On the Broken Path

The strange markings that resemble inverted, upside-down letter nuns before and after Bamidbar 10:35-36 are a curiosity that’s often glossed over by readers and rabbis alike. Like other Biblical markings, they are the domain of specialized scholars, not Shabbat table discussions. These upside-down nuns don’t get our attention because the text reads just as well without them. And so they are forgotten.

What these markings actually are is hotly debated. The Sifrei and Talmud mention a “marking” or “signs” above and below this passage; Rashi explains that this refers to a mark that looks like an upside-down nuns, placed in the blank indentation before and after these verses. This remains the common practice today.

The Maharshal, who lived in the late 16th century, sharply contests this approach, and goes so far as to argue that adding upside-down nuns in the indentation would disqualify the Sefer Torah. The Maharshal says the upside-down letter nuns should be in the actual Biblical text, with the nuns of words like “binsoah” and “kimitonanim” reversed and inverted.

Yet even the Maharshal has a difficult time deciding on a single tradition; he documents 12 different ways of adding upside-down nuns to the text.

Adding to the confusion is uncertainty regarding the form of these so-called “upside-down nuns.” Rabbi Menachem Kasher finds seven different possible ways these “signs” can be written; it could be a twisted nun, a backwards nun, or a nun with a unique crown. That leaves, between the placement and form, dozens of possible configurations for these signs.

The purpose of the upside-down nuns is also obscure. Saul Lieberman notes that these markings are very similar to scribal markings found in Greek texts; but the purpose of those markings was also forgotten. Based on a passage in the Talmud, Lieberman says that scribal markings may be a way of indicating an unclear location for a text, or may be an abbreviated way of indicating the start of a new book.

A closer look at the text offers some suggestions as to the meaning of the upside-down nuns. At the beginning of Bamidbar 10, a commandment is given to the Jews in the desert camp to fashion trumpets. There are two sounds the trumpets make: a long sound, called a tekiah, and a sound that is broken up, called a teruah. (These same sounds are made by the shofar on Rosh Hashanah.) A tekiah was sounded when the camp rejoiced or rested. A teruah was sounded when there was a battle, or when they had to undertake another leg of their treacherous journey in the desert.

Teruah is the melody of worry; and the Talmud explains that it sounds like sobs and wails. The broken teruahconveys uncertainty and anxiety.

And then a few verses later there is a broken text, separated into three pieces. It is a written teruah. After this section, trouble will follow.

The upside-down nuns appear at a turning point in the Book of Bamidbar. The beginning of the book is about the careful preparations for marching through the desert and entering the land of Israel. Then they begin to march.

Right as they start on their way, the Jews begin to complain; and those complaints are the beginning of the end. Eventually, the spies will undermine their confidence, and they will be condemned to wander the desert for 40 years.

The markings appear right at this critical moment, between the first march and the first complaint. And sandwiched in between is the following two-sentence passage, that begins with the Hebrew words “Vayehi Binso’a Ha’aron”:

So it was, whenever the ark set out, that Moses said:

“Rise up, O Lord!

Let Your enemies be scattered,

And let those who hate You flee before You.”

And when it rested, he said:

“Return, O Lord,

To the many thousands of Israel.”

This short text represents a dream of how this march would be conducted. Rabbi Ovadiah Seforno offers this comment:

If the people had not insisted on dispatching the spies, the march would have been proceeding unopposed, the enemies scattering before the armies of God without offering resistance.

This is what would have happened in an ideal scenario.

It is right here, before and after these words, that the upside-down nuns appear. They separate the text, and delineate three different sections of Bamidbar: The preparation, the dream, and the downfall.

Separating the sections into three makes the tragic failure of the desert generation even more apparent. It highlights the comparison between what could and would have happened with what actually did. No wonder the text reads like a teruah.

But this broken text is not meant as a tragedy; it is a textbook for what to do when you walk on the broken path, when life’s soundtrack is a teruah.

The Talmud quotes Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi’s explanation for these markers. He says that “the signs are there because this portion is considered a book unto itself.” The Talmud elaborates on this view and explains that, according to it, there are actually seven books of the Torah.

Perhaps one can dismiss Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi’s statement as hyperbole. Does he seriously believe that a two-word passage has enough content to be called a book? But Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi is highlighting how reading each of the three sections separately offers powerful meaning. Each book has its own lesson.

Preparation needs a book, because it is underappreciated. It is usually seen as a mere passageway to the expected outcome; all that matters is the end. When we fail, we regret the time spent in preparation, and even when we succeed, preparation is merely a cost associated with getting there.

However, there is a profound beauty to getting ready. The Rabbis called the preparation for Shabbat “honoring Shabbat”; the preparation on its own is meaningful. How we prepare changes us, and changes our perspective. The book of preparation reminds us that to live life solely for the outcome is to ignore 90% of life.

Failure is always an orphan, ignored by the very people who brought it about. We are embarrassed by it, as if it is unbecoming of us as superior beings. And so we avert our gaze, burying our mistakes so no one can see them and we can forget them.

That is a mistake. The Torah goes out of its way to emphasize failure from the very beginning; Adam and Eve are barely a few hours old before they fail. And virtually every major character in the Tanakh, from Moses to Solomon, fails. We all fail.

Without studying the book of failure carefully, there is no change and no moving forward. Repentance carries within it an energy that could never be achieved without stumbling first; overcoming failure is an art form, and far more meaningful than mere perfection.

And then there is the book of dreams. Four times a week, we read the verses of “Vayehi Binso’a Ha’aron” in the synagogue. The dream that seemingly died in the desert 3,300 years ago is still alive in our community. And that says something about who Jews are.

Dreams are the oxygen of the Jewish people. We never would have survived without them. Between each calamity, we still found time to dream; and that gave us the strength to go.

The broken Book of Bamidbar is the teacher for when we walk on the broken path of life. We simply have to reverse the order, move on from failure, grab hold of our dreams, and prepare for something better in the future.

Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York.