One verse, five voices. Edited by Nina Litvak and Salvador Litvak, the Accidental Talmudist
The people were looking to complain, and it was evil in the ears of the Lord. The Lord heard and His anger flared, and a fire from the Lord burned among them, consuming the extremes of the camp.
– Num. 11:1
Niva Taylor
Freelance Writer
As Am Yisrael begins its journeys into the desolate wilderness, the people’s faith in Hashem seems to waver. Leaving Sinai’s rarefied atmosphere behind, the nation finds various and sundry reasons to complain, with the brazen intent, according to Rashi, that their gripes reach the “ears” of their Creator, Master and Liberator Himself.
What we are witnessing here is the stuff of a real relationship, which requires the forbearance to endure the vicissitudes of life. This relationship has sustained us as a nation, and as individuals, through the ups and downs of our uniquely Jewish journey. Our bond with Hashem remains deeply relevant — and deeply real — to this day.
But how can mere mortals, with our physical limitations, forge an authentic relationship with the Divine? Perhaps the word “ears” in our parsha can answer this question. According to Maimonides’ 13 Principles of Faith, Hashem has no body or likeness. So why would the Torah use anthropomorphisms when describing Him? Maimonides relates that they are metaphorical. Personifications of G-d are not to be taken literally.
Why speak in allegories? Because the relationship each of us builds with Hashem will be the most significant, lasting bond we will ever forge. In order for us to truly connect with G-d, Rabbi Avigdor Miller said, He must be a concrete reality in our lives. He cannot be an abstraction. Hashem wants to connect with us. The anthropomorphisms in the Torah are an invitation to get to know Him in language we can understand.
Rabbi Shmuel Reichman
Best Selling Author, International Speaker and Business Coach
What is shalom? Simply translated, the Hebrew word shalom means “peace.” But the deeper meaning of shalom is “harmony and balance.” True shalom is when different, perhaps even contradictory, components, are able to interconnect, harmonize and unite in a way that transcends the sum of their parts.
This is the spiritual concept of tiferes — the harmony of opposites. Tiferes is linked to the word pe’er, which means beauty; both words share the same shoresh. What exactly makes something beautiful? When you watch the sun set along the beach, for example, the sight is undeniably beautiful. What, though, makes this scene so beautiful? Is it the sun, the water, the different colors, or the reflection of the sun on the water? In truth, there is no one thing that makes something beautiful. True beauty is the result of many contrasting pieces melting together into a harmonious oneness. Beauty results when different colors, shapes, ideas, and sounds melt into a single connected body, forming an indescribable transcendent fusion. Fascinatingly, this is why a doctor is called a rofei, a word comprised of the same letters as the words pe’er and tiferes. A doctor’s job is to balance all the different forces of the body — to create homeostasis and harmony.
And that is why Hashem is the ultimate healer; Hashem is the ultimate source of balance, harmony, and truth. May we all be inspired to embody the most wholistic truth, where all the pieces of our lives synthesize into a single, holistic picture.
Rabbi Yoni Dahlen
Spiritual Leader, Congregation Shaarey Zedek, Southfield, Michigan
The Talmud in Tractate Sofrim (6:2), offers a remarkable comment on these opening words, “The people were looking to complain …”
This tractate, which deals with the proper way to write a Torah scroll says, “The scribe must leave a prescribed space at the opening of the section which begins And the people were looking to complain; [and not only] at its beginning [but also] at its end, because it is a book on its own.”
It is a book on its own!
Indeed, the human proclivity for kvetching is a book in and of itself. It certainly encapsulates the essence of our ancestors’ journey through the wilderness, but it also serves as a challenge to us as individuals.
If we were asked, at the end of a busy day, to write down all the different moments we remember, what percentage of our recall would be positive? Reflections of gratitude and appreciation?
If we are being honest, most of us would be forced to admit that our minds go first and foremost to our frustrations; a meeting that went too long, getting caught in traffic, a bad meal. It would be a book in and of itself!
Our task as Jews is to attune our hearts to everyday blessings, to will ourselves to write a different kind of book, one that emphasizes the good.
With practice, we can change the way we see, and we can fill books with our gratitude, our love, and our hope.
Michael Milgraum
Psychologist and Author
On the phrase, “the people were looking to complain,” Rashi says that they were looking for a pretext, an excuse, to turn away from Hashem. This incident brings to light three essential elements of human experience: 1) suffering, 2) complaining and 3) turning towards or away from Hashem.
Suffering is often unavoidable, due to our inability to control all events that happen to us, and our understandable emotional reactions to such adverse events. But complaining — that is, deliberately focusing on and emphasizing the negative aspects of our experience, is entirely up to us. As Viktor Frankl eloquently demonstrated in “Man’s Search for Meaning,” even amidst the greatest suffering, there is always something positive, hopeful, and meaningful to be found. This awareness of the positive can take the form of reminding ourselves of the blessings that still accompany us or may be found in the choice to act with dignity, compassion, courage and integrity, even in the face of suffering.
Just as Rashi says that the complaining was a pretext to turn away from Hashem, we should be aware that our own complaining often distances us from Hashem. Although it is sometimes hard to see, it is an article of our faith that every experience Hashem gives us is for our good, either to protect and sustain us or to challenge us, in order to cause us to grow and to polish our soul. Realizing this turns us towards Him; active complaining sadly builds a wall between us and Him.
Rivkah Slonim
Education Director at the Rohr Chabad Center at Binghamton University
The incident of the “complainers” is the first in a disheartening litany of sins that follow. At the end of this parsha we read of Miriam speaking ill of her brother, Moshe. In parsha Shlach we learn of the meraglim, the scouts who discouraged the Jews from following God into the Promised Land. And in parsha Korach we read of the mutiny against Moshe launched by Korach and his assemblage.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe draws our attention to the fact that mention of this sin is found in the Parsha of Beha’alotcha which means, ”when you will [ascend to] light the Menorah. Rashi puzzles this terminology as there are more conventional ways to say “when you will kindle.” Taken literally, Beha’alotcha means when you will raise. Rashi teaches that the term Beha’alotcha alludes to Aaron 1) alighting unto a step to kindle the Menorah, and 2) holding the fire to the wick until it rises up and burns steadily on its own. The Torah clearly implies ascendance.
The inclusion of the “complainers” saga in this parsha comes to teach, says the Rebbe, that even when Jews sin, it is a prelude to their ascending higher. It is a descent for the purpose of ascent; a segue into the level of ba’al teshuva which transcends the spiritual service of even a completely righteous individual. In inimitable fashion, the Rebbe points out one more important nuance: the Torah says k’misoninim, “as complainers.” For in truth — at their core — a Jew is never a sinner.
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