Overcoming Adversity
D’var Torah for
Parashat Chukat
By Rabbi Boaz D.
Heilman
This week’s portion, Chukat
(“The Law [of the Torah],” Numbers 19:1—22:1) is as mysterious as it is
eventful.
It begins with a description of a rare ritual, the sacrifice
of a totally red cow, with not as much as one black or white hair on it. It must be unblemished, never harnessed with
yoke or any other burden. This ritual is
so unique that tradition holds it was offered only nine times in the past—with
one last offering yet to come, when the Messiah arrives.
The purpose of this ritual was to purify Israelites who may
have come in close contact with death or a corpse. After being sprinkled with water mixed in
with ashes of the Red Heifer, such individuals were considered ritually
purified, fit to carry on with life, along with all its demands and
requirements.
What makes this ritual so unique is that, unlike all other
sacrifices, the animal is not slaughtered or burned at the altar by a priest—though
the High Priest is assigned with supervising this highly complex ritual. Nor is the offering made within confines of
the Temple; rather, it takes place wholly outside the camp. Any and all people who are involved with this
sacrifice become impure for the day and are only readmitted at the end of the
day, after immersion in a miqveh (a
ritual bath) and a change of clothing.
It is only after giving the specific and detailed
instructions pertaining to this sacrifice that the Torah continues its story of
the wanderings of the Israelites in the Wilderness.
With such an introduction, one can only wonder what the rest
of the portion can contain. And indeed,
it’s nothing good. First, Miriam
dies. Then Aaron. Moses, in an astonishing and unprecedented
display of anger and bitterness, disobeys God.
God had commanded him to speak
to a rock and order it to produce water; instead, Moses strikes it with his
staff. Not once, but twice. Twice he
lifts his staff, and twice the staff comes down and strikes the rock. Sweet water comes rushing out, but the price
Moses will have to pay is bitter indeed.
He will not be allowed to enter the Promised Land, only view it from
afar.
With such terrible disasters, it’s no wonder the portion
begins with the Red Heifer ritual! Best
have a cure already in place for such times as when adversity strikes!
The deaths of Miriam and Aaron and the spiritual failure of
Moses carry dire consequences for the people.
The Sages (the Talmudic Rabbis, roughly 2nd-6th
century CE) teach that as long as Miriam, Moses’s and Aaron’s sister, was
alive, a well of fresh water accompanied the Israelites throughout their
wanderings in the Wilderness of Sinai. When
she dies, the well disappears. Similarly,
Aaron is credited for the cloud that guided the people on all their
journeys. This, too, is withdrawn when
Aaron dies.
Moses’s gift was manna, which was the Israelites’ daily food
as long as he was alive. After his death,
this gift, nourishing and sweet food offered freely from heaven, is also fated
to disappear forever.
If Judaism were based on miracles alone, our story would
have ended right there and then. Where
would we find water? Who would feed and
guide us when we are lost? And just as
importantly, how would we be aware of God’s presence in our midst?
Miracles, however powerful, are one-time occurrences. You can’t count on them.
Maybe that’s why the ritual of the Red Heifer is ordained in
Chukat: To give us a way to recover after adversity, a
chance to rediscover our faith.
Yet now that the Temple is destroyed, with the Ritual of the
Red Heifer no longer possible (no matter that some people in Iowa or elsewhere
are trying to genetically breed a perfectly red cow specifically for this
purpose)—how can we possibly hope to become fit to serve our God again or carry
on with life when adversity and hardship strike?
Once again, the Torah portion has a cure in store. Numbers 21:17-20 is quite likely a passage from
an exalted psalm, a song sung while digging for water in the desert.
Rabbinic commentaries to these beautiful verses explain that
it was Moses and Aaron who, following the death of their sister, Miriam, dug
this well. Yet the text may suggest
still another possibility: that the well may actually have been dug by all the people. Like the Tabernacle, which was created through
the generous contributions of every Israelite—whether of silver, gold and other
expensive materials, or through expert craftsmanship—so this blessing of the
well’s water is brought forth by the collective effort of all the people.
No matter who did the digging, the meaning is clear. From that point on, we, the people, are going
to have to be responsible for finding the water to quench our thirst. Its blessing is always there; we may just
have to do a bit of digging to find it.
So it is with life.
Though there are many moments of celebration and joy, there are also
difficult moments. There are times when
faith seems to disappear; when exhaustion makes us lose our temper with the
people we love the best; when food turns tasteless; when we question the very presence
of God within our midst.
That’s when a ritual may be helpful. A blessing said over a simple candle or cup
of wine. A prayer asking for a spark of
hope to light the darkness. Letting
Shabbat into our lives is such a ritual, much more readily available than any
red heifer. With its help we can rise
again, overcome adversity and set upon the path of life again. That is, after all, the purpose of a ritual.
One thing is clear, however.
With the Tabernacle long gone, so is the office of the High Priest, and
so is the Ritual of the Red Heifer. At
this point in our history, what it takes to produce miracles must be the work
of our hands. No one can do it for
us. We ourselves have to do the
digging. What we can be sure of is that,
if we do, the song will surely follow, as certainly as will the rush of water
into our arid souls.
© 2014 by Boaz D. Heilman
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