When Perfect Isn’t Enough: Behaalotecha.19

When Perfect Isn’t Enough

D’var Torah for Parashat B’ha’alot’cha

June 20, 2019

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Manna from heaven. The very concept has become a catchphrase for an unexpected miracle, a gift for the undeserving. Manna is the delicacy that appeared every morning, exquisitely balanced on the dew that settled on the ground at night. Suitable for frying or baking, manna served as food for the Israelites during their years of wandering in the Sinai Wilderness.  It was the perfect food, matched with the perfect picture that the Israelites’ camp presented to an observer’s eye.

And yet, evidently there is not much room in this world for perfection, and as we read in this week’s Torah portion (B’ha’alot’cha, Numbers 8:1—12:26,) the Israelites begin complaining. First for no reason, then because they crave meat. Overwhelmed by memories of the plentitude they were accustomed to in Egypt—fish, watermelons, cucumbers, garlic and onions—their longing sends them, wailing and weeping, into a tailspin of nostalgia and regret.

It’s at this point that Moses loses it. He thought he had finally achieved the impossible: He united the people, freed them from slavery, gave them a Tabernacle, a set of rituals and laws to live by, and a vision of perfection to guide them through the Wilderness.  And yet all that turns out to be not enough.

Moses turns to God, complaining that he just can’t do it anymore. He cannot give them meat; he cannot provide the nurturance that they crave. “I’m not their mother,” he says pointedly to the Creator of All, the Author of all life.

God responds by commanding Moses to gather seventy respected elders from among the people. They would receive God’s word and together help Moses lead the Israelites. “Take them to the Tent of Meeting and they shall stand there with you…  They will bear the burden of the people with you so that you need not bear it alone.”

Moses obeys, but even here something doesn’t go quite right.  Two of the seventy—Eldad and Medad—remain in the camp instead of joining the others at the Tent of Meeting. Yet the spirit of God descends upon them where they are, and they begin prophesying along with the other chosen elders.

Not understanding what was happening, a lad reports this incident to Moses, while Joshua—Moses’s assistant at the time—advises that Eldad and Medad be arrested for treason.

Yet Moses’s response is one of the most exalted highlights of the entire Torah: “May all Israel be prophets!”  This is no rebellion, he teaches. This is the entire purpose and intention of God’s vision for the People of Israel. May they all be uplifted by the Spirit of God, raised from the lowliness in which they see themselves to become prophets, leaders and teachers like himself!

It’s no wonder that the ancient Sages single out Eldad and Medad for special praise. The two represent the ideals they themselves stand for. How fortunate the People were when the Temple was yet standing! The Priests would accept their sacrifices, hear their prayers, and grant them absolution. But with the Temple destroyed, this sacred duty passes on to the Rabbis.  They become the “elders” that receive God’s message and in turn teach it to everyone else. And of all of them, the most praiseworthy are those who do not just sit there, waiting for the people to come to them, but rather those who go out among the folk, to seek the needy, the weak and the despondent.  They, teach the Rabbis, are those who will enter the Promised Land; they are the true inheritors of Moses’s legacy.

May all Israel be prophets! The sentiment is overwhelming. God’s spirit is not limited to the select few; there’s plenty to go around to anyone and everyone who would share in it.

The lesson of B’ha’alot’cha is as grand as it is subtle. What Moses learns is that he does not have “to parent” the Children of Israel. God has implanted within each of them the potential to reach greatness on their own. They will complain, yes; they will continue to find fault with themselves and with others; they will see the flaws in the world around them—but then they will also look for—and discover—the solution. 

Moses’s burden is eased—not by the co-leadership of the seventy elders, but rather by his understanding that the Israelites can achieve greatness through their own effort. God’s response to Moses’s complaints is a great gift. You have done more than enough, God seems to tell Moses; you have more than merely raised these children. You gave them faith in themselves. You have truly liberated them, not only from the terrible tyranny of Pharaoh, but also from the oppression of their own lack of confidence and self-esteem.

B’ha’alot’cha means “when you raise.” At the beginning of the portion, the word refers to the way in which Aaron is to kindle—to raise—the flames of the Menorah, the seven-branch candelabra that lit the way to the Tent of Meeting. As the portion ends, however, B’ha’alot’cha signifies the way parents should raise children: to be independent, competent, visionaries and doers in their own right. 

It’s a magnificent teaching.

© 2019 by Boaz D. Heilman

A Model of Perfection: Bamidbar.19

A Model of Perfection: Bamidbar

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 8, 2019

The Torah is filled with wonderful stories and images. Many have been transformed into some of the world’s greatest art. Several movies, both live and animated, tried to capture the magnificence and depth of the stories and characters. Its message of freedom and hope inspired countless writers, many African-American spirituals, and at least one opera (Moses And Aaron by the 20^th century composer Arnold Schoenberg). There’s even a reconstructed Noah’s Ark attraction in Kentucky—one that recently suffered water damage, with an ensuing insurance claim of $1,000,000. (I guess they didn’t follow properly God’s instructions re waterproofing).

Yet the further we get into the five books, the fewer the adaptations. And that’s understandable. There’s little drama in the lists of commandments, the lengthy genealogies, or in the detailed description of the Israelite camp that’s found in this week’s Torah portion, Bamidbar (“In The Wilderness,” Numbers 1:1—4:20). Yes, later on, beyond these chapters, there are wars and uprisings, the miracles of water bursting out of the rock, and the moving description of Moses’s final vision and death at Mt. Nebo. But—let’s face it—all of these amount to no more than 15 or 20 minutes of screen time, and they don’t stand a chance next to the spectacular images of Noah’s Flood or the Parting of the Red Sea. Hollywood does not like anti-climaxes.

Yet the message in this week’s portion is as important as any other in the Torah. Depicting the encampment of the Israelites during their 40 years of wandering in the Sinai Wilderness, it is the picture of perfection. Despite the many moves and changes, everyone is always in their place, everyone knows where they belong.  Each individual has his or her task in the maintenance of the Tabernacle and the camp, and  every tribe is strategically positioned to defend the newly-emerged people. In this picture, every individual counts; everyone’s contribution—from great to small—matters.

At the heart of the camp, protected by the Priests and Levites, lies the magnificent Tent of Meeting, the Tabernacle. All its utensils are in place; the rituals are well-practiced and perfectly carried out. At its innermost core, in the Holy of Holies, is the Ark of the Covenant, and inside that, the Tablets of the Law. It is here that Moses and Aaron receive God’s word, to be passed on and taught to the rest of the people.

From station to station, each move is coordinated perfectly, down to the last detail. Nothing is left out, nothing is missing. Throughout the long road, everyone carries out without fail their duties and responsibilities. There is a higher truth at stake, a higher power, one which is entrusted not only to one individual, but rather to the entire people: The Power and Message of the Torah.

The Torah is more than a set of laws, more than a collection of stories, miracles and wonders.  The Torah is God’s eternal Covenant with the People of Israel.  Throughout the generations, the Torah has served as our inspiration and source of strength. It has been our fortress and sanctuary in times of change, war and upheaval. 

When the Israelites finally reach the Promised Land of Israel, under the leadership of King Solomon a permanent Temple is built to house the Holy Ark and its contents. Destroyed by the Babylonians, the Temple was rebuilt some time later—only to be destroyed once again, by the Romans in the year 70 CE.

Though the Jerusalem Temple was never rebuilt, wherever our people went they carried the Torah with them. As they did so, the image that they had before their eyes was the one described in this week’s Torah portion. The Sanctuary is always at the People’s heart; the Holy Ark always houses—not the set of stones Moses had given us, and which disappeared in the course of history—but rather, the rolled parchment we call the Torah.

Through the centuries, synagogues were built wherever Jewish communities grew and thrived. Though leadership of the people was taken up by rabbis rather than kings and priests, to this day we still find ourselves facing east, just as the Israelites did in the Sinai Wilderness. Facing the Torah, our hearts and minds are always directed to this ancient document and the sacred message that it contains.

Generations come and go. Change is inevitable. Yet the eternity of this first portion of the Book of Numbers remains untouched. It is the cornerstone of every Jewish community. Just as described in Bamidbar, at every synagogue, shul and temple, everyone has an assigned role to fill. There is always a person responsible for the implements, utensils, the food; another individual or committee is in charge of the rituals; yet another is there to keep account of membership and dues; and still others who carry out other necessary duties. Times and places may change, yet the model, the vision we are given in this Torah portion, never alters. Such is the nature of perfection.

Today, we find ourselves at yet another time of change and transition. A short four years ago, I began carrying out my responsibilities as Rabbi of TBI. I was entrusted with the teaching of Torah, the care of the community and its children, in charge of carrying out our rituals and traditions, celebrating our holy days and Sabbaths.

When I began my task here, what I found at TBI was a devoted and dedicated congregation. I am still astounded by the deep thirst for Jewish knowledge, by your love for our traditions, by your commitment to observe and practice our ancient customs and rituals. TBI’s involvement in social action is nothing short of phenomenal: feeding the hungry; visiting the sick; providing for the needy; nurturing wounded warriors—these are but some of the mitzvot—commandments—that TBI obeys. Teaching children, one of the most important and challenging commandments of all, has always been at the heart of everything you do. 

TBI’s place and role in the larger community is recognized not only in Laconia, but throughout the State of New Hampshire. When tragedy struck, both personal as well as communal, the outpouring of comfort and sympathy from all our friends and neighbors, from politicians and community leaders, from other members of the clergy as well as the “ordinary” people we met at supermarkets and on the street, has been nothing less than overwhelming. Recognition of Temple B’nai Israel’s contribution to society and the world around us is welcome, fitting and valuable. It’s proof of the truth embedded in our Torah: We might be wanderers in the wilderness, but when we follow the model shown us in Bamidbar, there is no doubt of the outcome. Like some well-oiled machine, as long as everyone does the task assigned to them, it works. That’s the way it has been for more than 3000 years now. 

The important task is to live by Torah, and then to pass it on to the next generation. Wherever we live, we are still in the Wilderness. We have meandered over continents, across oceans and seas, through valleys and high mountains. Yet throughout our history, what has never changed is what we see before our eyes today. 

When Moses’s time comes to leave his charge behind, he does so reluctantly. He knows his work isn’t done. But he also has faith. He knows that someone will follow him. He also knows that, with the Torah’s vision always before the People’s eyes, they will continue the work he had left unfinished. 

It is now my turn to pass leadership on to a new rabbi. I do so with sadness, but also with confidence and faith. I have faith in God, faith in TBI. I have faith in you, my friends. I will always carry in my heart the love and friendship you have shared with me. The rich memory of the past four years will continue nurturing me for as long as I have life and breath. I am grateful for the opportunity to be your rabbi, grateful that you became my friends, my chevruta—my study and worship partners. I could not have asked for more.

I am confident that TBI will never forsake its responsibility. You will persist—as you have for more than 100 years now—in bringing Judaism to life in New Hampshire.  Wherever your paths may take you, you will always carry with you the vision of Bamidbar. And we will always meet here again, in this Torah portion, in this glorious abode of God and people, where everyone lives in peace and harmony, where all have a place, a role and a task to play in keeping our tradition, people and faith alive. 

The Hebrew word shalom means not only hello and goodbye, but also wholeness and peace. With the image of the Tabernacle in the Wilderness in my mind and heart, I wish you all shalom.

I close with the parting words of the beloved friends, David and Jonathan, “Until we meet again, may God be between thee and me.”

© 2019 by Boaz D. Heilman