Though
there is no public mourning on Shabbat, we are still reeling from the tragedy of this past week. Three of our precious
sons were taken from us in cold blood.
We feel lost and helpless, we don’t know where to turn. I cannot help but think of the plaintive
words of the love-sick fair-maiden, representing the congregation of Israel, in
Shir haShirim (1:7-8):
הַגִּידָה לִּי,
שֶׁאָהֲבָה נַפְשִׁי, אֵיכָה תִרְעֶה, אֵיכָה תַּרְבִּיץ בַּצָּהֳרָיִם; שַׁלָּמָה
אֶהְיֶה כְּעֹטְיָה, עַל עֶדְרֵי חֲבֵרֶיךָ. אִם-לֹא תֵדְעִי לָךְ, הַיָּפָה בַּנָּשִׁים; צְאִי-לָךְ
בְּעִקְבֵי הַצֹּאן, וּרְעִי אֶת-גְּדִיֹּתַיִךְ, עַל, מִשְׁכְּנוֹת הָרֹעִים.
“Tell
me, you whom my soul loves, where do you shepherd? Where do you rest at
mid-day? Why should I be like one who veils herself by the flocks of your companions?” In response, the object of her affection, her
beloved, representing G-d, responds, “If
you do not know, O fairest of women, go your way in the footsteps of the flocks
and pasture your kids beside the shepherds' dwellings.”
Rashi explains the allegory in the following way:
If you do not know, My assembly and My
congregation, O fairest of women, [the fairest] of the nations, where you will
pasture and be saved from the hand of those who oppress you, to be among them,
and that your children should not perish, ponder the ways of your early
ancestors, who received My Torah and kept My watch and My commandments, and go
in their ways, and as a reward for this, you will pasture your kids beside the
princes of the nations, and so did Jeremiah say (31:20): “…set up signposts…keep
in mind the highway, the road that you traveled….”
In
the face of tragedy, when we feel lost and filled with despair—when we don’t
know how we will be saved from those who oppress us—we turn back to our early
ancestors and seek inspiration and guidance from the example of their
lives. In this derasha I want to explore
that virtue which characterized so many of our great leaders: צניעות—often translated as discreetness or modesty. Hopefully, we can find some signposts, to use
Jeremiah’s phrase, to guide our steps through this tragedy. Though I always try to accentuate the
positive and eliminate the negative I will try to gain insight into this virtue
by contrasting Moshe, most humble of men, with Bilam, the embodiment of the
negative—what the Greeks might have called hubris and we might simply call
being full of yourself.
This
week’s parasha, Parashat Balak, is mystifying to say the least. It stands as the sequel to the great military
victories Bnei Yisrael won against the Trans-Jordanian kingdoms of Sichon and
Og related at the end of last week’s parasha.
Having swiftly conquered a vast stretch of land on the eastern bank of
the Jordan River from Mount Chermon in the north to Nachal Arnon, the Wadi of
Arnon, in the south—the northern border of the Kingdom of Moav—Bnei Yisrael are
now camped in the steppes of Moav.
Our
parasha begins:
Balak the son of Zippor saw all that
Israel had done to the Emorites.
What
did Balak see? Quite simply—an existential
threat to his nation’s existence right at his front door. Bnei Yisrael’s victory over the Emorite kings
was startlingly rapid and absolute.
Balak feared that his nation was next on the list. Perplexingly, instead of making military
preparations, Moav sought counsel from the Elders of Midian.
Rashi
comments:
Why did Moav take
counsel with Midian (their ancient enemies)? Since they saw that Israel was
supernaturally victorious [in their battles], they said, “The leader of these
[people] was raised in Midian. Let us ask them what his character is.” They
told them, “His strength is solely in his mouth.” They said, “We too will come
against them with a man whose strength is in his mouth.”
This
was none other than Bilam.
While
pondering this Rashi my mind kept taking me to a beautiful distinction
developed by Rav Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveitchik, zecher tzadik l’vrakha, in the
Lonely Man of Faith. There, in his
exploration of the religious personality, he distinguished between what he
called numinous and kerygmatic man.
Though unfamiliar Latin and Greek terms, once fleshed out they are
really quite powerful categories. (Just a note: though I use the word man these
distinctions would of course apply equally to both men and women.)
Kerygmatic man is the man who possesses a kerygma, literally, a
message. He is a man of mastery and accomplishment. He is respected for his talents and the
contributions he makes to society. He
might be a scholar, a warrior, a physician, a lawyer, even a rabbi.
Numinous
man, like his Maker resides in solitude.
His being is mysterious. He is
unknowable. His inner life is rich and
full of meaning. But his inner world is
wholly incommunicable.
While
the gaze of kerygmatic man is always to the next horizon, numinous man’s
gaze is inward and upward to the source of all being.
Words
come easily to kerygmatic man. He
can enthrall audiences and inspire masses to action. Lofty mountains and vast oceans cannot stand
in his way.
Words
do not come naturally to numinous man.
Numinous man does not, of his own accord, have a message. What message he has to bear is thrust upon
him—against his will (אנוס על פי הדיבור).
Bilam
was a talented speaker. His power—as
the Elders of Midian reported—was in his mouth.
Moshe
was כבד פה וכבד לשון—heavy of mouth and
tongue—words alluded him, he could not make them flow, there was no grace in
his words.
But
Bilam’s words served to conceal as much as they served to inspire. Only by hiding true intentions and deeper
meanings was he able to enact his rhetorical charm.
Plato
defined rhetoric as an art of leading the soul by means of speech.
Moshe,
by this definition, had no rhetorical art.
He did not lead souls with his words—he was moved to words by the
ultimate Word, the Word of G-d. And, in
turn that Word, the Word of the Eternal one was able to enter the
numinous hearts of Bnei Yisrael and be, for them, a fountain of life. Moshe was merely an instrument—through the
man with no speech of his own the ultimate Power spoke.
Ultimately,
the Torah wants us to know that Bilam was no more perceptive—in fact less
so—than his donkey. As Bilam set out on
his fool’s errand to curse Israel at the behest of Balak his donkey saw the
fate that was to ultimately overcome his rider.
And G-d’s wrath flared because [Bilam] was going with [Balak’s
messengers], and the L-rd’s angel stationed himself in the road as an adversary
to him, and he was riding his donkey, and his two lads were with him. And the donkey saw the L-rd’s angel stationed
in the road, his sword unsheathed in his hand, and the donkey swerved from the
road and went into the field, and Bilam struck the donkey to steer her back to
the road. And the L-rd’s angel stood in
the footpath through the vineyards, a fence on one side and a fence on the
other. And the donkey saw the L-rd’s
angel and was pressed against the wall and pressed Bilam’s leg against the
wall, and once more he struck her.
Rashi
comments that the angel [by drawing its sword] was saying, “This wicked man
abandoned the tools of his craft, for the weapon of the nations of the world is
the sword, and [here] he is coming with his mouth, which is their craft. So too, I shall take hold of that which is
his and assail him with his own craft.”
Bilam
used his words as one would more appropriately use a sword—to make others yield
to his will. He thought that through the
sheer force of his kerygma, his message, he could manipulate G-d. All he had to do was divine the right time
and place, bring the right sacrifices and he would magically be able to alter
the ancient destiny of a people beloved by G-d. As it say in this week’s haftorah
from Sefer Micha:
5. My people, remember now what Balak king of Moab planned, and
what Bilaam the son of Beor answered him. From Shittim to Gilgal, may you
recognize the righteous deeds of the L-rd. 6. With what shall I come before the Lord, bow before the Most
High God? Shall I come before Him with burnt offerings, with yearling calves? 7. Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with myriad
streams of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my
body for the sin of my soul? 8. He has told you, O man, what is good, and what the L-rd
demands of you; עֲשׂוֹת מִשְׁפָּט וְאַהֲבַת חֶסֶד
וְהַצְנֵעַ לֶכֶת עִם אֱ-לֹהֶיךָ–do
justice, do acts of loving-kindness, and walk discreetly with your G-d.
So
what is the צניעות that G-d wants from
us? To let our numinous-self walk with
G-d. In other words, when coming before
G-d forget what it says on your resume.
G-d doesn’t care. There is
nothing hidden before G-d.
Micha
reminds us that G-d sent us three prophets: Miriam, Aharon and Moshe. Each stand as personalities that exemplify
true צניעות.
When Micha tells us to walk discreetly with G-d perhaps he is telling
us:
Be
like Miriam in victory, who quietly stood off at a distance and orchestrated
the rescue of her helpless baby brother.
She sought no applause or honors.
Be
like Aharon in tragedy, who quietly accepted the fate of his two sons on what
should have been the most joyous of days, the inauguration of the Mishkan, the
desert sanctuary. He knew when not to
speak—when no words would suffice. He
knew how to accept even G-d’s harshest decrees.
And
finally, be like Moshe, the loyal shepherd who gave up the comforts of
Pharaoh’s palace and then the security of his home and family in Midian, not
for honor or prestige, but as a messenger.
Only Moshe, the antithesis of Bilam, the man with no kerygma, no
message, could be the messenger of our redemption and the righteous teacher of
our Torah.
My
prayer is that בזכות האבות, in the merit of our
ancestors, we find a way to work through this collective trauma as Miriam,
Aharon and Moshe would have: בצניעות.
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