SALT – PARASHAT SHELACH

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei Shabbat

            The final verses of Parashat Shelach introduce the mitzva of tzitzit.  The stated purpose of this mitzva is for us to see the tzitzit on the corners of our garments and thereby be reminded of all the commandments (“u-zkhartem et kol mitzvot Hashem” – 15:39).  For this reason, presumably, the Gemara (Menachot 43) comments that the mitzva of tzitzit is “equivalent to all the mitzvot in the Torah.”

            The Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein shelit”a, suggested an insightful explanation for the unique importance and significance of this mitzva, by examining the role and nature of clothing from the Torah’s perspective (http://www.etzion.org.il/vbm/update_views.php?num=7398&file=/vbm/archive/15-sichot/33shelach.doc).  Clothing became necessary only after Adam and Chava committed the sin of partaking from the forbidden tree, before which they were unclothed without any shame (“ve-lo yitboshashu” – Bereishit 2:25).  Before the sin, perfect harmony existed between human beings and nature.  People did not need to restrict themselves; their innate drives were in perfect consonance with nature, and did not need to be tempered or controlled.  This changed after the sin, and the tendencies of human beings became potentially destructive and at odds with nature.  This necessitated clothing, which helps keep passions and emotions in check so they do not go against people’s own interests.  In the imperfect condition that resulted from Adam’s sin, we are obliged to work and struggle against our natural impulses, so that they are refined and used for contributing to the world, rather than ruining it.  By the same token, the sin also resulted in the need to struggle with the earth to produce food.  The natural world no longer served the human being’s interests on its own; people would have to work and toil to harness nature for their needs – just as they must work and toil to harness their own instinctive tendencies, rather than allow them to freely run their course. 

            Clothing, then, represents the need to struggle with nature, to work to refine our natural tendencies and characters, rather than allow them to flow freely.  It is a powerful expression of the greatness of the human being, who rises above his natural condition and thereby corrects the primordial sin of Adam and Chava.  Clothing serves as a compelling symbol of the human being’s triumph over nature and ability to control and harness it.

            For this reason, Rav Lichtenstein suggested, clothing requires tzitzit – a reminder of God’s ultimate authority and rule over the earth.  It is because of what clothing symbolizes – the remarkable capacity of the human being to exercise control over nature – that we need a reminder on our clothing of our status as servants of the Almighty.  No matter what we achieve, we are the servants, not the master; we are the subjects, not the ruler.  Tzitzit thus serve as a humbling reminder of our stature vis-?-vis our Creator, a reminder which becomes necessary specifically when we consider the notion of “clothing,” of people’s remarkable power and control over their natural drives and instincts.

Sunday

            Among the perplexing aspects of the story of the meragelim – the spies who scouted Eretz Yisrael and then discouraged the nation from proceeding into the land – is the incident that occurs at the end of the story, known as the incident of the “ma’apilim” (end of chapter 14).  In response to God’s decree that the current generation would spend forty years in the wilderness and not enter Eretz Yisrael, the nation (or part of the nation) decides to proceed into the land, proclaiming, “Here, we will now ascend to the place of which the Lord has spoken, for we have sinned” (14:40).  At first glance, this announcement appears to express genuine remorse for cheit ha-meragelim, for the people’s response to the spies’ report and initial decision to return to Egypt.  They acknowledge their wrongdoing (“for we have sinned”), and decide to correct their mistake by courageously marching toward the land, in contrast to the fear and distrust that they exhibited the previous night.

            Moshe, however, urges the people to desist, warning that “the Lord is not in your midst” (14:42) and charging that they were directly violating His command (14:41).  The ma’apilim disregard Moshe’s warning, and are killed by Amalekite and Canaanite forces along the southern border of Eretz Yisrael (14:45).

            The question immediately arises as to why God rejected what appears to be a genuine process of teshuva.  The people confessed and began working toward correcting their mistake by fearlessly moving forward to the land that they had previously feared.  Why did this not qualify as valid repentance?  Why did God not forgive them and allow them to proceed to Eretz Yisrael?

            Many commentators understood the decree of cheit ha-meragelim as not simply a punishment, but also a natural consequence.  This incident demonstrated that the nation was still not adequately prepared to enter Eretz Yisrael, to conquer and develop the land with faith and trust in the Almighty.  The sixteen months that had transpired since the Exodus were proven insufficient in imbuing Benei Yisrael with the faith they would need to establish a nation in their homeland.  God determined that it would take a full generation before the people, raised in the miraculous environs of the normally uninhabitable desert, would be prepared to enter the land and build a country.

            And this is what the ma’apilim failed to understand, or insisted on denying. 

Teshuva means recognizing not only one’s ability to change and the need to change, but also the long, difficult process that change often entails.  Simply saying, “Ok, I won’t do this again,” even if this is done sincerely and with the best intentions, does not qualify as teshuva.  Proper repentance requires that we take a hard, honest look at ourselves and see the long road to self-improvement that lies ahead of us.  The stories told in the Talmud (Avoda Zara 10b, 17a, 18a) of individuals who “acquired their [share in the next] world in a single moment,” who instantly transformed from habitual sinners to pious tzadikim, mark the glaring exceptions that prove the rule.  Rabbi Yehuda Ha-nasi’s dramatic response to these stories demonstrate that this is not the norm, that virtually everyone else must patiently and assiduously work and struggle to change.  And recognizing the length and complexity of the process of self-improvement is integral to teshuva.

The people’s response to the scouts’ report revealed a deep-seated flaw in their mindset, a flaw that God, in His infinite and incontestable wisdom, determined would require a full forty years to correct.  The ma’apilim made the grievous mistake of assuming that this flaw could be corrected overnight, that all they needed to do was to apologize and march toward the land.  Their tragic fate teaches us the need for honesty, and patience, in our lifelong efforts to improve ourselves.  More often than not, if we think we can correct a character flaw immediately, then we are being dishonest with ourselves, and when we attempt instantaneous change, we will either delude ourselves into thinking we’ve succeeded, or realize we’ve failed and quickly despair.  It is far preferable to recognize from the outside the long, complex process that change requires, and be patient with ourselves as we go through that process, gradually making our way toward self-improvement.

Monday

            We read in Parashat Shelach of the negative report brought by ten of the twelve scouts about the Land of Israel.  A careful reading of this narrative reveals two distinct stages in the scouts’ report.  They begin by presenting factual information, first noting the positive aspects of the land (its agricultural quality), and then proceeding to the fearsome military strength of the nations currently inhabiting the region.  Later, the Torah relates that the scouts “spoke libelously” about the land (“va-yotzi’u dibat ha-aretz” – 13:32), calling it a “land which consumes its inhabitants” and its residents “anshei midot” (“men of great size” – ibid.).  It was this “libelous” depiction of Eretz Yisrael that led the nation to begin weeping and to ultimately decide to return to Egypt.  The Ramban, commenting on this verse, claims that the scouts were condemned to immediate death because of this false depiction of the land.  Their fate was sealed when they “slandered” Eretz Yisrael, describing it as a land that “consumes its inhabitants” and which produces unusual people.

            It is worth noting the precise point of transition from the scouts’ truthful report about what they saw, to the “dibat ha-aretz” – the imaginative calumnies about the land’s quality.  This transition occurred after Kalev, one of the two dissenting scouts, interrupted his peers’ report to insist that despite the Canaanite peoples’ military strength, Benei Yisrael can easily conquer the land with the Almighty’s assistance.  The Ramban writes that Kalev’s rebuttal had an effect on the people, and they started feeling encouraged.  In an effort to swing public opinion back to their side, and ensure that the people will accept their conclusion that the nation should not proceed to Canaan, the scouts “badmouthed” the land, warning the nation that it is a dangerous and generally bad place to live.

            The work Be’er Mayim Chayim notes how the scouts’ conduct during this public debate reveals the dangers of what the author terms “midat ha-nitzachon,” our innate triumphalist tendency.  People, by nature, do not like losing arguments.  Rather than concede defeat and admit that our position is incorrect, we often prefer to resort to fabrications or distortions to support our view.  It was because of the scouts’ “midat ha-nitzachon,” their unwillingness to let the argument stand and allow the nation to reach its conclusion, that they resorted to “dibat ha-aretz,” false information about Eretz Yisrael.  The tragedy of the meragelim thus serves as a warning about this powerful tendency, and the need to retain honesty and integrity when expressing disagreement.  It cautions that arguments can easily lead us to speaking falsely, to the grave prohibition of “diba” against people or against sacred entities like Eretz Yisrael.  And this incident demonstrates the close connection that exists between honesty and humility, showing how people are sometimes inclined to compromise integrity for the sake of securing triumph in a heated debate.

Tuesday

            We read in Parashat Shelach the disheartening story of cheit ha-meragelim, which tells of the panic that prevailed in the Israelite camp after the scouts reported about the military power of the inhabitants of Canaan.  The Torah relates that the entire nation wept the night after the scouts’ return from their excursion (“va-yivku ha-am ba-layela ha-hu” – 14:1).

            The Gemara in Masekhet Ta’anit (29a) famously associates Benei Yisrael’s “weeping” on this night with the annual observance of Tisha B’Av: “That night was the night of Tisha B’Av.  The Almighty said to them: ‘You wept an unwarranted weeping – and I will establish for you weeping for generations!’”  According to the Gemara, God responded to the nation’s weeping by turning that night – the night of Tisha B’Av – into a night of mourning and sorrow for millennia.

            Why would Chazal draw such an association between cheit ha-meragelim and the annual observance of Tisha B’Av, on which we mourn the loss of the Beit Ha-mikdash?  Is it possible that the Sages of the Talmud traced the origins of the Temple’s destruction to the sin of the spies?

            The answer, perhaps, can be found in the phrase “bekhiya shel chinam” (“unwarranted crying”) used in this passage in reference to cheit ha-meragelim.  The Sages point here not to the lack of faith in God’s promise of Eretz Yisrael, or to the people’s decision to return to Egypt and forego on their destiny and the covenant made with the Almighty.  Rather, Chazal draw our attention to the “bekhiya shel chinam” – to the fact that the people cried when there was no reason to cry.

            Why was this a situation that did not warrant crying, and why did Benei Yisrael cry nevertheless?

            When reading the Torah’s account of the people’s response to the scouts’ report, we immediately discern a sense of shock.  It seems that Benei Yisrael had mistaken preconceptions about what was to be their imminent entry into the land.  They had expected a smooth, uneventful and bump-free conquest.  The people did not imagine in their minds having to devise a strategy to conquer fortified cities and defeat well-trained and well-equipped armies.  When they suddenly realized that the conquest would require complex warfare, they broke down and wept.  They wanted to enter the land smoothly, without complications; when they learned of the difficult process that lay ahead, they backed out.

            “Bekhiya shel chinam” refers to complaints and protests over a blessed situation that entails overcoming challenges.  It is the weeping of a young toddler who refuses to invest the effort to walk independently, insisting instead on being carried.  Benei Yisrael cried because they wanted to possess the land without effort or struggle.  And this is why their weeping constituted a “bekhiya shel chinam.”  We must never lament challenges; we should confidently confront them.  We must never shy away from achievement because of the struggle required; we should boldly pursue ambitious goals despite the complications entailed.

            The Talmud here issues a chilling warning, that we must be careful what we cry for, what we lament.  If we weep in the face of challenge, rather than rise to it, then God will, Heaven forbid, give us a better reason to weep.  If we refuse to accept the challenge of spiritual greatness, then God will replace that challenge with the challenge of survival.  We are bidden to rise to the challenges involved in being the Almighty’s treasured nation, and not repeat the mistake of cheit ha-meragelim, the “unwarranted weeping” in the face of formidable challenges.

Wednesday

            We read in Parashat Shelach of God’s decree in the wake of the sin of the scouts that the entire generation would perish in the wilderness, and their children would enter Eretz Yisrael.  The exception was Kalev, who had opposed the other spies and encouraged the people to proceed into the land.  God promised, “But My servant Kalev…I will bring him to the land to which he had come…” (14:24).  Similarly, in Moshe’s account of cheit ha-meragelim in Sefer Devarim (1:36), God promises, “I shall give him [Kalev] the land upon which he treaded.”

            Rashi (to 14:24 and 13:22) explains this promise as referring to a more specific reward than permission to enter Eretz Yisrael.  Earlier (13:22), when the Torah describes the scouts’ excursion into the land, it speaks of their arrival in the city of Chevron in the singular form (“va-yavo ad Chevron”).  Rashi, citing the Gemara (Sota 34b), explains that this refers to Kalev, who temporarily left the other spies to pray at the patriarchs’ burial site in Chevron.  After his courageous opposition to the other spies when they presented their findings to the people, God rewarded Kalev by promising that he and his descendants would be given rights to the city of Chevron, where he had gone to pray.  Indeed, as Rashi notes, we are told toward the beginning of Sefer Shofetim (1:20) that Benei Yisrael gave the city of Chevron to Kalev.  This is also mentioned in Sefer Yehoshua (14), where we read that Kalev approached Yehoshua, recounted the story of the spies and God’s promise, and requested the city of Chevron.  He asks that Yehoshua give him “this mountain of which the Lord had spoken that day,” clearly indicating that God had assigned to him specifically the hill of Chevron.

            A bit more detail regarding Kalev’s possession of Chevron is given several chapters later in Sefer Yehoshua (21:11-12), where Chevron is listed among the cities that were allocated for the leviyim.  More specifically, Chevron was designated as a city of residence for kohanim.  However, the verse adds, “sedei ha-ir” (“the city’s fields”) were given to Kalev, and not to the kohanim, in fulfillment of God’s promise.  Rashi, in his commentary to Masekhet Makkot (10a), explains this term as referring to the small villages outside the city.  Thus, Kalev did not receive the city of Chevron itself – which was assigned as a city of kohanim – but rather the outlying areas around the city.

            Malbim, in his commentary to Sefer Yehoshua (chapter 15), notes that this distinction between the city and its suburbs helps reconcile what would otherwise appear as contradictory accounts of the Israelite conquest of Chevron.  In the tenth chapter of Sefer Yehoshua (verse 37), we read that the Israelite army led by Yehoshua captured the city of Chevron, whereas in chapter 15 (verse 14), we find that Kalev, after Yehoshua granted him the city of Chevron, courageously captured the region from the fearsome “yelidei ha-anak” tribe that had inhabited it.  As the Malbim explains, it seems that Yehoshua captured the actual city of Chevron – which would later be designated as a city of kohanim – and Kalev seized the suburban areas around the city from the “yelidei ha-anak.” 

Indeed, as mentioned earlier, Kalev was promised the “land upon which he treaded” – meaning, the area where he had independently gone during the spies’ excursion through Eretz Yisrael.  And here in Parashat Shelach, when the Torah records Kalev’s visit to Chevron, it writes, “…he came to Chevron, and there were Sheshai, Achiman and Talmai, the ‘yelidei ha-anak’.”  The Torah specifies that Kalev’s pilgrimage was to the area of the “yelidei ha-anak.”  Naturally, then, the area he received was specifically the region inhabited by these “yelidei ha-anak,” which was the area he had visited during the spies’ excursion, as opposed to the city itself, which was given to the kohanim.

Thursday

            Yesterday, we noted the verses in Sefer Yehoshua (21:11-12) that describe how the city of Chevron was distributed after Benei Yisrael’s conquest of Canaan.  The city itself was designated as a city of kohanim, one of the forty-eight cities that Benei Yisrael were to allocate for the tribe of Levi (see Bamidbar 35:1-8).  The areas outside the city, we read, were given to Kalev.  As the Torah tells in Parashat Shelach (14:24), God promised after the incident of the sin of the spies that Kalev, one of the two dissenting spies, would receive “the land to which he had come,” which the Gemara (34b) explains as referring to Chevron.  During the spies’ excursion, the Gemara comments, Kalev left the group to visit the graves of the patriarchs in Chevron, and he was rewarded by receiving this region – Chevron – as his and his offspring’s personal possession.  The verse in Sefer Yehoshua clarifies that this applied only to the suburbs outside the city, as the city itself was designated for kohanim.

            It naturally emerges from this discussion that Me’arat Ha-makhpela, the patriarchal burial site, was situated outside the ancient city of Chevron.  If, as the Gemara claims, God’s promise to Kalev referred to the area which he scouted – Me’arat Ha-makhpela – and this area turned out to be the outlying areas of Chevron, rather than the city itself, then we might conclude that the Makhpela Cave was outside the city.  This should not be altogether surprising, as in ancient times graveyards were generally situated outside the cities, and this is in fact mandated by Halakha (Bava Batra 25a).

            Indeed, the Torah clearly states in Sefer Bereishit (23) that Me’arat Ha-makhpela was situated in the “sadeh” that had belonged to Efron, and which he sold to Avraham.  Professor Yehuda Kiel, in the Da’at Mikra commentary there in Bereishit, notes that the Biblical term “sadeh” often denotes the open land outside residential areas.  Accordingly, Me’arat Ha-makhpela was located outside the city, in Efron’s “sadeh.”  Furthermore, the Torah in Sefer Bereishit (23:19) describes Me’arat Ha-makhpela as being situated “al penei Mamrei” – which means either “in front of Mamrei” or “to the east of Mamrei.”  Rav Yaakov Fish, in his Mat’amei Yaakov (Jerusalem, 5740), interprets this to mean that Efron’s fields were located outside Elonei Mamrei, a name for the city of Chevron.

            We should also note that there appear to have been different nations inhabiting the Chevron region.  As mentioned, Chevron – or at least part of Chevron – was also named Elonei Mamrei (Bereishit 13:18), which was named after an Emorite named Mamrei, who was a comrade of Avraham (Bereishit 14:13).  This might suggest that Chevron was an Emorite city.  Indeed, in the tenth chapter of Sefer Yehoshua, we read of the battle waged against Benei Yisrael by “all the Emorite kingdoms dwelling on the mountain range” (“kol malkhei ha-Emori yoshevei ha-har” – Yehoshua 10:6), which included the kingdom of Chevron.  Yet, the area of Me’arat Ha-makhpela in Avraham’s time was situated in an area inhabited by the Chittim, and later, in Kalev’s time, it was inhabited by the mighty “yelidei ha-anak” tribe (as we mentioned yesterday).  It is likely that a stable Emorite kingdom was situated in the actual city of Chevron, whereas the outlying areas were settled by various different tribes.  Interestingly enough, Rav David Mandelbaum, in his Pardeis Yosef He-chadash (Parashat Shelach), cites a source identifying the “yelidei ha-anak” as the descendants of Efron, in which case the “yelidei ha-anak” are actually the same tribe as the Chittim.

Friday

            We read in Parashat Shelach of Kalev’s efforts to oppose his fellow spies who set out to dissuade Benei Yisrael from proceeding to the land.  Kalev insisted that God would ensure the nation’s safe and successful conquest of the land, and famously proclaimed, “Alo na’aleh” – “Let us go forth!” (13:30).

            Rashi, citing the Gemara (Masekhet Sota 35a), reads this declaration as referring literally to “aliya” – “ascending.”  He explains, “Even if He in the heavens tells us to make ladders and ascend to there, we will succeed [in doing] whatever He says.”  According to the Gemara’s reading, Kalev emphasizes to the people that they are capable of doing anything God instructs them to do, even if this requires climbing toward the heavens.

            Why would Kalev make such a comment in his rebuttal to the spies?  Was it wise to compare conquering Eretz Yisrael to climbing to the heavens?  Wouldn’t this add to the people’s intimidation?  And why did Kalev invoke the specific image of ladders?  If God would, theoretically, instruct the people to ascend to the heavens, would it matter whether or not they used ladders, once a miracle would in any event be necessary?

            One possible explanation (cited and discussed by Rav Binyamin Yudin at http://torahweb.org/torah/2009/parsha/ryud_shlach.html) is that Kalev specifically sought to draw the people’s attention to the example of climbing a ladder, one rung at a time.  God never asks us to leap toward the heavens, but He does ask – and demand – that we continuously ascend, step by step, gradually working our way up toward Him in the heavens.  Our challenge is not to try and reach the heavens, and not even to try and reach two rungs above us, but rather to reach the next rung.  This is what is expected, and this is what is demanded.

            And this, perhaps, was precisely Kalev’s response to the spies.  Without question, the process of conquering, settling and developing Eretz Yisrael would be a long and complex one, and the nation could expect many bumps along the way.  The transition from their miraculous existence in the wilderness to a natural existence in an arid, mountainous territory inhabited and surrounded by hostile enemies could not be expected to be a simple one.  Kalev therefore urged the people to bear in mind the image of the ladder, to realize that we are capable of reaching the “heavens” if we focus our attention on rising gradually, one step at a time.  As intimidating as the final destination may seem from the “ground,” it is attainable if we ensure to look  no further than the rung just above us, and focus our effort on climbing onto it, before worrying about the one above it – or the one after.  Daunting goals can be achieved if we approach them with the “ladder” mindset, if we gird ourselves with patience and pragmatism, and commit ourselves to “climbing” one “rung” at a time and gradually seeing the process through to completion, one small step at a time.