaves who came out of Egypt. We are now talking about a different generation of people, who are only just beginning their spiritual path, and the attitude toward them is completely different.

So, the people ask for water. Will the Most High become angry now, will He say: “How you have worn me out! How long shall I bear this generation? When will you finally calm down?” or again: “I will destroy you all, from Moshe I will bring forth a new people.” Maybe the offer is still in force? How will the Most High react? Maybe the wrath of the Most High will pour out on the people? But the Most High accepts this request, considers this request entirely legitimate: the people need water. Water really is needed. As they sing in one Soviet song: “Because without water – not thisaway and not thataway.”

Pay attention: it will give its waters, as if they had already been placed in it by nature. So, Moshe received a command. Let us try to repeat and understand what command he received: to take the staff, to gather the people, to speak to the rock before the eyes of the whole people, so that the rock would give its water, to bring the water out of the rock and give the whole people drink.

In another reading the words speak to the rock (el-hasséla) can be understood as speak about the rock, the text allows both understandings. What is still not clear here? It is not clear why one needs to take the staff if Moshe is going simply to speak. And the commentators ask: “Why does the Most High tell Moshe to take the staff? Is this not a temptation for Moshe, is it not some kind of pushing him toward striking the rock?” The staff is not simply a weapon with which one can strike, beat, in particular a rock. The staff is also a symbol of Divine authority. In what case did Moshe take the staff and act with the staff without touching anything or anyone with it? At the splitting of the sea. Moshe stretched out the staff, and the sea parted. Moshe did not strike the sea with the staff, it was enough for him to stretch out the staff, and the sea parted (again, by the way, a miracle connected with water).

So, Moshe receives such a command. Here we can, as if in parentheses, return to the version we spoke about earlier: one can read this text as speak about the rock, and not speak to the rock. And then the comparison with the splitting of the sea will be correct. When Moshe raised his hand over the sea and the water parted, it was a sign, the hand with the staff was a sign for the first generation after the going out of Egypt. As a result – the sea parted, the water obeyed, and the people believed in the LORD and in Moshe, His servant. In the book of Shemot (14:16) it is written: “And you, lift up (harém) your staff and stretch out (unté) your hand over the sea…”, that is, two synonyms – lift up and stretch out. And in our case there is a certain parallel. This is what this subtlety is needed for, this is why some commentators pay attention to it and say: “One can read speak about the rock before the face of the people.” This too fully has the right to exist as a certain understanding of the events. One can say that for the new generation a new miracle was needed, in order to demonstrate, as in the case of the sea, that water submits to the Most High, that the Most High has authority over it. And it was not at all necessary to strike the rock.

Which staff did Moshe take, what is this about? Apparently, about the staff of Aharon, which stands before the ark of the covenant. What does it stand there for? It is written in verse 25 of chapter 17 of our book that it stands there as a remembrance and as a testimony to all the rebels, a sign to all mutineers and insurgents, the organizers of the revolt (bnéy merivá).

Who said to them? Moshe said to them. We remember that the staff is connected with rebellion. And Moshe, apparently, interprets the command to take the staff in exactly this way. Why are they rebels, actually? There was simply some kind of misunderstanding, but the Most High did not accuse them of anything. The Most High said simply to give water and did not say that some additional rebuke also needed to be given.

It seems the miracle worked, and everything is fine. Let us read what happened next.

Is it clear? Not very. Nothing is actually clear. This is probably one of the most interpreted places in Scripture. Very many commentators and interpreters try to understand what terrible thing Moshe and Aharon (who did almost nothing at all in this story) had done. For what did they receive such a punishment? And, naturally, the first thought that suggests itself: why did Moshe violate the word of the Most High and, instead of speaking to the rock, strike the rock? But after all, this is not the first time Moshe does what the Most High did not command. For example, when Moshe gives instructions about Pesach, he makes some additions about which we did not read that the Most High commanded them to be made. When Moshe received as a gift from the Most High the tablets for the people of Israel (even though He knew what was going on down there), Moshe comes and breaks the tablets, and no one tells him from above, no voice comes out of Heaven: “Moshe, Moshe, because you did this, you will not enter the land.” And there are many such situations. Take at least the situation from chapter 17, when Moshe sends Aharon with the burning of incense, and the plague stops, and the Most High does not say: “Because you played the partisan against Me here, you will not enter the Holy Land.”

Why then does it happen here? And the commentators, naturally, commented very, very much, so that one of them, summing up, says: “I have already counted thirteen sins that various commentators have attributed to Moshe. And if I now continue the research and, for the sake of being original, attribute to him some special, fourteenth sin, then what will I have done? After all, Moshe sinned with only one sin, and we have already attributed to him a whole heap of sins.”

Indeed, some say: “The problem was that Moshe became angry with the people where God was merciful. No one asked him to say rebels, mutineers. This is a manifestation of a lack of love for the people.” The Most High shows mercy. Possibly because it concerns a new generation, which still needs the mercy of the Most High. After all, the first time too, when the people of Israel wanted water, the Most High was not angry, but simply gave water. So it is here as well. But Moshe adds anger on his own. He is already such a “venerable elder” in relation to these “youngsters” and transfers, perhaps, all the problems accumulated in the confrontation with the previous generation into the present reality. The commentators continue and say: “In that case it is not for nothing that the time when the events take place is not indicated here. To some it will seem that these events resemble what has already happened, that this is a continuation of the same tedious stories, when the same tedious people tediously argue with Moshe. But if you read a second time, if you go deeper, you see that it concerns a generation that has changed. The generation has changed, but Moshe has not changed. Moshe turned out to be unprepared for new methods of leadership.” According to this version, if at the splitting of the Red Sea Moshe was able to show that he is a man of God and that God leads the people, as it is written, “and they believed in the LORD and in Moshe, His servant,” then for the present generation no such confirmation took place. And leadership demands constant renewal and constant movement, dynamics in step with the times. Therefore, as these commentators believe, Moshe needs to be replaced.

Others say: “Indeed, well, it is obvious that Moshe's sin is that he did not speak to the rock, but struck the rock.” The word in itself has power, and the LORD creates by the Word. This is very important. The Word is both a prototype of Mashiach and Mashiach himself. And instead of showing authority by the word, showing how strong authority is and how much nature submits to the word, Moshe strikes with the staff. And striking with the staff... Maybe he has a magic staff there, and maybe the power, it is actually in the staff: now it sprouts, now something else miraculous happens to it. And the midrashim say that possibly magical names were also written on them. One way or another, Moshe does not manifest the authority of the Most High in all its fullness.

According to yet another view, the problem was in the word “we shall bring out,” when Moshe said: “We shall bring out water for you,” not the Most High, but we will pull out the water, and then – two blows on the rock. And the people may get the impression that it is Moshe and Aharon who bring out the water, that the Most High as it were has nothing to do with it here, that there are just two good wizards, Moshe and Aharon. That is how this matter is presented. And in this word, in the use of this word, many also see the problem because of which anger flared up against Moshe.

Here is one more version. Some commentators focus attention on Moshe's phrase “out of this rock?” The people of Israel proposed some other rock, saying: “Come on, pull it out of this one here! Come on, this rock here!” And the question arises: is there a law, are there strict rules by which miracles are performed? If the Most High promises a miracle, must one take precisely this very specific rock and perform the miracle with it? Naturally, the Most High can work a miracle and pull water out of any rock. But Moshe, judging by some commentaries, believed that there is a law also with regard to miracles. Imagine that you have some acquaintance who is sick, and you dreamed that you come, anoint him with oil, for example, and he is healed. A wonderful dream. You think: “This is a prophetic dream.” And you are about to go to this person and suddenly you see that the shirt you were wearing in the dream is not ironed. And you will have to put on another shirt, also good, beautiful, ironed, but a different one. And you will think: “If I come in a different shirt, maybe this will be disobedience to the Most High, disobedience to the dream, and then nothing will work? Will it be a manifestation of faith and obedience to start ironing the shirt? Or should I not go at all if there is no right shirt? Or can I after all go in any shirt?” This is a question of faith, a question of each person's choice. And the commentators say that Moshe made the choice in favor of a specific rock, the rock that he saw. And the Most High gave water from the rock from which Moshe decided to give water. Possibly from the one he had originally pointed to, and not from the one the people pointed to.

But what happened in doing so? We said that by his actions a righteous man establishes certain laws: what is bound on earth is bound in heaven as well. For Moshe everything was bound in such a way that now in his miracles too there must be their own laws, their own regularities.

The commentators also say: “Moshe understood from the outset that his mission is accompanying the people in the wilderness, the giving of the Torah, the explaining of the Torah. He understood that there, in Israel, there would be other leaders. But since all the guidance of the people of Israel by the Most High in the wilderness is miraculous, he thought and hoped that in some miraculous way he too would manage to enter the Holy Land.” But when Moshe limited the Most High, limited the miracle-working power of the Most High, it became impossible to work such a miracle that he would enter the land of Israel. Measure for measure – this is not a sin, this is a law that he established. According to this view, Moshe lacked faith that the Most High as the One Who Works miracles is merciful and is exalted above the details of these miracles, that sometimes details must be disregarded in order to demonstrate the greater glory of the Most High. As a result, Moshe and Aharon did not fully reveal the glory of the Most High to the people, as it should have been done.

Our chapter 20 is that very case when commentators take apart every word down to the suffixes, down to the molecules, trying to find what exactly the guilt of Moshe, such a perfect man, consists in, and why the Most High became so angry with him. Moshe himself, it must be said (and in the book of Devarim we will see this), does not admit his sin and says: “I got it because of you.” Likewise in Tehillim (106:32) we read that the people angered God at Meriva, and Moshe was punished for them. That is, the psalms too do not say that Moshe somehow sinned here himself. But this may be because they set up such a provocation, to which Moshe gave in.

One way or another, when Moshe hears the sentence, he does not repent, does not fall on his face, and our topic of Moshe's guilt ends at this point. Later we will read in the book of Devarim that Moshe pleads for the people, pleads for himself. We read many midrashim about how Moshe asked that he might after all be allowed to enter the land of Israel. But here, for now, everything ends just like that.

One difficulty remains – to understand for what, actually, Aharon is punished. As far as we can see, all of Aharon's actions in this story consist in his standing next to Moshe, they were commanded so – to go together and so on. But it is obvious that since the lineup here is a team, the score is a team score too. Moshe and Aharon have long been a single, integral prophetic pair. The spirit that acts among them is a single spirit, and therefore what Moshe did, Aharon as it were did too.

Having talked through many versions of how it was and how it could have been, we cannot give the single correct answer. Beware of people who have the single correct answers. Not everything is clear to us. It is not clear why Aharon is punished, it is not clear why Moshe is punished precisely for this, while for some of his other acts of disobedience he is not punished. It is not clear why Moshe does not ask forgiveness, why he blames the people. Much remains and will remain unclear in this story. Hence such a multitude of diverse commentaries. And there are no incorrect, wrong commentaries. There are commentaries that you read here and now and that may seem to you incomprehensible and maybe even strange and absurd.

And Moshe continues his activity, despite the fact that he received terrible news. Such is Moshe's faithfulness. Moshe continues to lead the people, continues to govern the people as if nothing had happened: whatever the Most High says, Moshe remains His faithful servant. Just as he accepted, albeit after wrangling, the mission to bring out the people of Israel. And afterward he gradually learned obedience, and the Most High Himself testified about him (12:7): “Not so my servant, Moshe. In all My house he is faithful (ne'emán hu).”

Moshe remains faithful even after the will of the Most High did not coincide with what he himself would have wanted. But not his will, but God's be done. And he, Moshe, will serve God's will all the same, as long as he lives. This, possibly, keeps him from falling into depression. Another would be depressed for several months, another, perhaps, would even go on a drinking binge, and would fall away from faith, but Moshe is not like that, depression cannot take him so easily. Moshe believes that, however things may be, the mission exists, the people must be led into the land of Israel. And Moshe continues to do this and even begins to engage in politics, which we read about further on.

Who is Edom? He too is a descendant of Avraham. And if we recall the covenant of the Most High with Avraham, when the Most High said to him: “Your descendants will be slaves in a foreign land,” then one can understand that this concerned Edom to the same degree as well. But nevertheless it fell precisely to the sons of Israel to shoulder the burden for everyone. And here Moshe says: “You remember, we actually went to pay for everyone. You are our brother, and you owe us a little.”

Moshe says, hints: “And also remember, comrade Edom, that we have a direct line to the Most High. If we cry out to Him, He answers us. Beware! Maybe you should take this into account? He brought us out, He has already led us right up to here. And so what is our request to you, comrade Edom?”

 That is, we will pass through in such a way as not to damage either your crops or your vineyards. Give us a transit visa, we will only pass through your territory, we will not touch anyone or anything.

In other words: “You have your own promises regarding the land, regarding everything, that I remember. But I also remember my own promise that I received: ‘By your sword you shall live!’ So if we are talking about promises, then my sword – your head off your shoulders.” The Israelites make one more proposal:

Why did Edom refuse to let Israel pass? Most likely, if Israel had passed in transit through the land of Edom and had entered into war, this would have meant, indirectly, that Edom itself was getting drawn into a war with all the small and large states of the region. Having weighed all the “pros” and “cons” and, perhaps, having held, so to speak, a meeting at the level of kings and heads of government, the king of Edom decided that it was more advantageous for him not only not to conclude an alliance with Israel, but, on the contrary, to come out against it on the side of the peoples of the land. That is precisely why the king gathered an army and came out to defend the territory. But not his own territory, which no one was threatening: he came out to defend the whole region, thereby choosing a side in this war. The people of Israel again do not go by the direct road and are forced to go around.

At the conclusion of our portion we read one more tragic story, the story of the death of Aharon. Just as the Most High said, Aharon will not enter the land of Israel, His words begin to come true. And we have such a heavy portion, at the beginning of which Moshe's sister dies, and at the end his brother dies.

Aharon must not simply die, he must die consciously: come to the place of death, prepare for death, hand over his functions to his son, remain there and die. This, in fact, is very hard. Perhaps this is what Aharon was moving toward his whole life, and perhaps this is the apogee, the quintessence of priesthood – the ability to meet death face to face. And in death to act as commanded. Not only to live as commanded, not only to do as commanded, but also to die as commanded, to die in a businesslike way, observing in detail all the instructions connected with death. One more tragedy. Just as we did not read about the feelings that Moshe experienced after the death of Miryam, here too we read for now simply about a certain dutifulness of Moshe. Moshe does everything as the Most High commanded.

Just as briefly, without solemnity, it was described how Moshe clothed Aharon and his sons. And in exactly the same way, briefly, without solemnity, with a kind of businesslike manner that astonishes an ordinary person, Moshe takes the garments off Aharon. We do not read about whether there are tears in his eyes, we do not read how his heart is beating. Each person can try this situation on himself, and it was hardly only businesslike manner. And only the three of them knew what was really happening there, on the mountain.

Thirty days, as we know, is the usual number of days of mourning. And here we see for the first time the mourning of the whole community – something that did not happen after the death of Miryam. We see for the first time the whole community of Israel grieving over the loss. Perhaps this is a great testimony of the people's love for Aharon.

With God's help we will study chapter 21 from the weekly portion Chukat of the book of Bemidbar. Once, many years ago, I had occasion in Israel to help new repatriates from the CIS get settled. I no longer remember whether they were from Russia, or from Ukraine, or from some other place. And we were standing with them in line at a bank. In front of us stood a gray-haired man in a black hat, in a long frock coat, clearly religious. He stood and, swaying slightly, read some small book. And my companions became curious and asked: “Alex, tell us, please, what is he reading?” I looked and said: “He is reading the book of Shemot.” They fell silent for a while, stunned, and then the head of the family asked, so timidly: “What, is it only now, only at this age, that he has started reading the book of Shemot, this religious grandpa?” And I had to explain that the grandpa is perhaps reading the book of Shemot for the sixtieth, or perhaps for the sixty-fifth time, that he reads it every year, and that this is our custom. What is this whole story for? Every year we have anew the pleasure, the happiness, the blessing of rereading the books of the Torah and finding something new for ourselves.

At the very beginning of the chapter a short but very important and instructive story is given. This whole story takes up only three verses.

 Some number of Israelites, we do not know whether large or small, were taken captive. Apparently, the battle did not go very well for the army of Israel.

By the good (or not so good) tradition of those times, conquered cities were, naturally, subject to plunder. Their military storehouses, their sanctuaries were plundered, well, and why hide the sin, everything that possibly could be was plundered and divided among the warriors and the commanders. Here Israel says: “If You give us these cities, then whatever we find in these cities, we will dedicate all of it to You. We need nothing. We need only victory. We want to free our captives.”

 One of the meanings of the root chet-resh-mem in the name of the place Chorma – to dedicate, to set apart for the Most High (as also in the verb lehachrim). This root also has other meanings, for example, in the word chérem (anathema – separation from the community, or complete destruction, rout). But in this case it is about dedication to the Most High, about the positive side of this root.

So, here you have a passage of three verses. A story about an attack and about the revenge that Israel took. There are two problems here, one of them is geographical: we do not know very well where this Arad is located. Today in Israel there is a city of Arad, which is located between Be'er-Sheva and the Dead Sea, I happened to live there, a wonderful, beautiful city, but it is not this one. This Arad was, apparently, much, much further south. There is also a historical problem. We do not actually know when these events took place. Possibly it is about a later period, the period of Shoftim, when we really do read the description of a similar story (Shoftim 1:17). This question is raised by the well-known commentator of the Torah and great Jewish scholar in general Nachmanides, Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman (Ramban). And he says that there is a kind of addition here. One can understand him as saying that a certain prophecy about the future is written here, that Moshe wrote down what would happen in the future. But Ramban wrote this in such complicated language that one can also understand it differently. One can understand that some scribes wrote these two verses in after the period of Shoftim, to show how the matter ended. That is how Nachmanides was understood by another Jewish commentator, Abarbanel (a very famous personality, he lived at the time of the expulsion of the Jews from Spain, a man who was minister of finance at the court of the Spanish queen and, as they say, was a very interesting figure). He was very indignant at Ramban's commentary: “This means that someone, however holy he may be, could write some details and some verses into our Torah, and then what we have is not the Torah but a collection of folk folklore. It is completely unclear what to make of this.” Possibly, as modern scholars think, Abarbanel misunderstood Ramban, and Ramban was after all speaking of a prophecy written down. But one can also suppose that all these events really did happen in the time of Moshe and that later they simply repeated themselves.

Let us ask ourselves: and why does the Torah tell us this? Here are some interesting details that can be noted. When Moshe sends the scouts, they are hatarím – those who explore, investigate the Land (from the verb latúr). We spoke about this in chapter 13. Here, in verse 1, Israel goes dérech ha'atarím (by the way of the scouts). The word is written a little differently, but it sounds the same. That is, the name of the place (Atarim) echoes the story that happened earlier. And this can be understood as a hint. The early translators of the Torah interpreted this passage exactly so, they read the word as hatarím (scouts). According to this version, the king understood it exactly so, that Israel was going by the road of the scouts, and decided to attack it. And this is the first hint for us at the meaning of the story. And here is the second. The account in chapter 14, in verse 45, ends with the defeat of the Israelites at the place called Chorma, and here we also read about it. And a third, possibly, hint. Here it is written that the Most High heard the voice of Israel (vayishmá adonáy bekól yisraél), and there (14:41) it is written that Israel did not listen to the voice of the Most High.

All of this together looks as though it is about a correction. How can one know that a person who sinned in something has corrected himself? It is easy to know if the person, finding himself before the same test, withstands it, in a similar situation no longer commits a similar sin. And thus, in our case a correction took place. Instead of going to fight on their own or taking to flight, this time the people of Israel called out to the Most High, made a covenant with the Most High concerning this war. This is a very important turning point in history. For long? Well, apparently, not for long.

From verse 4 on we read a different story.

Literally vattiktzár nefesh means the soul turned out to be short. What does this mean? One can draw an analogy with a person who runs out of breath. He counted on walking a shorter distance, he had to walk longer, and the second wind does not come. The people were let down by their “wind.” We say of the Most High that He is érech appáyim (long-suffering, with long nostrils). There is also the expression érech rúach (length of spirit) for a person who is tolerant of something. The phrase katzár néfesh (short soul) means precisely an impatience of the soul, of the flesh. And the result of this impatience is once again grumbling.

How many times have we already heard this question?! We see one more expression with the word néfesh (soul). This time néfesh katzá, from the word katzé (end, edge), that is, our soul has reached its limit, has run out, there is no more strength to endure. This bread is called by the word hakkelokél, which can be translated as contemptible, shameful, as fit for animals. The word lekallél means to curse, to damn, the word lekalkél –to spoil, to damage. Those commentators who try to preserve the loftiness of tone say that hakkelokél is the lightest bread, low-calorie bread, from the word kál (light). This is bread that is completely absorbed, after which there is no need to go anywhere to relieve oneself, which is all absorbed, without residue, and it is precisely this that they were sick of. But the plain speech of the people most likely points to this contemptible bread. In a harsher version one can also translate it as cursed bread. One way or another, the people are indignant. What is this? Again we see this lack of gratitude. The word yehudí (Jew, Judean) is connected with gratitude. Lea named her fourth son with the name Yehuda (now I will thank the Most High). A Judean is one who is capable of being grateful, this is one of the qualities of a Judean. But when gratitude is lost, problems in life begin.

The word serafím in the Russian language denotes a certain kind of angels, and in the singular at that, while in the plural it is serafímy. In Hebrew the word saráf is one who burns, one who has a burning, stinging tongue, a subspecies of stinging snakes. The singular is saráf, the plural – srafím. In the Tanach there are heavenly beings who are also called srafím, like six-winged serpents. But here what is meant is a subspecies of snakes. Therefore a certain indignation – Why did the Most High say to make a saráf, and Moshe made a serpent? – is not quite appropriate. So, the Most High sent stinging snakes against the people of Israel. The people murmur, and meanwhile snakes are advancing on the people.

Yitzchak Karo, the author of the book Toldot Yitzchak, names four reasons why the Most High sent precisely snakes. The first reason: the serpent was the comrade who was the first in history to utter lashon ha-ra (evil speech). The serpent told Chava that God simply does not want them to be like Him, simply does not want competitors, and that is why He forbade them to eat the fruit. In a word, the first evil-speaking comrade is the serpent, therefore the one came who is the founding father of evil speech, and he will exact payment from the one who utters evil speech. Second: the midrash says that the serpent is not able to distinguish tastes. Whatever it tries, everything has the taste of earth for it, as it is written in Yeshayahu: “Your food – dust.” Indeed, the snake has such an interesting peculiarity. Everyone has probably seen how a snake's tongue flickers in front of it. The snake's tongue is both its nose and its taste detector at the same time. It constantly takes samples from the atmosphere, returns inside, presses against the top of the palate, against the so-called Jacobson's organ (here, by the way, yes, in the snake's mouth there is an organ named in honor of the Danish Jew Ludwig Levin Jacobson. Even into a snake's mouth a Jew has seeped through), and this Jacobson's organ analyzes the taste. That is, the snake senses not the taste of what it eats, but the taste of what it recognizes. The snake has no organs of hearing, the snake is deaf, it does not hear at all. The snake also sees very poorly, that is, it has serious trouble with its eyesight too. The snake's means of orientation is its tongue, and the organ named after Ludwig Levin Jacobson, which is in its mouth, against which it presses its tongue, tells it the taste of what it eats. But in the process of eating it does not itself sense this taste, it has no taste receptors on its tongue. And therefore one can say that all its food has the taste of dust. And so this very snake that does not distinguish tastes becomes an instrument of punishment for the people who said: “This bread is not tasty to us,” the bread which, as the midrash says, could have different tastes according to the eater's wish. The third reason: the serpent kills with its tongue. The one who kills with the tongue, let that one punish and teach a lesson to those who dig their own grave with their tongue, who say: “We know, life and death are in the power of the tongue.” The fourth reason is the simplest: in the desert there are generally many snakes. The people of Israel, as long as they were under the protection of the Most High, were protected from these snakes. When the anger of the Most High flared up, the protection fell away and the snakes were simply permitted to attack Israel, the Most High gave the snakes the go-ahead.

This is also a peculiar lesson for us. When something attacks us, when something happens to us, we ask: “Why? Why is this happening to us?” And sometimes, perhaps, it is worth asking ourselves the question: “Why did this not happen to us before?” and thanking the Most High that before He kept us from this calamity.

One way or another, the snakes began to attack Israel, and there were not a few dead. The people of Israel, it must be said, this time quickly understood everything and came to their senses.

Again the humility of Moshe draws attention, who did not say: “Well, so there!” and did not even utter the phrase from the cartoon about Leopold the cat: “Guys, let's live together in friendship!” Moshe simply goes and prays, as he was asked. One could have supposed that the Most High would simply say: “Good! I have heard you, Moshe. I am glad that the people have come to their senses, I am glad that the people have repented.” And would go on to say: “To your holes, snakes! Go back, each of you to your places.” But the Most High acts differently, and this is most likely so that the lesson would be truly learned and understood by each person individually, in any situation that is critical for him.

 What is important here is that the Most High does not protect anyone from bites, no one receives protection from them. A person must guard himself, somehow watch himself, so as not to be bitten. But if he is nevertheless bitten, then he has a path to salvation. Precisely the person whom the snake has already bitten, who realizes that he is stricken, that he may die, precisely in the face of death as an almost accomplished fact, he can look at the snake and survive. This is not protection from the bite. This is protection from death as a result of the bite. This is a very important detail.

Why did Moshe make the serpent of copper? Well, he decided: “Since it is a nachásh (serpent), it will be made of nechóshet (copper),” by the similarity of sound, that is.

That is the kind of story it is. In fact, behind this serpent one had to see the Word of God, so the commentators say. When a person looked at the serpent and understood that here, this is the correction, it happens according to the Word of God, saw the Word of God behind this, then he survived. That is, it was not the serpent itself, of course, that saved, but the Word of God saved.

Next comes a geographical section of sorts. And we do not know very well where all these places are located.

One can translate the name as wasteland or abandoned place of crossings. Actually, almost all commentators say that they do not know why this place is called so.

The stream of Zared (according to most versions) is the stream which today is called El-Hasi, which flows from the south-eastern side into the Dead Sea.

According to the majority of researchers, there really existed a Book of the Wars (Battles) of the LORD (séfer milchamót adonáy), as well as the Book of the Righteous (séfer hayashár), which, unfortunately, have not been preserved, have not come down to us. These Books are collections of ancient battle poetry, they sang of the military past of the people of Israel. Today there exists a book which is called séfer hayashár, but it has nothing to do with that ancient Book, it is simply called the same, it is a medieval book. Although many claim that it is that very one, they find it somewhere and say: “Here, here, we found it!” No, so far, unfortunately, no one has found it.

And the second part of this verse most likely refers to chapters or to titles of poems from the Book of the Battles of the LORD that is lost to us, and we cannot say what it means, these titles: vahév besufá (possibly the name of some place Vahev, which is in Sufa) and nachalím arnón (the springs or streams of Arnon). Apparently, what is meant here are references to some poems from the lost Book of the Battles of the LORD.

A song is a special form for glorifying the Most High. The midrash speaks of ten songs: of them nine are mentioned in the Tanach, and the tenth song is a new song, which will be sung to the Mashiach. In the Torah we read three songs. The song of Moshe at the crossing of the Red Sea, when the song is sung both by Moshe and by Israel. The song in this verse, which we are reading now – the song at the well, or the song to the well, which Israel sings, but Moshe does not sing. And the third song is Moshe's song Haazínu hashamaim (Give ear, O heavens…), at the very end of his life, on its last day, when Moshe sings, but Israel does not sing.

A song is sung after a great, grandiose miracle that has taken place. A person who has lived through a miracle and has grasped the miracle sings a song to the Most High. When we speak of the ten songs, we mean songs on the scale of a whole people, a joint song of the people (a personal song is, of course, a separate question), which is connected with a miracle, connected with the ability of the people to speak and to give thanks.

When we recall the creation of the world, we say that the world was created by Ten Utterances, as it is written: “And God said… And God said… And God said…” God said, and this may not imply a listener. One can say even when there is no one around, and that is how it was: there was no listener who would hear the Words of God. But from the moment God made Adam alive, Adam became not simply a living soul, Adam became a speaking human being, as is written about this in the Targum. The word living the Targum translates as speaking, Adam became a speaking being. Speaking – that means also thinking: for you and I think in words, we think in the language in which we speak, our speech allows us to think. And therefore the Ten Commandments, given later, are parallel to the Ten Utterances by which the world was created. But these are no longer Ten Utterances, they are now Ten Speakings (aséret hadibrot). I can say that I am conversing only when I have someone to converse with.

Songs are a rare case when the whole people can respond to a miracle. It is the answering line of the whole people to the revelation of davár (logos), the Word of God, the Utterance of God, addressed to man. When the Word that was in the beginning is revealed to the people, then a miracle takes place, and the people can respond to it. Then the song of the whole people is born as a reaction to the miracle, to the revelation of the Divine Word. For what is a miracle? A miracle is the intervention of the Creator in the creation, when the order established in the creation is changed. For whose sake? For the sake of those faithful to the Creator. And this is no longer imrá (utterance), this is no longer the LORD said, but the LORD spoke through miracles with His people. That very Word that was in the beginning is not addressed to the world being created, but is addressed to people, to the people, so that the people would change. The reaction of the creation to the revelation of the Word of God, when the people reflect and as it were return this Word to the Most High, – this is the song. As if spirit had been added, as if a person speaks no longer only with his own spirit, but the whole people speaks by the Holy Spirit in song.

And here the people of Israel sing a song about the well. The well sings solo, and on backing vocals, singing along – the whole people of Israel. There is a tradition that the waters of Yaakov's well rose up to meet him, the waters of the well rose up to meet their master. This is what the Samaritan woman asked Yeshua about: “Are you like our Forefather, Yaakov, that you can draw water from the well without a dipper, without a bucket? Will it rise up to meet you?” Here the people say: “Rise up, well, and we will sing to you!” But this is not simply a well, this is an amazing well with an amazing history.

We can easily recognize the heroes of this song. The well is the well where the Most High commanded Moshe to gather the people. The nobles and princes are Moshe and Aharon; the rod and the staff – that is also clear. But how did Moshe and Aharon dig the well with rods and staffs? One can say that the Torah is compared to water, and not simply to water. The Torah is compared to the water that preceded the third day of creation, when all the water gathered into one place. The Torah is water spilled over the whole earth, like the glory of God. On the second day the Most High separated the water which is above the rakía (vault) from the water which is below the vault. Water is the only substance of matter that has no form of its own. It always takes the form of that in which it is. The midrash, tradition, says that the form of water, its true form, is kept there, above. When the people of Israel “create” the well and when water opens up from the well, then this is that very water to which the Torah is compared, it is water that flows from sources that existed before the first day of creation. The revealing of this water is the revealing of the Torah in the world.

That is why there is such a great blessing on this well, that is why the Torah sings solo, and all the others only repeat and sing over again what the Torah says. All the others only sing the refrain before the Torah, because the Torah is the most perfect water. The hymn to the well is a hymn to the revealing of the Torah, it is also the apogee of mutual understanding between the people and the Most High, when the people thank the Most High: after the serpents, after all the punishments, after all the stories, a blessing arises. The people bless the well, bless the Torah, bless also the servants who dug the well with this Torah, gave the blessing of the Torah to desert souls, poured out water on desert lands. This is the awareness, the teshuvá (repentance) of the people and the glorification of the Most High for all the miracles that were performed by Him.

It is interesting that the expression umimmidbár mattaná, which we translated as from the wilderness it is a gift can be translated geographically, as the further movement of the people: from the wilderness – to Mattán. Most likely, the song preserves this double meaning: both that we set out to a place with the name Mattan, and that the wilderness gave this well as a gift, that the Most High moved the wilderness to give this well as a gift. With this, essentially, the song ends, and then the journey of Israel continues.

Such was the route that turned out, with some not always understandable geographical points, but we will not go deeply into them now. And the people of Israel continue their attempts at a political settlement of their entry into the land.

Exactly as the people of Israel once spoke with the king of Edom (20:17), with the same request they turn to the Amorite king: just let us pass through, give us a transit visa through your country, we need nothing more. But King Sichon too, like the king of Edom, reacted completely inadequately.

In this battle victory was on our side, and to Amon Israel did not go for now.

 That is, it was a trophy city of Sichon, the Amorite king, which Sichon was very proud of.

And further, an amazing thing, there follows an Amorite legend about the glorious capture of the former Moavite city of Cheshbon, a sort of Amorite “Tale of Igor's Campaign.” The Torah cites a poem dedicated to the national pride of the Amorites, this is how all the court singers of King Sichon praised him.

Some say that the flame spoken of here is a certain conspiracy which King Sichon arranged in the city of Cheshbon and because of which the city fell.

 Such is the hymn about the glorious victory of the Amorites over Moav that his court poets composed for King Sichon. But he composes hymns well who composes hymns last. The Amorites did not manage it: they attacked Israel, having rejected the peace process, and got a resounding flick on the Amorite nose. And Israel, accordingly, settled in those cities that were the object of the Amorites' national pride.

There are different opinions regarding where this place is located. By approximate estimates – it is 10–15 kilometers from Rabat Amon.

So, Israel begins to wage its first victorious wars, we read about the first victories of the people of Israel.

 The king of Bashan – this is truly a legendary figure. There is a lot one can tell about him, and we will still tell it, we will still talk about him when we study the book of Devarim.

In conclusion let us read verse 1 of chapter 22:

Well, who was it there asking: “I read and wait, when will the joys finally come?” Here are the first joys in the book of Bemidbar.

In the weekly portion Chukat there are many interesting stories, but in this talk we will focus on one of them. This is the story of the snake, or of the copper serpent, or of the snakes – in short, we will talk about reptiles.

Let us read the story itself (this is verses 4–9 of chapter 21), go a little deeper into the translation and, perhaps, learn something new for ourselves.

4. From Mount Hor they set out by way of the Red Sea, to go around the land of Edom, and the people began to be faint-hearted on the way.

So, they departed from Mount Hor (or means light). The people descend from the mount of Light, descend to the Red Sea, literally – to the Reed Sea (yam Suf). And in the word suf one clearly hears sof (end), in writing the words differ only in the vowel pointing of the middle letter vav. That is, the people went down from the very height to the very lowlands. Why did they go down, why did they go by way of the sea? To go around the land of Edom. And the people began to be faint-hearted on the way, literally – there grew short (did not reach) the soul of the people on the way. There is such an expression: “the arms are too short” to do something. The souls of the people became short, and because of this “short-souledness” the people began to speak against God and Moshe.

5. And the people spoke against God and Moshe: “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to die in the desert? For here there is neither bread nor water, and our soul loathes this worthless bread!”

The question arises: you – who is that? And you – that is God and Moshe together, such a little pair, popularly called a “gang.” That is: they have the man there (which, as the midrash says, takes on any tastes), they have water – in short, the menu is a field menu, but a filling one, they seemingly have nothing in particular to complain about, right? And the “short-souledness” of the people leads to the following situation.

6. And the LORD sent against the people venomous snakes, which stung the people, and a multitude of the sons of Israel died.

What do the Jews do? They understand: something went wrong, something happened not the way it should, and they come to Moshe.

7. And the people came to Moshe, and said: “We have sinned in that we spoke against the LORD and against you; pray to the LORD that He remove the snakes from us.” And Moshe prayed to the LORD for the people.

Pay attention: if before they joined the LORD and Moshe together: “You there, the two of you,” now a distinguishing has taken place, a separation has taken place: “We have sinned against the LORD and against you.” Moshe, having heard that they asked him for forgiveness, although they did not even say “forgive,” but simply acknowledged the sin, forgives the people on his own part and already intercedes, prays for the people before the Most High.

8. And the LORD said to Moshe: “Make yourself a serpent (saráf) and set it up on a banner (or on a high pole), and the one who is stung looked (vehabít) at it, and he will remain alive.”

The word saráf – this is not quite a serpent, it is a reptile, a lizard-like, fire-breathing something, let's say.

9. And Moshe made a copper serpent (nechásh nechóshet), and set it up on a banner, and, when a snake stung a man, he, having looked at the copper serpent, remained alive.

First, in God's command there was no word copper (nechóshet), Moshe himself decided to make the serpent out of copper. Amazing, right? Second, he made not a saráf, but a nachásh (and nachásh already literally means serpent).

There is much in this story that is incomprehensible. First, it is unclear why the bread seemed loathsome to the people? Why did this joining together of Moshe and God happen? Why precisely did snakes become the punishment? Why did God command to make a saráf, while Moshe made a nachásh, and why was the nachásh of copper? And how does all this work? The whole story is full of incomprehensible things, the whole story is mysterious, and we will little by little try to figure it out.

Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki (Rashi), the well-known Jewish commentator, writes his commentary, by and large, for the very, very beginners, and he says this: “When they said: you brought us out, why did you bring us out, they made the servant and the Master equal, it got mixed up for them, the chain of hierarchy broke, the chain of connection broke.” Why did snakes become the punishment? Rashi says this: “The serpent, which was once punished for evil speech, will punish those who spread evil speech.” That is, if you speak slander against the LORD, slander against Moshe, then the one will come who has already caught it for this, who has already been punished for this – the serpent, and he will punish you for evil speech. As we remember, one of the curses on the serpent was: “And dust you shall eat all the days of your life” In nature everything that a snake eats has the same taste – the taste of dust, of something tasteless, it has no taste receptors (although the Torah, of course, is not a zoology textbook). And the one for whom all kinds of food have one taste will punish the ungrateful ones, who have the man, which possesses (as the midrash says) different tastes. In this way certain methods of treatment are indicated: the one who has already gone through the punishment for evil speech within the punishment for seduction becomes an instrument of punishment for evil speech within the punishment for ingratitude.

Next, one more explanation that Rashi gives. He says that Moshe was not commanded to make the serpent of copper, but Moshe said: “The Holy One, blessed be He, called it nachásh (serpent), I will make it of nechóshet (copper).” Nachásh (serpent) and nechóshet (copper) – these are words of the same root. Here one of the rules for comprehending the text of the Torah is used, which goes like this: lashón nofél al lashón (language falls upon language). The essence of this rule is that, by replacing some word or expression in the analyzed passage with another one similar to it in sound, one reveals another facet of meaning of the concept. In Rashi's language this can be understood the way it is given here. Rashi continues to explain and says: “Why was it necessary to look at the serpent? Our sages said: the serpent does not kill and does not keep alive. When the sons of Israel directed their gaze upward and lifted their hearts to their heavenly Father, they were healed, and if not – they wasted away. If they looked at the serpent and saw the Word, then they were healed.”

Another Jewish commentator, Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, Nachmanides (Ramban), says: “It is a known way in the Torah that often that which caused damage, that which brought harm, is the healing from the harm.”

In parentheses let us say that in our weekly portion too we see that the healing by means of the red heifer (pará adumá) is a counterweight, an antiphase of the golden calf: it too is red, golden, it too is burned, like the calf, and there are many more parallels. As the same Rashi says: if a child has been naughty, then his mother is called to clean up after him. Here one can say figuratively that the red heifer is a kind of female of the golden calf, only now made according to a Divine command.

So, Ramban says: “That which inflicts damage can also heal damage, that which brings illness can heal from this illness.” Here we see a very interesting thing: many centuries after Ramban, the Jewish physician Samuel Hahnemann invented a system based on the ancient principle similia similibus curantur (like is cured by like) –homeopathy: what causes a person harm can also bring him benefit.

Further, Nachmanides says that if a snake once bit a person, then after that he feels a certain fear of snakes (this is the spiritual aspect according to Ramban), he is already afraid of the very word “snake.” So afraid that it is better not to tell him about snakes at all, on the principle: just as in the house of a hanged man one does not speak of rope, so in the house of someone bitten by a snake one does not speak of snakes. And further Ramban says: “If so, then precisely through the serpent, precisely through this doubling, nachásh nechóshet, through that which frightens a person most of all, which seems most terrible to him, precisely through this the person was healed and saw that it is not the serpent that matters here, but what matters is the will of the Creator, which is either fulfilled or not fulfilled.” That is how Ramban understands it. Let us repeat once more. Ramban says: “If a snake bit a person and he is afraid of snakes, then the healing from the snakebite can be a serpent which is now sent by the will of the Most High. To see the will of God in the serpent, to see the will of God in the instrument of punishment – in this there is already deliverance.”

Now let us try to understand the meaning of the word nechóshet (copper). Why copper in particular, what is copper and what does copper carry within itself? There are three properties of copper that I would like to talk about.

First. In Yeshayahu (48:4) we read: “I know that you are obstinate, and that the sinews in your neck are iron, and your forehead – copper (umitzchachá nechushá).” The word nechishút means consistent audacity, audacious persistence, acting with confidence, it has the same root, nun-chet-shin, as the word nachásh (serpent), and in turn from here comes the notion métzach nechushá (copper forehead).

To go into the word nechóshet (copper) even more deeply, let us turn to verse 2 of chapter 27 of the book of Shemot, where it says: “And make horns on its four corners (of the altar), so that the horns come out of it, and overlay it with copper.” The altar is clad, covered with copper, it has a copper covering. Rashi (again) explains: “Cover it with copper to atone for audacity, for ‘copper-foreheadedness,’ as it is said: and your forehead is copper.” What does this mean at all? How can copper atone for audacity? Suppose a person has sinned, has done something not very good (something he is not very proud of afterward) and thinks: “Here, now I will take a lamb, and go with it to Jerusalem, and approach the altar with it, and everyone will see that I am bringing a sin offering. And people will say: ‘Oh, you so-and-so of a teacher’ or ‘Oh, you so-and-so of a baker! What have you done? Apparently he has some sin! Come on, come on, let's condemn him, let's point our fingers at him.’” And a person, naturally, may be ashamed to go to the place where sin is healed. I know people who had to bring a certificate from a venereal disease clinic to their work. These were completely healthy, normal people, and they were ashamed to go in there, so that people would not think: “And why is it we are going into a place like that?” It is unpleasant, all the more so when it is about the altar, for one does not bring an offering there just to get checked. And a certain consistent audacity is needed to come to the Temple with this offering.

If we read those chapters of the book of Shemot that tell about the construction of the Mishkan, we will see that in the Tent of Meeting everything connected with persistence, with uniting, everything that gives us persistence in the outer world, firmness in our standing – all this is connected with copper. Inside – gold, inside is kept the Holy Thing of the LORD, inside – holiness. Outside – copper, as a symbol of persistence, a symbol of gradual, stubborn, audacious, heedless of everything, steadfast forward movement. And the copper clasps (Shemot 26:11), which join the Mishkan into a single whole, as it were unite the people, this is that very audacious, childlike stubbornness.

Second. We know one more story – about the women who donated to the Tent of Meeting, who brought Moshe their little copper mirrors, precious little things. The Torah says (Shemot 38:8): “And he made the copper washbasin (hakiyór nechóshet) and its base of copper from the mirrors of the thronging (women), who thronged at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting.” And this is what the commentary says: “The daughters of Israel had copper mirrors, into which they looked when they adorned themselves. And even these they brought without hesitating as a freewill offering for the Tent of Meeting.” The women could have had doubts. First, a little mirror costs a lot, and the husband may well not buy another one, especially in the wilderness, where Dior stores are in short supply: here I give away my little mirror, and what will I look into when I put on my makeup? That is the first thing. Second, there is a certain embarrassment: a little mirror is something so personal, intimate, and it may seem unclean to someone. Can I bring for what is holy the thing that helps me be beautiful, with whose help I put on makeup, doll myself up? But the women overcame both the first and the second doubt and brought these mirrors of theirs as a freewill offering for the Tent of Meeting.

The commentary also says (this is a midrash which in this case describes Moshe simply as a man): “These copper mirrors filled Moshe with disgust: ugh, these are all some kind of women's useless trinkets (women never have useful ones at all, they always have only useless ones), and these are even connected with beauty. And in general, how could anyone think of bringing such a thing for the Mishkan? Next you would be donating lipstick for the kohanim and powder for the Levites!” Let me remind you that we are now reading a midrash which describes certain relationships, certain states that a person can have. The midrash does not claim that the conversation is historical – it describes a psychological reality, let us put it that way. And further: “The Most High said to Moshe: ‘Take! Take these mirrors, for they are dearer to Me than all the other offerings!’ These mirrors are dearer to the Most High than all the other offerings, because with their help the women produced many hosts in Egypt.” Imagine: the husband, an Egyptian slave, has left for work by six in the morning. He molds bricks from clay until about ten in the evening with a half-hour lunch break and a ten-minute break for political briefing – that is all he has. In the evening he returns home (as one famous Soviet bard sang: “You come home – and there you sit”). And by this time the woman has dolled herself up, prettied herself up, made herself up, and shows him in the mirror: “Look, look how beautiful I am! Look how good I am for you!” In this way the women drew the men to themselves, so that children would be born, despite the fact that the men were very tired. And, moreover, the women also took lunch with them, carried it to them at work, in that very half hour fed them omelets, gave them sherbet to drink, and at the same time adorned themselves and showed them in the mirror: “Look how good I am!” So, in between things, Jewish children were conceived. The midrash speaks of this and cites Shir haShirim (8:5): “Under the apple tree I awakened you.” And the mirrors are called “mirrors of the hosts,” because women wage war with this world with the help of their mirrors. And from them, according to the Torah, precisely from these copper mirrors, the washbasin (hakiyór) for the washing of the kohanim and its base were made. But the base of the altar, and the copper altar itself, and its grating were also made of copper, but from other heave offerings. So Rabbi Tanchuma interprets it (Midrash Tanchuma). So what is this about here? One more of the meanings of the notion nechóshet, one more of its senses – is the reflection of a person. God gave women beauty so that they would show it to men in the mirror. And one can understand it so, that God revealed Himself by creating man in His image, in order to show us a certain reflection toward which we would strive.

There is one more, a third property of copper. We will read about this in the weekly portion Balak, we will read the story of Bil'am, who now intends, now does not intend to curse the people of Israel, suffers, is tormented by his thoughts, but still comes to curse the people. And in verse 1 of chapter 24 it is written: “Bil'am saw that it pleased the LORD to bless Israel, and he did not go, as before, for sorcery (likrát nechashím, that is, he did not go to the serpents). The words fortune-telling, sorcery, prediction for a short time are called nichúsh in Hebrew, again the same root nun-chet-shin as in the word nachásh (serpent). One can draw a parallel with the Russian gad and gadat: gad – serpent, viper, the word gadat means to predict something from the near future.

Ramban explains that the menachésh (diviner) sees things from the near future, tries to hurry it, to announce the future before it comes. Again let us quote a song: “Well, what can I say, people are made this way, they want to know what will be.” In the book of Kohelet (10:20) it says: “Even in your thoughts do not revile the king, and in your bedchambers do not revile the rich, for a bird of the heavens carries the word (yours), and a wing retells the speech (yours).” There is such an understanding (according to the midrashim) that by the flight, by the singing of a bird one can predict the future, there was such a divination tradition in the east, people practiced all this widely. One can turn to a bird and ask: “How many more unpreached sermons do I have left? Tell me, cuckoo, sing it out. Should I stay here or set off on a missionary trip? Should I be a Baptist or a charismatic?” In the Koran there is an interesting line: Allah says: “To the heart of every person we have tied a bird”. Arabs often do not understand what it is about there at all. But it is about the fact that people practiced divination by the flights of birds – here, in the land of Israel, and throughout the East. God is trying to get through and say: “All this comes from the human heart, there is no need to divine.” Divination, the desire to know what will be, is not an abomination before the Most High, but it is a forbidden occupation. It is forbidden to practice divination, it is forbidden to turn to diviners. Diviners are of two types: there is the menachésh, about whom we have already spoken – the one who predicts the near future. And there is the kosém (wizard, sorcerer) – that is the one who already follows global processes, a sort of strategist fortune-teller; this is truly already an abomination before the Most High, this is already a mechashéf (warlock).

So, summing up, we can say that the meaning of nachásh nechóshet is both persistence, stubbornness, and attractiveness, creating the possibility of attracting someone or something to oneself, the revealing of attractiveness, and also the desire to draw the future, to look into the future.

Now let us consider one more aspect, let us go back to the very beginning and try to read and comment on the text again.

So, the Jews go down from Mount Hor (the mountain of Light), down to the Red Sea (to the Sea of the End), and the soul of the people grew short, the people cannot reach something. And what did they go down for? To go around the land of Edom. Just imagine: the people has been brought out of Egypt, Egypt has been destroyed with a huge number of special effects that horror movies have not yet grown up to, Egypt lies in the dust. The people felt the most powerful support of the Most High. And suddenly, against this very background, an imaginary dialogue like this takes place. They are told: “Go around the land of Edom.” – “Wait, Most High! And why can't this so-and-so of an Edom be covered with carpet bombing, or a couple of their villages over there be burned with napalm, so that we could go straight through? We are coming down from the mountain of Light right now, and suddenly we start going around something there! Wait, LORD, are You with us or not?” As Philip said (Gospel of Yochanan 14:8): “Show us the Father, and it is enough for us.” And here is the very same thought: “We are here, it seems, with God, and our bread (man)… and what about our bread? It is, on the one hand, wondrous, and on the other hand, it is ordinary. Do we have to go around someone somewhere here? We are fed up! Let us live miraculously! We want Moshiach now! Come on, deliver us urgently, right now! Deliverance – now! Enough dragging things out!” This is what, in essence, the people is saying: the people wants the future today. The people wants not today's bread today, the people wants the bread of tomorrow, of the day after tomorrow, the bread of the days to come right now. They cannot understand the separation of Moshe and God (you two are here together, after all, Moshe has merged with God, the earthly has merged with the heavenly), they cannot separate their service from God's presence. And from this desire to hurry things, from the fact that they do not see the whole of God's plan, shortness of soul is born in them. And shortness of soul gives birth to bitterness toward everyone and to evil speech. Why does a person become given to evil speech? He does not accept that everything is under God's control, that the LORD will set everything right in its own time. And therefore he wants to come himself and denounce, wants to come himself and express his anger toward someone, and this gives rise to evil speech. The people wants to hurry events… the serpent also tried somehow to hurry something there. One of the sins of the people is the sin of impatience. Impatience gives birth to ingratitude, anger, gives birth to slander. And impatience comes from distrust that everything is in the hands of the Most High. And when we do not have this in our faith, then our bread is spoiled bread, our food is spoiled food, and what we do today, our tasks of today, we do not like. This is what is connected with the notion nachásh (serpent).

Now one last question remains. All right, nachásh nechóshet (copper serpent) is what Moshe made. But what is a saráf, that very saráf which God commanded to make? And it is unclear how it happened that God said to make a saráf, and Moshe made a nachásh?

We encounter the word saráf in the prophet Yeshayahu. The prophet Yeshayahu says (6:6): “I saw one of the srafím (one saráf), who with tongs took from the altar a firebrand of burning coal (such a peculiar little pie, a cookie, one could say, a coal one) and put it into my mouth, mine.” The Aramaic translation (Targum) explains what this cookie is: it is the Word of God. The saráf goes up and takes coal from the altar (the Word), comes and burns up evil speech, burns up everything unclean in a person and puts the Word of God into the person. This is some kind of spiritual being that resembles both an angel and a serpent, that takes with tongs, so as not to get burned, the hot cookies of the Word of God from the altar and brings them, puts them into the mouths of the prophets – those who speak, those whose speech has been brought into accordance with the Word of God. The parallels with Yeshua, I think, are visible and obvious.

What is unclear then is only why Moshe nevertheless makes a nachásh? Because in this case the nachásh, just like the saráf, is meant to put the Word of God into people's mouths. That is, the Most High told Moshe to make a “putter-in” of the Word of God, like what the saráf puts into the prophet's mouth in edible form – tongue falls on tongue. Moshe made an embodiment of the Word of God (of this very little coal), he made it on earth in the form of a nachásh (serpent). And in the form of the Word of God the nachásh is lifted up above the whole people of Israel. And here is the miracle: whoever looked at it (habit), is healed, as the commentary says: “He is healed if he sees in it the Word of God,” if he sees that through it the Word of God is revealed. One can compare this with verse 10 of chapter 12 of the book of the prophet Zecharya: “And they will look (vehibitu) at Him Whom they pierced” – here the very same verb lehabit (to look, to gaze) is used.

So, the first understanding: the nachásh is called to correct stubbornness: the stubbornness because of which a person sins, it redirects into stubbornness in following God's plan. All his impatience, which seemed a weakness, is suddenly revealed. Rav Kook writes wonderfully about this in a letter: “And the fact that the Most High does not redeem Israel instantly, but redemption happens drop by drop, gradually – this is a mega-demonstration of Divine power.” Nechishút is the ability to stand consistently in one's salvation, so that the soul does not grow short, as is written in our weekly portion; it is an extender of the soul against an accelerator of the future, against trying to bring the future closer. The second understanding is the putting of the Divine Word into our mouths, it is the first embodiment of the Word in the flesh, of the Word that becomes flesh but for now dwells above us. And the third understanding is the revealing of the Divine Image for us, so that we would see His attractiveness, so that we would see something more beautiful than ourselves. Therein lie the properties of copper, and that is why Moshe made precisely a nachásh nechóshet.

I will not now specially point out all the parallels in relation to Yeshua, to Mashiach, who in the conversation with Nicodemus compared himself to the serpent lifted up by Moshe in the wilderness (Gospel of Yochanan 3:14–15). I offer this as a topic for reflection, because even babbling about the Torah is pleasing to the Creator. Therefore let us not be shy about reflecting on the Torah.

I am often asked the question: “For what sin was Moshe punished? Why did the Most High say that Moshe would not enter the land of Canaan? Why such a severe punishment?” And I thought that it would be interesting to reread this story, to see how other commentators answered this question, and with God's help to try to understand what actually happened there.

So, let us read the first 13 verses of chapter 20 of our weekly portion Chukat.

1. And the sons of Israel came, the whole community (kol-ha'edá), into the wilderness of Tzin in the first month, and the people dwelt in Kadesh, and Miryam died there, and they buried her there.

It is surprising: why does the Torah say that the whole community came, why stipulate this specially? After all, it was always so, the people of Israel always went not in parts, but all together. It never happened that three tribes went to one place and three tribes to another. Obviously, the words the whole community (kol-ha'edá) can be understood here to mean that the generation of those who were sentenced to death in the wilderness has already died, and now it is about a new, renewed community, which is already entirely, as a whole, destined for entering the land. We are on the eve of the solemn event of the entry of the people of Israel into the land of Israel. So, in the first month of the fortieth year of Israel's wanderings in the wilderness the whole community, the whole people of Israel came into the wilderness of Tzin.

Having read about the death of Miryam, we may think that next we will read about how the people mourned Miryam, or about how Moshe and Aharon mourned Miryam, and the people came and expressed condolences. We know that Miryam is that very Miryam who, as a little, little girl, ran after the ark with the even littler Moshe in it, and who arranged with Pharaoh's daughter about a wet nurse. Through Miryam the Most High saved Moshe's life, but here we do not read about any feelings, about any grief of the brothers for Miryam: the community has a problem.

2. And there was no water for the community, and they crowded against Moshe and against Aharon.

The community came in a crowd to the brothers, who had just buried their sister. The midrash speaks of a certain connection between Miryam and water, of a peculiar gift to Miryam from the Most High: together with the people of Israel, in Miryam's merit, a well of water traveled through the wilderness, and when Miryam was gone, the water was gone too. There are also other midrashim – that the people drank water from the éven hashtiyá (foundation stone). But the plain text of the Torah does not say that Miryam is somehow connected with water. So, Miryam died, and the people have a serious problem – there is no water. The people come in a crowd to Moshe and to Aharon.

3. And the people quarreled with Moshe, and they spoke to him, saying: “If only we had perished with the perishing of our brothers before the LORD.

Whom do they mean? Perhaps they mean the whole generation of the wilderness, or those who died during Korach's rebellion. There were many punishments, many epidemics, many deaths, and now they say: “It would have been better for us to die then, better not to live with this vain hope.”

4. Why have you brought the community of the LORD into this wilderness, so that we and our livestock should die here?

 In other words, this is a failure in your governing. That is, the people's complaint is not against the Most High, but that Moshe and Aharon are managing the community of the LORD wrongly and have brought them to some wrong place.

5. And why did you bring us up out of Egypt? To bring us into this bad place? This is not a place for sowing, for figs, for grapes and for pomegranates. And there is no water to drink.”

All these complaints recall ancient stories: the story with the scouts, and the story with the quail, and the story with Korach, when he said: “You are governing the community of the LORD wrongly” – all those stories that took place in the first years of the people's wandering through the wilderness. And here Moshe and Aharon cannot help having déjà vu about what is happening.

6. And Moshe and Aharon came, hiding from this crowd, to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, and fell on their faces, and the glory of the LORD appeared to them.

Abarbanel, who has a fine feeling for language, says that here they as if fled, hid from this whole crowd, as though fearing reprisal, in the Tent of Meeting.

7. And the LORD spoke to Moshe, saying:

8. “Take the staff, and gather the community, you and Aharon, your brother, and you will speak to the rock before their eyes, and it will give you its waters, and you will draw out water for them from the rock, and you will give the community and the livestock to drink.”

Moshe receives the command to take the staff (we will figure out further on what kind of staff this is), to gather the whole community and to speak to the rock. It seems there is already something pushing toward striking the rock, when the command to take the staff has been received.

9. And Moshe took the staff that was before the LORD, as the LORD had commanded him.

What is this staff that was before the LORD? Let us recall the story from the weekly portion Korach, when the Most High commanded Moshe to collect a staff from each tribe and to place them overnight before the ark of the covenant (these are verses 22–26 of chapter 17): “And Moshe placed these staffs before the LORD in the Tent of Testimony. And it was on the next day, and Moshe came into the Tent of Testimony, and behold, the staff of Aharon of the house of Levi had blossomed, and a flower came out, and a sprout appeared, and almonds grew. And Moshe brought out all the staffs from before the Most High to the sons of Israel, and they saw, and each took his staff. And the LORD said to Moshe: ‘Return the staff of Aharon, so that it may be before the ark of testimony for eternal keeping, as a sign to all the rebellious, and their complaints against Me will cease, and they will not die. And Moshe did; as the Most High commanded him, so he did.”

Both there and here, in verse 9, it is written that Moshe did as the LORD commanded. Moshe took the staff that was intended as a sign for the rebellious. The Most High provided for this, saying: “Leave in the ark the staff which you will raise, show it to subdue the rebellious.” Here is the testimony that Moshe and Aharon have the right to lead, to govern this community. The staff could be shown to everyone, and one could say: “Listen, you rebellious ones, look: here is this staff.” Perhaps the purpose of the Most High's command was to take this staff precisely for this.

10. And Moshe and Aharon gathered the whole crowd, the whole assembly before the rock, and said to them (Moshe): “Listen, you rebellious ones, is it from this rock that we shall draw out water for you?

 This question (“Can we draw out water for us from this rock?”) sounds like a rhetorical one, the kind that is usually not answered. But if one does answer it, the answer will be “no.” What happens next?

11. And Moshe raised his hand, and struck the rock with the staff twice, and waters came out in great quantity, and the community drank, and the livestock drank.

 If this were happening in a Hollywood movie, the credits could already start rolling here, some heart-rending music could start playing, a happy end, a happy ending: the people suffered from thirst, the people drank their fill. Therefore verse 12 sounds completely unexpected.

12. And the LORD said to Moshe and to Aharon: “Because you did not believe (lo-he'emantém) in Me, to sanctify Me before the eyes of all Israel, you will not bring this community into the land that I have given them.”

13. And these are the waters of strife, where the sons of Israel quarreled with the LORD, and the LORD was sanctified there.

That is the whole story, in thirteen verses. If not for verse 12, if the Torah had stopped at verse 11, maybe no one would even have thought that something went wrong here, that Moshe sinned in some way. Moshe struck the rock, struck it twice, the water came, everyone has been given to drink, everyone thanks the LORD… and Moshe receives a punishment. Naturally, the commentators begin to argue: for what, then, was Moshe punished? And the more commentators, the wider the dispute becomes.

In one of the later commentaries (Akedat Yitzchak) it is said that Moshe sinned with only one sin, but countless sins were ascribed to him, because every commentator, everyone who tries to understand, ascribes some new sin to Moshe. Abarbanel, a medieval commentator, compiles a kind of anthology and brings ten different understandings of what Moshe sinned in.

Here is the opinion of Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki): Moshe struck the rock instead of speaking to it. And if he had spoken with the rock, then one could have said to the people, taught the people: “Look, here, even a stone obeys the word of the Most High, but you do not obey the word of the Most High.” Rav Kook adds that if Moshe had spoken with the rock and not struck it, then all education in this world would have been arranged differently, and there would be no need to apply any special measures, and children could be brought up gently, without raising one's voice.

The Rambam (Maimonides) objects and says: “Well, first of all, Moshe was told to take the staff.” Translating this into very simple Russian, one can say that if a person is told: “Go, take a baseball bat and have a talk with Vasya,” then it would not be a great stupidity to conclude that aggression will be shown with the help of the baseball bat. Besides, in this explanation it is unclear what Aharon is punished for: Aharon did not strike either once or twice, Aharon did not touch the rock at all.

There is another explanation, that Moshe was punished for his dismissive attitude toward the people of Israel and toward its needs. Well, again, we often see that Moshe gets angry. This is not the first time Moshe gets angry at the people, yet he does not always receive a punishment for it. And again – Aharon, for his part, was silent.

There is one more understanding: Moshe's anger could have created a distorted image of the Most High among the people. The people could have thought that if Moshe is angry at them, then the Most High is angry at them too. But the Most High showed mercy, yet His mercy was not made manifest, and therefore the Most High was not sanctified.

The next understanding draws attention to the word we will draw out, we will bring out, that is, we will give you water, as if Moshe ascribes miracle-working properties to himself and Aharon. Well, first (as I have already said), the question was rhetorical, and second, the Most High Himself said: “You (Moshe) will give them water, you will give them to drink.”

Further: Moshe struck the rock twice, but he needed to strike only once. And again: what does Aharon have to do with it? He did nothing at all.

Here is one more version of what Moshe and Aharon received the punishment for: “For not singing a song of thanksgiving, as at the splitting of the sea.” And again, many miracles happened, and they did not always sing a song of thanksgiving. Besides, we do not actually know whether Moshe and Aharon thanked the Most High for this miracle.

In the next opinion some new data are already introduced: the people wanted Moshe to bring water out of a particular rock, but not out of the one the Most High had pointed to. And Moshe was afraid that the miracle would not happen, and thereby did not reveal the glory of God. He supposedly thought that the water had to be brought out of some specific rock, but it is hard to accept this opinion, because it is not confirmed by the plain meaning of the text.

There is also an opinion that Moshe, because of his anger, lost his connection with the Most High. It does happen that in anger a person loses connection with the Most High and receives a punishment for it. Again it is unclear what Aharon has to do with this.

And one more understanding: Moshe should not have turned to the Most High for help at all, it would have been enough to figure out by himself that he could talk to the rock, it is time already for Moshe to become independent.

Besides this anthology of understandings, Abarbanel brings his own opinion and says that all these events confirmed that Moshe is the ruler, the leader of an outgoing epoch, that the punishment is connected not with a sin, but with the fact that in this situation Moshe's final inability to become a leader for the new generation of people was revealed.

Moshe himself says that he was punished for another sin, for the sin of the scouts. Here is what we read in chapter 1 of the book of Devarim (34–38), in which Moshe retells the story: “And the LORD heard the voice of our words, and became angry, and swore, saying: ‘None of the men of this evil generation will see the good land which I swore to give to your fathers, only Kalev ben Yefunne, he will see it. To him I will give the land on which he walked, and to his sons, because he obeyed the LORD. And with me (Moshe says about himself) the LORD was angry because of you, saying: ‘And you will not enter there! Yehoshua bin Nun, who stands before you, he will come there, and strengthen him, for he will give it (the land) as a possession to Israel.” That is, Moshe himself connects his punishment with a completely different situation. And who, if not Moshe, knows best of all what happened. The story Moshe speaks of here happened in the very first year of the wandering of the people of Israel, not in the fortieth, and Moshe understands that already then he received this punishment.

Let us go back to chapter 11 of our book, to the weekly portion Behaalotecha, and read the story that happened when, in the first year of the wandering, the people complained and asked for meat (these are verses 11 through 15), even before the story with the scouts. “Moshe said to the LORD: ‘Why have You done evil to your servant, and why have I not found favor in Your eyes, that You lay the burden of this whole people on me? Did I carry this whole people in my womb, or did I give birth to it, that You say to me: “Carry it in your bosom, as a nurse carries a nursing infant, to the land which You promised with an oath to its fathers”? Where do I have meat to give to this whole people (by the way, very similar: is it from this rock that I will draw out water for you?), when they weep before me, saying: “Give us meat, and we will eat”? I cannot carry this whole people alone, it is too heavy for me. If You deal with me like this, then better kill me, if I have found favor in Your eyes, so that I do not see the misfortunes of my people.’” This thought, this idea was expressed for the first time by Moshe himself. It was he who said: “Better kill me, better put me to death, but release me from this office.”

In the same chapter 11 there is the story of how the Most High commanded to divide the spirit of Moshe and pass it on to the elders, so that Moshe would not carry this whole burden alone (verses 25–29): “And the LORD came down in a cloud, and spoke with him, and set apart some of the spirit that was on him, and placed it on the seventy men, the elders. And behold, the spirit took hold of them, and they began to prophesy, and never prophesied again. And two men remained in the camp: the name of one was Eldad, and the name of the other was Meidad. And the spirit came over them, for they were among those recorded, but they did not go out to the Tent, and they prophesied in the camp. And a young man ran and told Moshe, saying: ‘Eldad and Meidad are prophesying in the camp.’ And Yehoshua bin Nun, the attendant of Moshe from among his chosen ones, responded and said: ‘My lord Moshe, stop them (this may undermine your authority).’ And Moshe said to him: ‘Are you jealous for me? Oh, if only all the people of the LORD were prophets, if only the LORD would place His spirit on them.’”

From the plain meaning of the Torah it is unclear how it came about that seventy elders came, the spirit came down on them, and there were two more, who had also been recorded but did not go out to the Tent. There are many different explanations for this. For example, the midrash says that Moshe reasoned like this: “How am I to select seventy elders? If I take five from each tribe, there will be sixty, and ten will be missing. If I take six from each tribe, there will be two too many, I will shortchange some tribes, and that will be unfair.” And Moshe decided to make the choice by this kind of lot: he took seventy-two slips of paper, on seventy he wrote “elder,” and two he left blank. If someone drew a slip with the inscription “elder,” then this person was blessed and Moshe invited him to the Tent. Eldad and Meidad were the ones who drew the blank slips: they had been recorded, as it were, but were not invited to the Tent, yet the spirit came down on them. And this is not the only explanation, there are many different versions, because it is unclear, and surely no one can know how this happened. In the fact that they prophesied in the camp one could see an undermining of Moshe's authority, a weakening of Moshe's authority and of Moshe's power. And some young man, a lad, paid attention to this and also considered that something here was happening not the way it should be.

And what does Moshe answer? He says: if only the whole community would prophesy, if only the whole community were holy, if only there were equality among all. Moshe is the humblest of men, and we see this manifestation of humility in the wish that all of you should prophesy, it is a kind concern for the people. But we also remember that this is a continuation of the dialogue with the Most High, when Moshe says: “Take this away from me, I cannot carry it,” and this is not simply concern for the people.

What happens next? In chapter 12, in verses 1–2, we read: “And Miryam and Aharon spoke against Moshe because of the Cushite wife whom he had taken, for he had taken a Cushite wife for himself. And they said: ‘Is it only with Moshe that the LORD speaks? Surely he has spoken with us in the same way too…’” Right now it does not matter what story that was, I want to show a certain chain of interconnected events. Moshe's dreams come true, Miryam and Aharon say: “Is it only with Moshe that the LORD spoke? The LORD speaks with everyone, the whole community is equal. Therefore we too can speak with Moshe, we can make some claims against him.” And this too is a wearing away of Moshe's power.

And, of course, the people's reaction to the report of the scouts also affected Moshe's authority. Let us read verses 2–4 of chapter 14: “And all the sons of Israel complained against Moshe and Aharon, and the whole community said to them: ‘Oh, if only we had died in the land of Egypt, or if only we had died in this wilderness! The LORD is leading us into this land so that we fall by the sword, our wives and our children will become plunder. Would it not be better for us to return to Egypt?’ And they said to one another: ‘Let us appoint a new chief and return to Egypt.’” If one translates literally, the people want to set up a new head, and that means removing the old head (in the figurative sense). The appointment of a new chief may even be a direct threat to Moshe's life. What do Moshe and Aharon do? Moshe and Aharon only fall on their faces before the community. Who intercedes, who tries to resolve this situation? Yehoshua bin Nun and Kalev ben Yefunne.

After this the Most High says that the whole people will fall in the wilderness, but the people nevertheless are getting ready to go to war and think: “If we go now, if we now resolve to go into battle, perhaps the Most High will have mercy on us.” Moshe warns them (14:41–43): “Why are you transgressing the command of the LORD? It will surely be without success. Do not climb up (the mountain), for the LORD is not among you, so that you are not struck down before your enemies. For the Amalekites and the Canaanites are there, before you, and you will fall by the sword, for you have in fact turned away from the LORD, and the LORD will not be with you.”

But simply no one listens to Moshe (14:44–45): “They dared to go up to the top of the mountain, but the ark of the covenant of the LORD and Moshe did not move from the camp. And the Amalekites and the Canaanites who lived on that mountain came down, and defeated them, and crushed them all the way to Chorma.” A few people remained in the camp: perhaps Moshe, Aharon, perhaps Kalev and Yehoshua. All the rest went up the mountain. Apart from warning them about what would happen, Moshe does nothing more here.

After the tragic end of the rebellion of Korach, Datan and Aviram, after the burning of the candidates for kohanim by heavenly fire, in chapter 17, in verse 6, we read: “And on the next day the whole community of the sons of Israel complained against Moshe and Aharon, saying: ‘You have killed the people of the LORD.’” Again an enormous claim against the authority, against the rule of Moshe. Step by step, event by event, this very generation of the wilderness constantly complains, rebels against Moshe.

What do we see here? The people have stopped obeying Moshe, Moshe is rapidly losing authority. Throughout the whole book of Bemidbar we see the wearing away of Moshe's authority. But one must remember that the book of Bemidbar tells about the first and the last years of the walking through the wilderness and very little about what happens between them. And everything we have talked about in our conversation (except for the first thirteen verses of chapter 20, with which we began) – these are the deeds of the generation of the wilderness, the deeds of people who were, let us say, already sentenced to death. This is what happened in the first years of Israel's wanderings. Korach is a separate story, I will not dwell on it in detail, but Korach comes with the very same claim: “The whole community is holy, why do you exalt yourselves? You wanted, Moshe, everyone to be prophets, you wanted the whole community to be holy? Here, the whole community is holy, why then do you exalt yourselves?” We know what happened, how the Most High punished Korach, Datan and Aviram.

All this was in the first years, it was very, very long ago, now the whole community has come, now a new generation of people has come. The fortieth year of the wanderings has arrived, all those people who undermined Moshe's authority, they have all died. The death of Miryam symbolically points to the fact that the old generation is already departing. Miryam died first of all because she is already old: if Aharon is 123 years old, then Miryam is perhaps 127 years old, perhaps more. The generation is departing. Moshe, Aharon, Miryam will die within one year.

But now a new generation of people is crowding before Moshe and Aharon, people who have a real problem – they have no water. The Most High shows them mercy and gives Moshe instructions on how to give the people water to drink. But Moshe becomes angry. Of course, all these claims that are made against Moshe and Aharon could not but become a déjà vu for them, could not but evoke in Moshe memories of the first years of the wanderings, of the undermining of his power, of how he himself preferred death to leading this people, especially in those sorrows that he went through while leading the first generation through the wilderness. But at the same time one had to remember that the Most High not only promised that this generation would perish in the wilderness, He also promised that a new, completely different generation would grow up and be raised. One had to believe in this, and perhaps it is precisely about this that it says lo-he'emantém: “You did not believe me.” With this generation one could simply have talked, shown them the staff, said: here is the symbol of our power, the symbol of our authority – the staff of Aharon, after all it is intended precisely for the rebellious, so that they do not die. Where else could it have been used, if not in this situation? What would have been a greater sanctification of the Name than this situation? But Moshe is as if held captive by that generation. He does not see that other people have grown up, who perhaps outwardly do misbehave like their fathers, but inwardly they are different. It is like a teacher who becomes angry, is cross with a student, because he is an honored teacher, he even taught this boy's dad. Moshe remembers the dad of each of these boys, with some of them he is angry, in some of them he recognizes, as it seems to him, the features of their fathers, and therefore Moshe says: “Listen, you rebels, is it from this rock that we are to draw out water for you?” and in anger strikes the rock with the staff twice.

Actually, I was afraid to say such things, as, probably, is everyone who has written about this or that sin of Moshe, who in one way or another presented the sin of Moshe. I always say that a commentary says more about the commentator than about what he comments on. And probably this understanding of mine says more about me than about Moshe. This is my view of these events, my view of what was happening then. God forbid, this is not an attempt to dig up a sin in Moshe. The Most High punished Moshe for something, and this is not in order to show us how bad Moshe is and what a sinner Moshe is. It is so that we, perhaps not being on Moshe's level, would guard against some sin, guard against repeating something in which Moshe made a mistake. So that, somewhere teaching someone something, somewhere passing on instructions to someone, somewhere serving the Most High in something, we would guard against perceiving people through the prism, through the glasses of old portraits, old notions, old frames and everything like that.

We too, perhaps, do not believe in a God who is able to change people, do not believe that we ourselves are called to serve as an instrument of this change, of the sanctification of people. We do not believe that God can change precisely this person, we do not believe that we can love precisely this particular person, who is the son of such-and-such and such-and-such, who did this and that to us.

These are the lessons that I see for myself, this is my understanding, and – yes, let it say more about me.

Our weekly portion Chukat is very rich in various stories and, among other things, tells us about the death of the prophetess Miryam, the sister of Moshe and Aharon. And it seemed right to me to say a few words about this woman.

She was born presumably 122–123 years after the people of Israel with the Patriarch Yaakov went down to Egypt. There, apparently, everything was no longer so fabulously good, but not yet so sad. The girl was named Miryam. What does this name mean? The midrash says that already then the life of the Israelites was getting worse, and she was named so from the bitterness (mar, marór) that the Egyptians caused the Jews. Others say that the name Miryam points to méred (rebellion), to the ability to set oneself in opposition, and such a rebel in youth will in the future become a grown-up rebel. Still others say that the name comes from the verb leromém (to lift up on high, to exalt), that is, the one who has the ability to lift people up. All these meanings of the name really were fulfilled and realized in Miryam, but originally, most likely, the name Miryam was given to her as an Egyptian name (we see Egyptian names for very many heroes of the book of Shemot), which in the language of ancient Egypt means beloved. In modern Hebrew she would be called Ahuva, a quite fitting name for a girl.

The midrash begins the story of Miryam shortly before the birth of Moshe. When Pharaoh gave the order to throw all newborn boys into the Nile, Amram, Miryam's father, withdrew from his wife Yocheved, sent her away: if that is how it is, why give birth to children if they will be killed anyway. Here let us recall one more midrash (let me remind you that a midrash is a kind of free interpretation), one can accept it, one can not accept it, but let us mention it here. According to this midrash, this tradition, Yocheved and Miryam were those very midwives (Shifra and Pua) about whom we read in chapter 1 of the book of Shemot and who stood up against Pharaoh. This is not so simple, after all they had not read the book of Shemot and did not know how everything would end. Disobeying Pharaoh, who kills even children, and could all the more kill midwives – this is a risk to life, such was the prospect.

And so this little girl, as the midrash tells, said: “Dad, Pharaoh decided to kill only the boys, but you are killing the girls too,” and therefore Amram took his wife back, as it is written: “And a man from the tribe of Levi took a wife.” How did he take her, if he already had children? Took in the sense of brought back. Others tell an even more beautiful story. Miryam said: “A boy will be born to us, a friend of the Egyptians, who will save the Jews and lead us out of here.” When Moshe is born, the house is filled with light, and at this moment Amram kisses his daughter Miryam and says: “My little prophetess, here is your prophecy coming true.” Three months later, when Moshe is placed in a little basket that will float down the Nile, Amram says: “Well, and where is your prophecy?” Probably these are all legends, but perhaps this opens a small little crack through which to see the world of a girl who possesses some prophetic power, who has hopes and aspirations. A world in which adults, out of their “kindness,” can say: “Well, and where is your prophecy, where are your dreams?” A very childlike feeling of hurt is recalled here and is felt almost with the whole body. Well, these are midrashim. But the Torah tells us this story. When little Moshe was set afloat on the Nile, the girl Miryam runs, runs, runs after this basket, as after a hope for the better, so one can understand it. From the very beginning she believes that everything will be fine, everything must be fine, everything must certainly turn out for the best. One only has to run, watch, be ready at the right moment to come out to Pharaoh's daughter and say: “And I also know a nurse, let me bring you a Hebrew nurse right now.” The boy was named Moshe. We do not know what his Hebrew name was: some say Tov, some say Yekuti'el, but he is not what we are talking about now. Thanks to Miryam's efforts, the boy Moshe is nursed in his own family by his own mom, something is laid into him before he returns, as the son of Pharaoh's daughter, to Pharaoh's palace.

The next time we meet Miryam is after the people gathered and went out of Egypt. In chapter 15 of the book of Shemot, when Moshe sang the song of thanksgiving to the Most High, in verse 20 we read: “And Miryam the prophetess, the sister of Aharon, took a drum…” Why is she called here the sister of Aharon, why say that she is the sister of Aharon? And if one says that she is the sister of Aharon, why not say that she is also the sister of Moshe? She was a prophetess already when Moshe was not even in the world, when she was only the sister of Aharon. This in a certain way confirms those midrashim we talked about. So, she takes a drum (or a tambourine) in her hands, and this is no longer simply singing, this is singing with musical instruments. Today such a children's tambourine, a drum, is called tof-miryam (Miryam's tambourine). Miryam sings, Miryam plays, and the women also come out with drums in round dances (mecholót). Some commentators are bothered by the round dances, and they say that these are some other special musical instruments besides the drums. But most likely these are after all round dances. Imagine: the women are dancing round dances, dancing in such little round dances at the splitting of the sea. How beautiful it is, how it fires you up! And this is not simply singing, it is singing to which the soul responds, to which the body responds. The singing of an older sister, as it were, together with younger brothers and sisters, perhaps like teachers in a kindergarten. Singing that prompts movement in this world, a fiery optimism that makes you move together with Miryam.

One more time we meet Miryam in chapter 12 of our book Bemidbar, in the amazing story with haishá hakushít (the Cushite woman). What kind of woman is this Cushite woman? What was Miryam's problem? There are many different disputes about this. Some say that Moshe reigned there, in the land of the Cushites (Ethiopia), and took a wife for himself from there, and for some reason this caused indignation. Others say that this woman was from the tribe of the Kassites, who at that time ruled in Babylonia. And what outraged Miryam was that Moshe is concluding some kind of political alliances, that he took a wife for himself from an influential power, and the people are whispering. Miryam decided to sort it out with Aharon: since when have we gotten into politics here and walk not only under the Most High? Still others say that this woman is after all Tzippora, the daughter of Yitro, a foreigner, whom Moshe wants to take into the land of Israel. Fine, when Tzippora lived with Yitro, that was Moshe's past life. But we are stepping into a new life, how can one take along with oneself an old woman, one who does not belong to our people? There is one more interpretation, and it is the most widespread today, it is talked about more often. Miryam heard that take a wife he did, but he does not live with her, he has withdrawn from her. If he has withdrawn from his wife, then others too will withdraw from their wives, and everyone who will serve, who will be called to service, will withdraw from his wife. And from this too various conclusions are drawn.

Rambam says that Moshe withdrew not only from his wife, but in general from everything that resembles a wife, that is, he withdrew from all sensual pleasures. About a righteous man it is said: “If he leads a pure family life, if his bed is pure, even if it is hidden from everyone, if he lives in complete modesty, if he practices some behavior in the family, corresponds to some particular pattern of family life, then this influences the whole people.” That is, what a righteous man does in righteousness, any action of his in righteousness, even if no one knows about it, it influences the people. A righteous man who leads a pure intimate life helps the people lead the same pure intimate life, even if no one sees it. And therefore, if Moshe withdrew, then what is the people to do? In any case we can say that it was not to gossip that Miryam went to Aharon. Some actions of Moshe could have influenced the people or caused talk among the people.

Miryam takes the initiative and decides to set everything right. In the end we know what happens: Miryam is punished with leprosy. On the one hand, of course, this is a punishment, a punishment for sin; on the other hand, we see that the whole camp waits until Miryam is healed. The whole camp holds back its movement until Miryam returns to service, the camp does not move without this fired-up firebrand Miryam, Moshe prays for her healing. Her leprosy appeared on her as if it were also the sin of others, it became a testimony that one must not say anything about Moshe. Miryam as it were took the fire upon herself, and it does not matter what talk there was, it does not matter what was whispered about among the people, it does not matter what she was worried about. Through her actions and her punishment the people was shown that Moshe is righteous also in this matter, which you perhaps whisper about in your kitchens.

Such is the image of a woman, a believing woman, a strong one, able to lift up, to lead, to set people's hearts on fire, despite the circumstances, despite all the threats that there are around this. Miryam is a woman who is able to set the hearts of men on fire, who is able to move men to be men. A woman prophetess, a woman musician, a woman poet, a caring sister, the older sister of the whole people of Israel. The midrash says that for the merits of Miryam the people of Israel in the wilderness was accompanied by a miraculous spring – Miryam's well. She quenched the thirst of the people of Israel. One can see that in the name Miryam the word máyim (water) is hidden. The tears with which she was not mourned – this is a peculiar hiding of water, people saved on moisture. And Miryam, whom the well accompanied, dies, she is not mourned, and the water disappears.

An amazing woman with an amazing story. It is a joy that one can say a few words about her. Long before Moshe came over to see why this bush is burning and not burning up, a little girl, his older sister, ran to see what would become of her younger brother.

These were reflections on the prophetess Miryam.

The weekly portion Chukat is very rich in events. Here there is the red heifer, and the death of Miryam and Aharon, and the story with the serpents, and the story with Edom – very many events, some topics we have already touched on in more detail. I would like to talk about one more commentary, about a small point, about a “little campfire” for reflection in our weekly portion. Once again, it will be about Moshe's guilt.

Everyone has read, everyone knows the story of how the Most High commanded Moshe to speak to the rock, and Moshe struck the rock, struck it twice. What came of this? What came of it was the punishment that Moshe received. And how many pens have been broken, how many seas of ink have been spilled, to tell about the guilt of Moshe and Aharon. What have they not been accused of! Of the fact that it is disobedience to the Most High – to strike the rock when it was said to speak. And of showing anger toward the people: “Listen, you rebels! Is it from this rock that we are to bring out water for you?” And of a wrong understanding of the nature of the people, with whom one simply needed to talk, instead of being angry at them. And of a lack of compassion for the trouble of the people, who really have no water. And when there is no water, it really is a trouble, really a distress, really a fear. There are different commentaries on this.

Rav Saadiya Gaon says a very interesting thing (I am not claiming that any one opinion is the only right one), including about why Aharon is punished. Imagine the picture: here comes the people, this is already a young tribe, unfamiliar, and it says: “Why did you bring us here? We have no water here! We have a pile of problems here!” And, as we read, Moshe and Aharon turn around and leave, leave beyond the bounds of the camp, go to the Tent of Meeting and there prostrate themselves before the Most High. They do not speak with the people, and Saadiya Gaon sees precisely this as the problem. One could have shown the people an example of faith. The people is going through such a stage of preparation for entering the land, when it is like weaning a child from the breast: it is still sometimes breastfed, the man still falls, but some new food is already being added for it, it is already being encouraged to feed on its own. In this state the people has distresses, questions arise for it. And questions need to be answered.

It is good to answer simple children's questions: how many stars are in the sky? what will happen if a whale attacks a rhinoceros? And even – where do children come from? A normal enough question. It is good to answer children's questions. But how do you answer when grown-up questions arise? We now, precisely in this period of our history, are at such a stage when leaders, chiefs, mentors, teachers must be ready to answer hard questions. A child may come and ask: “Can I be kidnapped too? Can I be killed too? Can we also end up under bombing? Can we also come under fire? What does ‘died’ mean? What is self-sacrifice?” Terrible questions. And they must be answered.

Moshe and Aharon in this situation did not teach the people to understand that – yes, we have life ahead of us, life with the Most High, but there will also be problems, there will also be difficult situations. One has to be able to call things by their names. Moshe and Aharon turned out not to be ready to answer questions, turned out not to be ready to say: “Yes, we too are short of water.” After all, they do not have a separate water cooler at home, and in their refrigerator they have no stock of mineral water. They too suffer together with the people, and one could have thought about the people's distresses. Sometimes one has to admit: “Yes, I too do not know the answer to the question why it is hard, why there are difficulties in life. But I am ready to live through them together with you and I will go through them together with you.”

There is no need to be afraid. There is no need to be afraid to answer certain questions, no need to be afraid to talk about something, to do something, to call things by their names. There is no need to be afraid to run into something unknown, to be afraid of hard questions: why is this person asking such questions? He might in this way even fall away from God, might lose salvation, something else terrible might happen to him.

No, salvation is not in questions and not in words, and there is no need to be afraid. There is God, who heals and resurrects, gives life and puts to death, everything is in His hands. And in this life of ours, in all our troubles, we must not be afraid to say that we have trouble, must not be afraid that there is illness, must not be afraid to weep because we have no water, must not condemn someone who weeps that he has no water. And this is one of the understandings of Moshe's punishment.

Read also the talk about ritual impurity, the stenogram of the portion Korach, the portion Behaalotecha and the weekly portions of the Torah.