Parashat Masei

With their victories over Emor, Bashan and Midyan complete, Klal Yisrael now prepare for their entry into Eretz Yisrael. Moshe instructs them to rid the land of its current inhabitants, and he warns them that if they do not succeed in their conquest, those inhabitants will prove to be an ultimately destructive thorn in their sides. But before Moshe delivers his instructions and warning, he prefaces with a lengthy enumeration of the many sites his people inhabited over the past forty years.

How does this list of sites appropriately preface the nation’s obligation to conquer Eretz Yisrael? The Bnei Yisrael arrived in Arvos Moav eleven perakim ago, at the end of Parashat Chukas, and they haven’t moved since. Why then does Moshe wait to recount their past journeys until they are prepared to leave the plains? Alternatively one could ask, as Rashi asks, why Moshe recounts these journeys altogether.

“These are the journeys.” Why are these journeys written? To inform [us] of G-d’s kindness, for although He decreed to drag them through the wilderness, do not claim that they were dragged from journey to journey all forty years without rest.

Rashi, BaMidbar 33:1

Rashi proceeds to prove his claim. “There are forty-two journeys altogether,” he tallies. He then proves that fourteen of these journeys preceded Hashem’s decree, and eight more came after the end of His decree, after the death of Aharon. Therefore, Hashem made the Jews travel only twenty times in the span of forty years, an unconditional kindness even in the face of a most terrible decree.

But how does this tally prove G-d’s kindness? Maybe the Jews stopped at each destination for only a day, and so they spent nearly the full forty years on their feet wandering. Without knowing how long they spent at each destination, there is no possible way to determine just how long Hashem made them wander. And while an estimation of the time required to travel from Mitzrayim to Eretz Yisrael might accurately project the respective numbers of days spent wandering and camping, such a calculation would itself reveal the kindness of Hashem, rendering Moshe’s list of destinations entirely useless, bringing the difficulty with Rashi’s comments back to square one.

The Mifarshim take issue with Rashi from a very different angle. If we count the journeys listed in our parasha, we find that there are actually only forty-one stops along the way, and that the nation made only nineteen journeys during Hashem’s decree. Why then does Rashi round these numbers up?

In order to answer this difficulty, the Levush HaOrah first raises an additional question. In Parashat Eikev (10:6), Rashi writes that there were eight journeys from Mosera to Hor HaHar. Similarly in Parashat Pinchas (26:13), Rashi writes that when the Cana’ani king of Arad attacked Klal Yisrael, they retreated eight journeys from Hor HaHar to Mosera. However, Moshe lists only seven journeys from Mosera to HorHaHar in Parashat Masei. How does Rashi add these destinations up to reach a total of eight? To make matters worse, Rashi himself writes in Parashat Chukas (21:4) that the nation retreated only seven journeys, and quotes the pasuk in Eikev as proof!

To resolve these inconsistencies, the Levush HaOrah first explains Rashi’s definition of a Masa, a journey. When a man sets out on a journey with a particular destination in mind and travels a quick and straight path to this destination, we call his travel a single Masa. However, the moment this man walks off his original course, all the more so if he travels in exactly the opposite direction of his destination, his traveling turns into a straddling and is no longer termed a Masa.

In this sense, the Bnei Yisrael traveled seven Masa’ot from Mosera to Hor HaHar, seven journeys with different destinations in mind. Their first destination was Bnei Ya’akan, and then they settled. The next was Chor HaGidgad, and again they settled. And so on. But there is another unlisted journey Rashi includes, namely the journey from Mosera back to Hor HarHar. After the Bnei Yisrael regrouped from their retreat, they set their sights on Hor HaHar and hastily returned. Although this journey spanned the length of seven previous journeys, the Bnei Yisrael completed their trek with one destination in mind, Hor HaHar, and so Rashi counts this return as its own Masa, but only one Masa. On the other hand, Rashi omits the nation’s retreat from Hor HaHar to Mosera from his enumeration of Masa’ot, for this straddling worked against the reaching of their next destination, Tzalmona.

Therefore, the Levush HaOrah concludes, the extra Masa that Rashi refers to in Parashat Masei is the return from Mosera to Hor HaHar. Rashi includes this eighth journey within his enumerations whenever the focus of his comments includes the return from Mosera to Hor HaHar. Rashi’s comments in Parashat Pinchas revolve around the efforts of Shevet Levi to turn the nation around and lead them back to Hor HaHar, and his comments in Eikev evaluate the haste of their return (Rashi infers this from the skipped Masa’aot in Moshe’s rebuke there); therefore, Rashi refers to the “eight Masa’ot” in each of these two cases. However, Rashi’s comments in Chukas deal exclusively with Bnei Yisrael’s retreat, so he limits the span of this retreat to a simple “seven Masa’ot.” All in all, we find that there were indeed forty-two journeys from Klal Yisrael’s departure from Mitzrayim to their arrival in Arvos Moav, and twenty of these forty-two journeys preceded the nation’s departure from Hor HaHar.

By the Levush HaOrah’s assessment, Rashi defines a Masa solely by the destination one resolves to reach before he sets out on the road. In other words, the definition of a Masa is not the travel along the road, not the process of journeying. Rather, a Masa is simply the departure, a lifting of the eyes with a new destination in mind. The Jews’ first Masa was from Ramiseis, and their second Masa was from Sukos, and so on. This definition reads quite clearly into the pasukim:

“VaYisu Bnei Yisrael MaiRamiseis, VaYachanu BiSukos,” and Bnei Yisrael departed from Ramiseis, and they camped in Sukos.

BaMidbar 33:5

Rashi doesn’t prove Hashem’s kindness by analyzing the time Klal Yisrael spent wandering through the Midbar. Rather, Rashi focuses specifically on the number of times the nation had to depart from their current location with another destination in mind. The most difficult step of a journey is not the transition, the time spent commuting, but rather the departure, the very resolution to pack one’s belongings and abandon an old home for new home. Indeed, Hashem could have made Klal Yisrael pack their belongings over and over for forty years, moving them from destination to destination on an almost daily basis. Yet He did not; He made them commit to no more than twenty different destinations, twenty different homes, along the forty year trek. And therefore, Moshe urges, the nation must feel grateful.

Of course, the most difficult of the nation’s departures was the one from Arvos Moav. The destination they now set their sights on, Eretz Yisrael, was no wilderness, and the efforts summoned to make this land their home were no short order. But with his recounting of Hashem’s kindness, Moshe reminds his nation that Hashem will always stand on their side, through all their departures, no matter how stressful or difficult the transition may seem. Hashem will always guide them to their next destination, to the land He promised their fathers. And if they can achieve this one last mission, if they can drive every last inhabitant from the land, then they can finally experience a true arrival “El Ha Menuchah ViEl HaNachalah Asher Hashem Elokecha Nosein Lach” (Devarim 12:9) to the resting spot and to the inheritance which Hashem gave to them.

Parashat Balak

Towards the opening of Parashat Balak (22:7), Rashi explains that the elders of Midyan abandoned their plan of hiring Bilaam HaRashah to curse the Jews because he could not immediately commit to the task. The Levush HaOrah explains that while Moshe Rabbeinu could communicate with Hashem at will (indeed, when Paroh begged Moshe to rid his country of Tzfardeiya, Moshe first asked Paroh, “when shall I pray for you.”) Bilaam could not and had to wait until nightfall. Once the Zikeinim recognized this weakness, they understood that Bilaam’s powers were no match for Moshe’s and retreated home.

The Sifri in ViZos HaBracha, as quoted by the Ramban in our parasha (24:1-2) lists the three differences between the prophecy of Moshe and that of Bilaam. Whereas Moshe could not anticipate the subject of Hashem’s message nor when Hashem would convey these messages (aside from those conversations Moshe himself initiated), Bilaam’s limited level of prophecy afforded him the anticipation of both the time of Hashem’s communications (though he himself could not initiate conversation) and the subject of His message. Lastly, the presence of Hashem’s presence physically harmed Bilaam (as the pasuk says, Nofel U’Glui Einayim) but did not hinder Moshe.

The combination of these two sources suggests not only that Moshe Rabbeinu’s powers of both prophecy and communication overpowered those of Bilaam, but also that the Umos HaOlam recognized this disparity. Yet Rashi explains (22:5) that Hashem revealed Himself to Bilaam so that the Goyim could not claim that they would have repented had He given them prophets like those of the Jews.

[Hashem] established prophets for them and [yet] they breached the boundaries of the world, for [after the Flood, the world] forbade illicit relationships, and [now Bilaam] advised them to relinquish themselves for the sake of licentiousness.

Rashi, BaMidbar 22:5

In an almost comical twist of fate, the very prophet the Umos expected to correct their wicked ways leads them even farther from Hashem! Yet according to Rashi, they can no longer complain, for Hashem communicated with them just as He communicated with Klal Yisrael, and they still went astray.

But does Bilaam’s prophecy really undermine the Pischon Peh of the nations? After all, Bilaam was not nearly as great a Navi as Moshe Rabbeinu; therefore, Hashem did not communicate with the Umos as He communicated with the Jews. Perhaps if the Umos had a prophet of Moshe’s stature they would have repented.

The Maharshal asks why the very appointment of Bilaam, who led his nation astray, was not itself grounds for Pischon Peh, for maybe had Hashem not given them any prophet altogether they would have remained on the right path. He answers that one should not confuse the unsurpassed clarity of Bilaam’s prophecy with the impiety of his advice. Although Bilaam’s conversations with Hashem were not as intimate as Moshe’s, they were nonetheless of parallel clarity. When Bilaam pronounced, “their G-d hates lewdness” (see Rashi, 24:14), he stated pure unadulterated fact. Therefore, Hashem conveyed His Will with equal clarity to both His nation ad the other nations. And when Bilaam advised the Moavim to relinquish themselves for licentiousness, the Moavim should have known disregard Bilaam’s suggestion. Thanks to Bilaam, they knew exactly what Hashem liked and what He hated. Yet ironically, Bilaam led them astray.

Perhaps Bilaam could have been as great a prophet as Moshe had he only regarded Hashem’s Word with the same level of esteem as Moshe did. Rather, Bilaam consistently sought to undermine Hashem’s Will. Although Hashem permits Bilaam to follow Balak’s messengers, He then angers after Bilaam leaves. Rashi explains, “[Bilaam] saw that the matter was bad in Hashem’s eyes, and he desired to go.” In other words, Bilaam did not follow the messengers in spite of Hashem’s disapproval but rather in light of this disapproval. Bilaam sought to act against Hashem’s Will, and therefore Hashem got angry.

How then did Bilaam really differ from Moshe? Moshe was the most humble man of his generation. Moshe and sacrificed his personal life, such as his relationship with his wife, for a closer relationship with Hashem. Bilaam, on the other hand, was the haughtiest man of his generation. He refused to admit to Balak or his messengers that he could not defy the Will of Hashem. He guaranteed his success and desired all of Balak’s money. And he constantly tried to manipulate and outdo the word of Hashem. Therefore, Hashem established close communication with His friend Moshe and eventually cut all communication from the contentious Bilaam.

But the Umos HaOlam should still have a gripe? Hashem never communicated with the Risha’im of Klal Yisrael; rather, He chose Moshe, the generations greatest Tzadik to lead the nation. Why then would Hashem go out of His way to appoint Bilaam, the biggest Rashah of his generation, to lead the Umos HaOlam? Isn’t Hashem then trying to distance Himself from the Goyim?

Perhaps we can consider Bilaam the archetypical Goy just as we consider Moshe Rabbeinu the ideal Jew. Moshe’s life involved the pursuit of Olam HaBa, and to reach this goal, Moshe negated his personal interaction with Olam HaZeh. But Bilaam was not a Jew, and his life’s goals differed from Moshe’s. Bilaam pursued Olam HaZeh and his wide heart and tall spirit suited him perfectly for his pursuit, for they enabled him to disregard the Will of Hashem and follow his own eyes and heart.

Therefore, if Hashem were to appoint any gentile other than Bilaam, the Umos would still have a complaint. Bilaam’s lifestyle represented the accomplishments the Umos all sought to achieve (albeit they could only strive to achieve, much as Jews can only strive to achieve the accomplishments of Moshe Rabbeinu). But an obedient prophet, a prophet who negates his Olam HaZeh for a relationship with Hashem, has nothing to teach the Umos HaOlam for he lives an incomparably limited life.

Of course there are still good gentiles, and some gentiles even earn shares of Olam HaBa. Yet this does not mean that their goal in life is to earn a share of Olam HaBa. The very existence of Man in Olam HaZeh emanates from the insubordinance of Adam HaRishon, from his appetite for the fruit of the Eitz HaDa’as.

And the man said, “the woman whom you gave me, she gave me [fruit] from the tree, and I would eat it.

Beraishis 3:12

Rabbi Abba bar Kahana said, [This pasuk] does not say “and I ate it” but rather “and I would eat it,” [meaning] “I ate it once, and I would eat it again if I had the chance.” Reish Lakish said, Man was not expelled from Gan Eden [into Olam HaZeh] until he blasphemed G-d [as Rabbi Abba explained].

Beraishis Rabbah, 19:12

Bilaam HaRashah epitomizes this essence of man’s presence in Olam HaZeh, and he appropriately portrays Man’s distance form G-d. Man is left with no excuse, his presence in and pursuit of this world is by no means ideal. In fact, it is even destructive, as Bilaam proves. Conversely, Moshe Rabbeinu epitomizes the goal within our journey back to Gan Eden, along the Derech Etz HaChaim. May we discover in both Moshe and Bilaam, whose stories are both chronicled in our timeless Torah MiSinai, our purpose in this world, the goals we strive to achieve, and the pitfalls we must avoid.

Good Shabbos.

Parashat Chukas

And the nation spoke [slanderously] of G-d and Moshe, “Why have you taken us up from Mitzrayim to die in this desert for there is no bread and there is no water and our souls are disgusted with this light bread.”

BaMidbar 21:5

After forty years of tireless complaint, the Jews have perfected their art. Generally their agony is justified, but they are punished for the manner in which they complain. After Miriyam dies, for instance, the Jews are without water and rightfully complain to Moshe. But what do they complain about? They claim that Hashem brought them to die in the desert and that they will never reach the land of grain, figs, grapes and pomegranates. “Also,” they casually remark, “there is no water to drink.”

Again, after Aharon dies and the nation retreats 7 journeys, they recover all their lost ground only to move back off course, from Hor HaHar back towards the Yam Suf in the very direction of their retreat. The Jews’ disgust with their journey is therefore very much justified, but their complaint focuses on everything but the journey. First they complain they have no bread. Then they complain they have no water. And lastly they complain that the bread they do have builds up in their stomachs until they eventually explode.

What basis do these gripes have? What do they have to do with the roundabout journey? Are these claims even true? Did the Be’air really stop giving them water again? Did the Man really stop falling? What then do they mean that there is no bread and there is no water? After forty years of eating Man, now they begin to worry whether the Man will explode in their stomachs?

At the same time, it is fairly clear that the Bnei Yisrael are more than just a bunch of Misonenim, whiners. If they really wanted to whine over every imaginable woe, they would again complain over the lack of grain, figs, grapes and pomegranates, as they complained in Kadeish. Here they are very specific about the lack of water and bread, although there is really no reason to think they lack water or “bread” (in the form of Man, at least). All this while, some of their claims border heresy:

“And they spoke of Hashem and Moshe,” they equated the servant to his Master.

Rashi, BaMidbar 21:5

Not since Cheit HaEigel has the nation mistaken Moshe as the man who brought them up from Mitzrayim. Why does Moshe all of a sudden get so much credit? Shouldn’t the people know better? All things considered, this misattribution fits fairly well with the rest of their senseless claims.

Or maybe the people didn’t really mistaken Moshe’s powers with Hashem’s but were rather trying to make a point by equating him to his Master. After all, the people received their ‘bread’ and water daily by the Zechus of Moshe Rabbeinu. After the deaths of Miriyam and Aharon, Moshe still provided water from the Be’air, and by means of his Zechus, he was able to hit the well and yield enough water for the whole nation. Perhaps this matter also distinguishes the bread and water from the other foods the people truly lacked. And in a way, maybe we can even consider the bread and water to be items the people lacked.

The opening Medrash in Esteir Rabbah expounds on a pasuk at the end of the Klalos in Ki Savo (28:66), “and your life will hang in front of you, and you will not be certain of your life, and you will be scared night and day.” Chazal explain that each clause of the pasuk describes a person with very little food. The first clause refers to one with a year’s supply, the second to one who frequents the granary, and the third to an individual who buys his bread daily from a baker. Although in each case the individual has bread, he is uncertain from where he will get bread next year, next week, or the next day respectively; therefore he is cursed.

The curse itself is rather bizarre, for if this cursed individual always gets his bread from the farmer or baker, what then does he fear? A famine? Surely the farmer and baker are equally worried about famine, if not more worried. But this individual possesses no control over whether he will have food the next year, next week, or next day. At least the farmer and baker retain some control over their sustenance, for they constantly involve themselves with the production of the food. But the moment one’s food just appears, without any personal input, one begins to feel a discomfort that as easily as the food appeared it too can disappear.

The same was true of the people in the Midbar, for their food was not directly provided on account of their desires or requests. Indeed we find them complain to Moshe how they have no water after Miriyam dies; if they could simply ask Hashem for water, they most probably would have. Instead, Moshe must deliver their water, just as he delivers their Man, through his own Zechus. And while the people maybe have had enough food to last them the day, they could never feel comfortable or confident that they would have food the next day. They felt cursed, and they felt as if they had no food or water at all.

Perhaps this understanding also explains why the Jews complained over the lack of bread before the lack of water. A person can live over a week without food, but no more than a few days without water; which complaint then is the more urgent? But before Moshe ever took over responsibility of providing the people with water, he was always responsible for their food. The Man always fell in Moshe’s Zechus. Therefore, the people focused their complaint on the Man, and added a similar complaint about the Be’air in on the side.

The general disgust of the people was not a physical one. They were not starving to death, but they felt emotionally disgusted and they could not enjoy their food. In a sense, it was not their food. They had not earned it and so they could not enjoy it. And there was no guarantee it wouldn’t explode in their stomachs, especially if they ate on account of another’s merits.

The nation certainly understood that Hashem took them out of Mitzrayim and that Moshe was His servant, but to what effect did this hierarchy matter if they could not communicate with Hashem themselves. If they needed water or food, they had to turn to Moshe, as if their connection to Hashem were meaningless without their connection to Moshe. As a result of their complaint, Hashem commands Moshe to construct a copper snake and place in on a post. All those in need of aid should stare at the snake and concentrate on the heavens. Within this remedy is a fairly basic response to the complaints of the nation, for while Moshe still provided the means for their remedy, namely the snake to which they stared, the cure itself still came from above, and their concentration on Hashem factored greatly into the healing powers of the snake.

Although the journey around Edom at first framed the nation’s focused return to Hor HaHar as a silly waste of time, Klal Yisrael came to recognize that their focus and dedication to every step of their journey was indeed as important as their destination. Were they to simply forgo the return to Hor HaHar, they would neglect the value of those seven Masa’ot they originally embarked upon and all of their spiritual growth along the way. But by returning, even if only to immediately turn around and head back towards the sea, the nation showed a certain resolve, a special dedication to the steps of their journey through the Midbar. It was a journey they could not necessarily control, but one still that they could focus their hearts towards the heavens and grow upon and learn from.