Chukat: A Law For All Time

Chukat:  A Law For All Time

D’var Torah by Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 26, 2016

Senator Eldridge, Representative Gentile, Mrs. Gentile, Father Richard Erikson, the Rev. Joel Guillemette, Rabbi Finestone, Rabbi and Rabbi Eiduson, colleagues, Cantor, present and past presidents and members of the Board of Directors of Congregation B’nai Torah, congregants, distinguished guests and friends:

I seems that I am tasked at this point with the responsibility of giving a departing speech, a last sermon as it were.  I have already thanked so many of you this past Saturday, when you bestowed upon me immeasurable honors.  So my talk tonight will be of a more serious nature, my last formal address to this Congregation as its rabbi; the summation of my teaching to this community; my Charge to you.

My friends:

Eons come and go; generations come and go.  In the past 20 years as rabbi at Congregation B’nai Torah, I’ve seen an entire generation grow up.  From namings to b’nai mitzvah, through graduations to marriage, I’ve had the privilege of blessing and accompanying you and your families through many simchas (celebrations) as well as sadder times.  Twenty years—half of what it took Moses to bring his people to the Promised Land.

Are we there yet?

Oy.

So I have some good news and some bad news.  The good news is that we’re getting ever closer.  The bad news is that despite the distance we have already covered, we still have a long journey ahead of us.

In this week’s Torah portion, Chukat, Numbers chapters 19:1—22:1, the Israelites, after wandering in the Sinai Wilderness for nearly 40 years, are finally reaching the end of their stage of history.  They are within a stone’s throw of the Jordan River.

You’d think they would rejoice. 

But no; not atypically, they complain.

Why, one wonders, would they complain at this point in their journeys, with the goal so close at hand?

Because they are human beings.  Because they see with mortal eyes.  Limited by mind and concept, they were scared to look up.  Just like us today, the ancient Israelites were afraid of what lay ahead.  They were afraid of change.

Believe it or not, they just got used to the desert.  They learned to be smart, to participate in the common welfare; to fight wars when necessary; to effect repairs when things fell apart.  But the hurdles that lay ahead of them now were no less daunting. Would the new land accept them as legitimate heirs, or would it reject them as it had so many other conquerors throughout the centuries?

Moreover, at this point, with an uncertain future ahead, one by one, the old, familiar pillars of strength that they had relied on in the past were quickly disappearing. 

First, Miriam dies.  The sister of Moses and Aaron, Miriam was responsible for the new baby’s survival when Moses’s mother gently placed him in a tiny ark among the reeds of the Nile River.  After that, taking upon herself ever-greater responsibility, Miriam infused life into the Israelite People with faith, hope and music.  The Rabbis of old even teach us that as long as Miriam was alive, a well of fresh water accompanied the Israelites through their wanderings.  With her death, the well dried up and disappeared.

Water in the wilderness is a precious element.  Sometimes, so is faith.  Told to speak to a rock and command it to wield fresh water, Moses instead strikes the rock with his staff. For his failure to honor God’s word, Moses is told that he will not enter the Promised Land with the rest of his people.  He is to die in the wilderness, along with his brother, Aaron, the first High Priest of the Israelites.

Indeed, Aaron’s death immediately follows the rock incident. 

As though this were not dispiriting enough, a plague of snakes struck a portion of the Israelite camp, and thousands were dying. 

Thirst, loss, plagues!  Hardly a Promised Land.

But Moses and the Torah have a lesson to teach us about that.

No, it isn’t the Promised Land.

Yes, there is bitter thirst.  There is a thirst for a higher standard of morals and ethics than we have been seeing in social conduct and behavior. 

There’s a thirst for self-determination for oppressed people of diverse colors, nationalities and religions. There’s a thirst for freedom from fear, a thirst for common—community—celebration.  A thirst for peace and calm, a lull from anxiety.

For far-too-many of us, there is thirst for tolerance and acceptance, for a chance to love, to be free to enjoy the fruit of this world.

And there is loss.

We live with loss.  At every moment, we leave the past behind us.  What does loss feel like?  What do we leave behind and what do we take with us? There was unfinished business. Who will take care of those I leave behind?  For the bereft, there is a sorting of memories and objects, daily painful reminders of our loss.  Perhaps a photograph that had captured a moment.  Perhaps a special word.  Moving ahead is a challenge without the special support we’ve grown accustomed to, standing by our side.

There is also loss of trust, of hope, and loss of faith.

And there are snakes in the wilderness. 

Ancient symbol of evil, venomous snakes have always accompanied us along our trails.  Among them are the snakes of bigotry, cruelty and prejudice. Out on the streets of downtown Boston or inside a church in Charleston, the serpents of hatred and intolerance are never far away, only waiting for the right moment, for the perfect opportunity to strike.

But Torah means “teaching,” and this weekly portion, for all its tales of woe, would never leave us, its students, bereft of wise instruction: Here is how you stay alive; here’s how you preserve your humanity in the wilderness.  Here is how you keep the Divine Image alive and strong within you.

First, be practical.  When water is scarce, dig wells.

Chapter 21, verse 17, reads, “Arise O well!”  These are words to a song the Israelites sang when water bubbled up in a well they had just dug, bringing renewed life and hope to our people.  Never again would we rely solely on miracles to give us water from the rock.  We learned that what it means to be partners with God, is that much of the work that needs to be done in this world is ours, not God’s, to do.  Whenever and wherever we see thirst around us, it is up to us to provide the water.  Be it want of sustenance, for love or safe harbor, it becomes our responsibility, as individuals and as a community, to respond to the need.

Or, as the ancient sages teach, “In a place where there is no mensch, be a mensch.” 

Next, the Torah instructs us on how to deal with loss and change:  Find someone qualified to take your place and smooth the path for him or her.

With Aaron about to die, God instructs Moses to take Aaron’s priestly garments and place them on Eleazar, Aaron’s son.  An eternal line of succession is thus established, one which will be replaced by a line of rabbis, each one well-educated and trained to take the place of his or her predecessor, each prepared to answer both to God and the People. 

To counter the Plague of Snakes, Moses hews a new staff, unfurling a banner with an ancient symbol on it.  Originally a symbol of fear, in Moses’s hand it turns into an instrument of hope.  As long as people look up and see this banner waving, fear will fall from them and they will find new strength to ward off evil.  For us, its meaning is that, if we are to survive as a community—in fact as the human race—we must create bridges to unite us.  We are commanded to build institutions that will be infused with the values we call holy: Along with gratitude and appreciation for the magnificence and diversity of God’s Creation, respect for one another; equality alongside love; justice alongside compassion.  Our most glorious architectural wonders would not be zyggurats, pyramids, or great walls.  Our constructs would be hospitals, schools, courts, houses of worship, and seats of lawful government. 

This is the message of hope and encouragement that Moses gives the Israelites in the Steppes of Moab, as they prepare to reach the end of their forty years in the wilderness.  The future is no longer an unknown to be feared; the future is in our hands to create and defend.  It is a bright morning as the people lift up their eyes. They are no longer afraid of change.  Come what will, with a song and a blessing in their hearts, with the Torah on their shoulder, they are ready to face the future with a joyful heart.

May the next stage of the journey of this k’hilla, this Holy Congregation, be similarly blessed with hope and courage.  May God bless you and watch over you. May God bless Israel, the dawning of hope for all who seek peace.  May God bless America, Land of the Free.

Chazak chazak v’nitchazek; be strong, be of good courage, and we shall all be strengthened.

Kein y’hi ratzon, may this be God’s will.  Amen.

© 2015 by Boaz D. Heilman