Moses and The Waters of Strife
in which I write about transitions and facing the loss of leaders + guides
Last week’s Parshah lesson punched me in the gut because it directly addressed a battle I now face in my life — moving from a life in which leaders + elders + guides + parents provide a foundation for me to live + grow + thrive into one where I must myself build and become that foundation for the natural world of humans around me and those who come behind me. The fearful struggle faced by Moses and his people after the death of Miriam reminds me so much of the human struggle of adolescence that we seem to undergo over again throughout our life cycle.
Letting go of the old familiar guardians in my life has felt immensely painful and frightening and bleak. It has felt viscerally frightening and lonely to me these past few years—to move from the safety of familial exile, where, like childhood, I found myself a small connected nucleic spec in a powerful closed system that helped me traverse human development in an inhospitable clime + through a steep learning curve that never plateaued like I expected it would. Familial rupture thrust me into a kind of strife, like the Jews faced at Kadesh, when their water source died and their wells ran dry. Did the Jewish people stop to appreciate Miriam, perhaps not until her death did they see what they had, and maybe their ingratitude and fear prevented them from seeing that vision.
My ingratitude certainly has done, I see myself. Certainly Moses faced this in his grief for his sister as he struck the rock to which G-d told him to speak? Just poised to enter into the land and out of exile, the Jews faced an existential crisis. Fear blocked their capacity to see grace and lean into trust. A chronic skepticism of G-d pesters the Jewish diaspora throughout their hellish historical exile, it feels familiar and like Home to me — who cannot resonate with such existential anger and mistrust and struggle to find gratitude and best post traumatic fear?
Let’s veer a bit off track for an instructive moment and think about Miriam’s name. Let’s play Hebrew Anagram — a useful wee game to play with yourself when you are exploring the Torah yourself in Sefaria or wherever you do. Using the Hebrew word for Miryam, remove the vowelisation, we get the word root MRYM Mem-Resh-Yud-Mem. Mem-Resh could mean bitter, Yud-Mem could mean waters so we get Bitter Water, as in when the Jews could not drink the water in the oasis because it had a bitter taste. Mem-Resh-Mem could mean to elevate or raise, as in during the second water crisis when Moshe had to raise his hand or staff to hit the rock and draw water. Mem-Resh-Yud could mean rebellion, as in rebellion of the people Moshe faces after the death of his sister. Miriam has left and in the wake of her departure we find that her spirit pervades the spirit of the people throughout their exile and has sustained them through the example of her faith. For those of us who have endured the death of our mother, perhaps that resonates for you—it does for me in my contemplation of my mother.
Things don’t turn out as we imagine they will when we are young and embarking on our life journey, do they? We never imagine the final separation from a profoundly sick child, even though that child’s sickness or disability maybe governs your daily life, anchors it repressively and chokingly at times, and also give it purpose—for many years. We never imagine that relief could feel like fall off a cliff without a parachute. We never imagine marriage breakdown. We never imagine the illness and death of parents. We never imagine the illness and death of our siblings. We never imagine the illness and death of our parents. We never imagine how much we do not know about what we do not know. We never imagine … how much faith in ourSelves we might need to get through the darkest times, and that it will seem impossible to get that faith, like getting water from a rock.
So, in this Torah portion, the Jewish people face the loss of their leaders and the uncertainty of the Promised Land, their destination after decades and decades of harsh exile. In such situations, we find ourselves in the place we longed for our whole existence, in disbelief and with a dearth of gratitude—facing the inevitable, having to trust in G-d. It feels like a tall order to trust in G-d without gratitude and with a whole lot of disbelief clogging your spiritual airway, doesn’t it? Everything feels heavier to carry in this state of being, to breathe ie inhale and exhale G-d1 feels more laboured in this state of being. What if trust in G-d in modernity simply means trusting in our innate capacity to step into uncertainty with faith and take the best action we can instructed by our values and believing that we will be okay, whatever the outcome? What if it means making the best of a crappy situation, finding grace where He gives it? This means speaking to rocks when we feel like striking them, doesn’t it? This means shhhh, stop worrying and overthinking and do the thing, doesn’t it?
Thy will be done, not mine.
We typically associate the unpleasant adolescence struggle depicted in this story with that physical transition from childhood to early adulthood —fuelled by the maturation of the neuroendocrine system. What if we extended that allegory throughout adulthood, acknowledging the fact that, à la Erick Erikson, we don’t stop growing? Rather, what if, as creatures powered by a dynamic neuroendocrine system, we continue to grow into adulthood responsibilities and connections and then through and beyond their losses and restructuring?
In Bereishit Rabbah 3:5 the Jewish Sages draw our attention to Genesis 1:4 “God distinguished between the light and the darkness”… corresponding to the book of Numbers, which distinguishes between those who departed from Egypt and those who entered the land. So, perhaps the most substantial way to serve G-d involves building our legacy, to preserve and promote the conditions for tomorrow, meaning for our children and grandchildren? Maybe having and raising kids and grandkids provides us with a way to pay it forward to the cosmos of creation? We need meaning to create hope and we need hope to create meaning. We need to find both within our own skin.
So, given that each new departure means a new entry, how can I contrast the darkness of departure with light of entry?
That’s my reflection on the excerpt of text Numbers 20: 8-12. You can keep reading for a description of the story and a rabbinical interpretation that helped guide and structure my reflection and meditation.
PARSHA CHUKAT :: Numbers 19:1 to 22:1 :: Torah Portion for Hebrew Week 39
You and your brother Aaron take the rod and assemble the community, and before their very eyes order the rock to yield its water. Thus you shall produce water for them from the rock and provide drink for the congregation and their beasts.”
Moses took the rod from before יהוה, as he had been commanded.
Moses and Aaron assembled the congregation in front of the rock; and he said to them, “Listen, you rebels, shall we get water for you out of this rock?”
And Moses raised his hand and struck the rock twice with his rod. Out came copious water, and the community and their beasts drank.
But יהוה said to Moses and Aaron, “Because you did not trust Me enough to affirm My sanctity in the sight of the Israelite people, therefore you shall not lead this congregation into the land that I have given them.” (Numbers 20:8-12)
SUMMARY
By the time of this Torah portion, the Jews find themselves at a place called Kadesh, having been denied passage thru Edom to get to their final destination. They face another water crisis because of the long journey they must take around Edom. Let’s take stock of their situation at this point. To do that it’s helpful to backtrack to the beginning of Chapter 20 the Book of Numbers.
The Israelites arrived in a body at the wilderness of Zin on the first new moon, and the people stayed at Kadesh. Miriam died there and was buried there.
The community was without water, and they joined against Moses and Aaron.
The people quarrelled with Moses, saying, “If only we had perished when our brothers perished at the instance of יהוה ! (Numbers 20: 1-3)
The Jews have wandered in exile for nearly 40 years, Miriam2 has died, the wells dried up in the absence of her great faith, which apparently acted as a vehicle to sustain Moses + Aaron + the Jewish people in their desert exile. Chizkuni, in his 13th century Torah commentary, describes the context below.
ויבאו בני ישראל, “The Children of Israel arrived, etc.;” the arrival of which the Torah speaks were was during the fortieth year of their wanderings. Their lengthy detour around the territory of Edom who had denied them passage and whom G-d had not allowed them to harass in any way, had now been completed. It had commenced at Kadesh Barnea, and was concluded in the desert of Tzin. The Torah summarises this period here although it comprised 18 separate moves during which the Tabernacle had been erected and taken apart each time … Moses recalling in Deuteronomy 2,5: ונפן ונסע המדברה דרך ים סוף ונסב את הר שעיר ימים רבים, “we turned around and journeyed toward the desert in the region of the sea of reeds and marched around Mount Seir, for many years.” That period concluded there in verse 8 with: “we detoured our brethren the children of Esau that dwell in Seir, from the way of the Aravah from Eilat to Etzion Gaver.” From there they arrived at Kadesh, boundary of the Kingdom of Edom, as stated in Numbers 33, 36: “they journeyed from Etzion Gaver and encamped at the desert of Tzin, at Kadesh. (Chizkuni, Numbers 20:1:1)3
The community faces another water crisis and the Jews begin to despair and fear and rage, turning on Moses and Aaron in their water crisis and communal strife. G-d tells Moses to talk to the rock he encounters in the desert. Moses doesn’t trust G-d, he chooses to doubt G-d and he strikes the rock. For this mistake G-d denies Moses the opportunity to lead his people into the Promised Land. At the end of this Torah portion, called Chukat, Aaron, brother of Moses, dies.
TAKEAWAY LESSON
This Parshah4 reminded me of adolescence, of developmental transitions aka growing pains that we face in our lives. Growing out of childhood and into adulthood, growing from one phase of adulthood to another, feels like the uncertainty at the root of the discomfort and suffering in this Parshah. Let’s look at the ways the story of Parshah Chukat fits my allegory.
The Jews face a future with daunting and hopeful challenges, and they face uncertainty about their leadership prospects.
The Jews are on the cusp of leaving a life of exile in which trust in G-D’s miracles sustained them in a harsh natural clime, where they had complete dependence on G-d in the infancy of their nationhood as a people.
The Jews are in the cusp of entering a life of rootedness, in which they will work with nature to build a homeland, taking cues from the natural environment learning about themselves and each other.
Doesn’t this feel like living through ages 15 through 28 or so? Doesn’t it feel like facing the growth and departure of your children from the nest? Doesn’t it feel like facing menopause? Or perhaps it feels like facing death?
Question: What do all these human developmental life phenomena have in common?
Steeped in uncertainty + isolation + ambivalence—feeling the thrill and existential fear of leaning in without having mum or dad or granny or grampy handle or fix it or without teacher holding your hand.
Answer: They require us to have trust and to believe. They require us to having hope and make meaning.
Nature listens to G-d, a tree loses its leaves willingly in autumn, and grows them back in spring—without fuss or fury. What if we could learn from a tree?
Recommendation for continued + further study :: Listening to Rabbi Fohrman’s several video lectures (via the Aleph Beta app) on Parshah Chukat and on Miriam and the Waters of Strife resoundingly gave me some needed guidance about presently facing an uncertain future in which life calls me to give birth to myself, to release mySelf from exile, with only (trust + faith in mySelf) + (trust + faith + knowing ➕ believing in G-d). I have included a PDF copy of a transcript of one of Rabbi Forhman’s Miriam lectures to give you a flavour for the teaching style and the possibilities for your own examination of the familiar texts and the utility of connecting with the Hebrew language to deepen your understanding. Ruth Schapira wrote a thoughtful source sheet about Parshah Chukat and you can find a great deal of useful resources for no cost on Sefaria and Chabad, both. I do recommend the subscription fee for Aleph Beta if you are serious about learning, it is very accessible and down-to-earth and funny and deep and practical. Any good and worthy Jewish teaching must be practical, that’s what keeps me coming back over the years.
This is the road to peace, the vagus nerve, the individual work of being hooman. I didn’t make a fancy banner and trot around town spewing hostile slogans and getting my blood pressure elevated etc etc. I didn’t craft newspeak and a narrative to farm to the most rage and fear and dramatic melancholy so I can blow up my subscriber-base blah blah. Nah, I sat here for a few days and listened and read and reflected and emoted and wondered and thought and overthought. Then I wrote this essay. The lesson from Torah study can still make intellectual sense without uncomfortable theism that feels forced and like evangelical jizzing, by the way. The spiritual lesson of relating to oneself and one’s own particular context and society derived from the Torah still can fit into a secular existence, whether you are an agnostic or undecided or not tribal or simply at a liminal time in your faith journey. Plug in to the Torah where you need to for your self and those whom you love who love you.
If you like this essay, please let me know. Tell me what you think. I plan to write more stuff like this because I think I can have the most impact in the healthiest way and help people understand what they can do to make their world a better place in such bleak times.
I began this day filled with existential fatigue, grief, rage, feeling like an exile within an exile within an exile, feeling disconnected and like my conduit to G-d got obstructed or closed off. I honestly felt like G-d closed the Stargate that connects me to Him to go on vacation or a business trip or because He just got tired of my horsesh1t. I mostly feel like G-d is gone lately, imagine the spiritual version of a forced continuous black-out. Am I stuck in some muck? How do I get out? Maybe I remember Miriam and wait and trust and hope. Anyway, the weight of being feels lighter than it did 12 hours ago, so perhaps I found the medicine for that ache?
“That which is hateful, do not do onto others. That is the entire Torah, the rest is commentary. Now go study.” — Hillel
Imagine your connection to G-d is like your respiratory tract, and that it functions similarly and can become blocked and clogged and contracted and inflamed and strained just the way your physical respiratory tract can do. I find this a reasonable way to envision my connection with G-d—it provides a mental conception I can understand, a way that I can see what makes my connection to G-d stronger and what obstructs it and how that relates to my state of being in the world and in myself.
The death of Miriam now leaving Moses without the watchful eye of his sister for the first time in his life. Miriam, who throughout his life has somehow been present with Moses throughout each water crisis, now has left Moses to face his tribulations without her. As a little girl Miriam prophesied Moshe’s birth as the great man who would lead the Jewish people out of exile, she urged her parents to reunite when they had decided to split under the genocidal rules of the Pharaoh, who sought to kill all male children because of some prophesy his own advisors showed him. After they reunited, they had Moshe. Miriam has watched over Moses right from his infancy in Egypt when the pharaoh’s daughter plucked him from the Nile River. You can learn about Miriam and her connection to water and faith at aleph beta, a subscription service and you can read about it at chabad for no cost.
Chizkiah ben Manoach (Chizkuni) composed during Middle-Age France, c.1220 – c.1260 CE
Commentary on the Torah of Rabbi Hezekiah ben Manoah. Chizkuni, composed in mid-13th century, is actually a compilation of insights culled from the Midrashim, as well as the writings of twenty other Rishonim, including Rashi, Rashbam and Ibn Ezra. However, Chizkuni does not name any of his sources (other than Rashi), in order to encourage objective study, as he felt that one should focus on the message rather than the messenger.
The term parashah, parasha or parashat formally means a section of a biblical book in the Masoretic Text of the Tanakh. In common usage today the word often refers to the weekly Torah portion (a shortened form of Parashat HaShavua). — via Wiki definition