Envisioning the Future in the Present

Envisioning the Future in the Present
D’var Torah for Parashat Pinchas (Numbers 25:10—30:1)
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman


One of the moments I always look forward to with great anticipation whenever I fly to Israel is when I get my first glimpse of the Mediterranean coastline. If by night, that glimpse is always of the yellow lights that light up nearly the entire coast. If by day, the shore appears first through the haze, so thin you wonder if it’s your imagination playing tricks on you. But then, within moments, the line assumes form and depth, and you realize that you are being granted a vision of Israel that thousands of generations only dreamt of and never got to glimpse in their lifetimes.

Similarly, in this week’s Torah portion Moses is commanded to scale Mount Abarim, in Moab, just across the Jordan River, from where he will get a view of the Promised Land. He will not enter it, but he knows that the Children of Israel, the people he had led out of Egypt and then for forty years through the Wilderness, will.

His heart must be full of yearning and pining. The Midrash tells us that at that moment, Moses requested of God: “Oh Master of the Universe, I beseeched You to send someone else to Pharaoh instead of me; nor did I ask to lead this people, yet You insisted. Now that You decreed that not I, but another, should lead them into the Land, I beg You, do not do to him what You did to me….”

The fulfillment of one’s dream and lifework is a rare gift. Many leaders have set their nation on a sacred path only to have their life extinguished before seeing the goal realized. It’s the next generation that must continue the work—hoping to get it done or, at the very least, a few steps closer.

This is but one of the many examples in which the Torah reflects reality even as it tries to shape life and give it meaning and direction.

The jet flies over the coastline, all the while descending so that buildings, roads and cars begin to materialize. Sometimes the path to the runway is straight forward; othertimes, the plane flies further east, toward the Judean hills, then makes a sharp turn left, veers westward and comes in for a smooth landing. In the summer, the intense heat is the first sensation you feel. Then the reality of being in the Promised Land begins to set in.

Reality isn’t the dream, much as we would like it to be. People jostle while waiting in line to have their passports stamped, then wait again for their suitcases to arrive. The arrival hall is filled with noisy families, screaming children and countless drivers holding up signs with passengers’ names. Taxi drivers offer rides; pilgrims of various faiths, colors and garb mingle with weary business travelers impatient to come home. Tearful reunions mix with joyful welcomes and, if it so happens that a soccer team (or some famous rabbi) lands at around the same time as you, the reception by cheering supporters gets so loud you think you couldn’t possibly take in any more of this uproar.

And then you find yourself on the highway to wherever you are going—and even if you’ve never prayed before, you pray now for safe arrival as your ride winds in and out of lanes, avoiding taxis, trucks and countless motorcycles delivering pizzas or other takeout food and merchandise.

In the vein of art imitating life, Pinchas, this week’s Torah portion, reflects the reality of Jewish life as much as its ideals. Religious fanatics—represented by Pinchas himself, a grandson of Aaron the Priest, yet so far removed from his grandfather’s famous pacifism that he actually takes a spear and kills two people he thinks sin against God—abound in this Land. Not all are as zealous as Pinchas, thank God. However, there are some ultra-Orthodox Jews who would be glad to see Israel destroyed and parsed out to its enemies; and there are also those just slightly milder who throw stones, bottles, eggs and almost anything else handy at the police—enforcers of a secular law they see as not binding on them.

In this portion, the five daughters of Zelophechad demand due justice from Moses and God—and receive it after due consideration. That too reflects our people in Israel. There are few countries that take justice more seriously than Israel, where the law is argued and counter-argued not only by lawyers before a Supreme Court of Justice, but also by the common people who are as passionate about justice as they are about the unfairly high prices of cottage cheese and college tuition, about freedom of speech and the lack of affordable housing.

Politics in Israel mystify resident and stranger alike. The number of political parties, the constant shifting of the sands as factions and parties align and realign in a relentless quest of power and influence can leave you dizzy. Yet somehow a leader always emerges—as does a vocal opposition that spares no effort to bring that leader and his/her coalition down. In our Torah portion, as Moses begs God to appoint a good leader (yet another reason to pray in Israel), he asks for someone who will not allow himself to be swayed by either the masses or his own ambition, but rather one who will know both where the people must go and how to lead them there. In response, God tells Moses to appoint Joshua as this leader. Joshua is a warrior; at this moment of our people’s history, this is the kind of leader the people need—one who will lead them to victory and survival. So, too, is the case in modern-day Israel. Most of the nation’s leaders come from the ranks of Zahal, the Israel Defense Force. The war of survival is of primary concern to our people today no less so than when Moses was envisioning the future of his people from the top of the mountain in Moab.

Parashat Pinchas concludes with a reiteration of the rites and sacrifices that must be offered on the sacred holidays. A people whose leadership relies only on military might for its survival will not last long. Israel’s identity was always shaped by its belief in God. Our rituals may have changed; we no longer offer sacrifices at the Temple in Jerusalem. Yet, both in the Land of Israel and throughout the Diaspora, Jews celebrate their tradition and heritage in ways described in the Torah. Instead of animal sacrifice, we offer prayer, worship and the study of the ancient laws. That is what gives us meaning and direction; that has given our existence meaning during the days of slavery in the many Egypts in which we have dwelt; that has defined our relationship with one another and with our God during the many years we were wanderers in the Wilderness; that continues to give us purpose and direction even today, in the Promised Land.


Shabbat is nearly at hand in the Land of Israel. Stores have closed their doors as customers go home to prepare for this holy day of tradition, community and family. Tomorrow, my brother’s family will come up to Haifa to spend the day with my mother and me. We will eat traditional foods, relate memories and speak of future plans. The grandchildren—the future of our people—will continue to delight us with their joy of life and creative playfulness. The life of our people continues, its compass and directions set so long ago, its path appointed by God and envisioned by Moses from high ontop the mountain. It may not be perfect, but at least there’s hope that, if not in our day, then on some other day, we will yet make it so. But only if we follow the examples (minus the fanaticism) set by the Torah nearly four millennia ago.


©2011 by Boaz D. Heilman