Yaakov Menken

In this week’s reading we learn about the spies sent to look at the Land of Cana’an. As is clear from the consequences, their evil report, and the Children of Israel’s reaction, became their greatest sin in all their time in the Sinai desert — and it was initiated by “leaders of the Children of Israel” [Num. 13:3]. Even among the Generation of the Desert, those who heard the Voice of G-d at Mt. Sinai, those who set this in motion were on an exalted spiritual level. How could this have happened?

After they went through the land of Cana’an, these great men came home very discouraged. They knew that the Children of Israel had sinned previously, especially with the Golden Calf. They saw that the inhabitants were giants, and it would take open miracles for Israel to be victorious. So they concluded, erroneously, that Israel was no longer worthy of that level of protection — that G-d’s promise was not unconditional, that they would lose.

So what did they do when they returned? Did they go to Moshe? Moshe, of course, had a direct line to G-d, and they all knew it. Like all the rest of the Children of Israel, even these leaders, the spies, couldn’t withstand hearing G-d’s Voice directly — at Mt. Sinai, says the Medrash, their souls left their bodies both times G-d spoke to them, so they asked Moshe to listen and transmit to them. Moshe was thus uniquely able to tell them if Israel was or was not worthy, or if it mattered. His guidance stood above that of all the elders, all the judges, and certainly all the nation.

But what did they do? They didn’t turn to Moshe. They made their own judgement and spread their story via the rumor mill. And that was their failing. And all the Children of Israel listened to them, and not to Moshe — and that was their failing.

Had the spies turned to Moshe and let him reassure them, or had the Children of Israel known the difference between being a leading figure and having true leadership (and listened to the latter), they would have entered the land forty years sooner — all those adults would have entered the land rather than dying in the desert.

Have we learned from their experience?

Today, following the spies seems to be commonplace. Magazines and websites exist solely to gossip about leading entertainers and anyone else they choose. There are no shortage of outlets, especially blogs, whose primary purpose is to speak evil of Jews or Israel, and Jews read them. Today, anyone can set him or herself up and claim to be a “leader” — and get plenty of followers.

We, the Children of Israel, cannot afford to repeat the error of the spies.

Upon the inauguration of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, the leaders of each of the Tribes of Israel, the Nesi’im, brought gifts to be offered as sacrifices. We read the details of the gifts offered by each of the twelve, and immediately realize that the Ba’al Koreh, the Torah reader, had an easier job preparing that we might have thought — because besides the names of the tribes and their leaders, essentially the same six verses are repeated twelve times. Each one of them brought precisely the same gift.

Rabbi Shmuel Greineman writes that this is no coincidence. On the second day, Nesanel ben Tzuar of the tribe of Yissachar had to make a decision. What would he do differently than Nachshon ben Aminadav of Yehudah? Each of the remaining ten, of course, would then have to decide how to vary from the earlier ones, inevitably leading to jealousy as each one felt compelled to upstage those who gave previously. So he chose instead to let Nachshon’s gift serve as the template which they all followed. G-d found this so gratifying that He had all twelve gifts recorded in the Torah individually, although they could as easily have been stated collectively.

This week’s reading, Naso, is universally read either immediately before or after the holiday of Shavuos, when the Torah was given, when the entire Nation gathered around the mountain “like one person with one heart.” The gifts of the Nesi’im teach us the importance and greatness of unity. The Torah, with its “seventy facets,” is not a prescription for anarchy. On the contrary — the depth of Torah provides abundant lessons all leading us in the same direction, to bring G-dliness into the world and share it with the next generation.

My cousin’s daughter is celebrating her Bas Mitzvah this weekend, and as they studied this week’s reading in preparation, they came across one of the classic questions of Jewish philosophy: why do we do what we do?

The parsha says that if we follow G-d’s Laws, we will be richly rewarded — but also says that if we don’t, we will be punished. So are we acting out of fear of punishment, or because we want the reward? Our Sages add two additional possibilities: acting out of fear or love of G-d, without regard to the reward or punishment. Similarly, if someone has done wrong and is returning to G-d, the Sages distinguish between one who does so out of fear of punishment, fear of G-d, or love.

Obviously the highest level is to do the Commandments simply out of love. The story is told of Rabbi Eliyahu Kramer, the Gaon of Vilna, who was unable to locate an Esrog (one of the four species taken on Sukkos) one year. His assistant found someone with an Esrog, but he would part with it on one condition only: that all of the Gaon’s reward for the Mitzvah of taking Lulav and Esrog that year would belong to the one giving up the Esrog. The Gaon would share in none of the reward at all.

Observers said that the Gaon did the Mitzvah that year with even greater intensity than his elevated norm. Why? Because he was doing it purely out of love for HaShem and His Mitzvos, without the least concern for the reward he was earning!

It is obvious, though, that sometimes this isn’t enough. G-d never wants to punish us, any more than a loving parent enjoys disciplining a child who has done wrong. But it is sometimes necessary for a person to fear the consequences of bad behavior, in order to avoid it. G-d knows (of course) that we aren’t always up to the challenge of acting out of love alone.

Nonetheless, that is the goal we should be striving to meet. Mazal Tov, Sarah Miriam Edelson, on your Bas Mitzvah, and may you always merit to serve G-d out of love! [And may we all have the same blessing.]

At the end of this week’s reading, we are told not to set up idols. “You shall make no idols, and a graven image or pillar you shall not set up… You shall keep My Sabbaths, and revere My Sanctuary, I am Hashem” [Lev. 26:1-2]. The Medrash, quoted by Rashi, says that this is talking about a person who sold himself into servitude to a non-Jew. He isn’t allowed to say “because my master is an idolater, I will be like him,” or “because my master engages in forbidden relationships, I will be like him.” He is still obligated to observe the Commandments like anyone else.

Rabbi Yisrael Mayer Kagan, the saintly Chofetz Chayim, says that the Torah is teaching us that even a person who has put himself into a bad situation is not exempt. By putting himself into indentured servitude to a non-Jew, this person was certainly embarrassed, and knew full well that he would have many challenges and failures when it came to doing the Commandments. Nonetheless, he remains obligated like anyone else.

So, he continues, if this is true of someone who sold himself, then all the more so the fact that a person might have willfully ignored the Commandments in the past doesn’t exempt him for the future. Tomorrow brings with it new obligations and new responsibilities.

What this also means, of course, is that every new day brings with it new opportunities as well. Sometimes a person tries to do various things, doesn’t manage to “keep it up,” and thinks he or she just isn’t cut out to do it. But every person, at every level, experiences repeated failures on the way to success — in many different areas of our lives. That’s what makes the success so sweet in the end.

The same is true of spiritual success — if it’s hard to accomplish, every day one has a new opportunity, and the eventual success that will be much greater. The Torah is telling us to never give up, that we can always win in the end.

The story is told of the uninformed Jewish fellow who desired to be a Kohen… a Priest. He went to a Rabbi, who told him that that’s impossible: a child is a Kohen at birth or not at all. But the fellow persisted, even offering huge sums of money if the Rabbi would only declare him a Kohen. Finally the Rabbi asked, with exasperation, “why is this so important to you? If you’ve never learned about Judaism, why must you be a Kohen?”

The man responded: “it’s very simple, Rabbi. You see, my grandfather was a Kohen, and my father was a Kohen, so I also want to be a Kohen!”

For those who need the joke explained — he already was. The priesthood is limited to the male descendants of Moshe’s brother Aharon, who was the first Kohen Gadol [High Priest]. As found in this week’s Torah portion, it’s not optional, but rather a Kohen has unique limitations and obligations. It’s not about privilege and prestige — it’s about having a mission, beyond the one shared by all Jews and that shared by all humanity.

As I was writing this morning, a woman wrote into our Torah.org chat, and my colleague Rabbi Dixler answered her. Her great-aunt had once told her that she might be Jewish — and, in fact, she is! She’s also only 30 minutes from a center for Jewish studies, so he was able to recommend a place for her to learn more about what it means to be Jewish.

The world needs variety — and we are all different. And all of us have a mission that is in tune with our own spiritual needs; we each have our own parts to play, our own path to follow. Some of our differences are obvious from birth — others, less so. Some can dunk a basket while others have two left feet. Some find calculus easy while others can’t master long division. And some are born with the proverbial silver spoon, while others struggle to make ends meet — and so on.

So many times in life, we may be tempted to look over the fence. Be it medical issues, schooling, financial problems — we can find ourselves asking why we can’t have someone else’s fortune, rather than our own. But the Torah’s answer is always the same: we are placed in the situation that is uniquely right for us — to see what we make of it.

We come into the world to have the opportunity to emulate G-d, to earn closeness by becoming more G-dly. The Torah teaches that the situation in which we find ourselves is the one that G-d Himself deemed necessary for our next opportunity for spiritual growth. That is what we all share in common. What’s ultimately important isn’t how we are born — but how we die!