Dear TBZ Community,
This week we begin the fourth book of the Torah, Bamidbar (Numbers). In it we will read about the journey of the people of Israel in the wilderness. And next week we will celebrate Shavuot and the receiving of Torah.
The midrash (rabbinic interpretation) connects these two accounts, asking why was Torah given in the wilderness?
וַיְדַבֵּר ה’ אֶל משֶׁה בְּמִדְבַּר סִינַי, אֶלָּא כָּל מִי שֶׁאֵינוֹ עוֹשֶׂה עַצְמוֹ כַּמִּדְבָּר, הֶפְקֵר, אֵינוֹ יָכוֹל לִקְנוֹת אֶת הַחָכְמָה וְהַתּוֹרָה
Adonai spoke to Moshe in the wilderness of Sinai… (Numbers 1:1): Why [was Torah given] in the wilderness of Sinai? Anyone who does not make oneself as open [hefker/ownerless] as the wilderness, is not able to acquire wisdom and Torah (Bamidbar Rabbah 1:7).
What does it mean to make ourselves hefker, ownerless?
Perhaps one way to understand it is that if you are too attached to (i.e. owned by) any one idea, any one ideology, any one place, any one group, you will not be able to receive Torah fully. You have to be willing to let go of what you thought you knew in order to learn. Making yourself hefker, ownerless, is the capacity to be in a state of open-heartedness to that which we can’t control. To be ownerless is to hold uncertainty and be open to what comes to us with surprise, and without judgment.
When I think of the desert, I think of the first desert I encountered as a kid: the Atacama Desert in the north of Chile. A 41,000 square mile area of stony terrain, salt lakes (salares), and sand, it is one of the first places I remember encountering and experiencing God’s existence in the world. As a teenager, I remember the vastness, the beauty, and the sense of awe that I experienced: knowing at that moment that God was there, with me in that place (yes, since I was little, the language of experiencing God was part of my life, and I am so grateful for that). In my junior year in highschool, I traveled with my classmates to the Atacama Desert for one of the most incredible trips. We would drive in our bus for hours and still be in the desert. One day in the middle of one such long drive, the bus broke down. We were in the middle of nowhere. A new bus would take several hours to arrive and our teachers let us wander about while we waited. As I walked farther from the bus, people became so small; when I couldn’t see the bus anymore, I realized the great desert’s vastness and the feeling of being unable to see what is beyond.
That is the story of life. Sometimes (or most of the time) we can’t see what is beyond. We imagine, we think we know… But truly, we don’t.
That is also the story of Torah: the people of Israel could not know the end of their story, their wanderings to come. They must have been filled with questions and fears. But I hope also, with excitement for the journey and the possibilities.
As a person who is always planning ahead, managing details, thinking I am in control of everything (and everyone… ask my family!), this is an important and ongoing teaching. Can I make myself hefker when I know that the journey of life is so vast, oftentimes uncertain, and sometimes even scary?
I am reminded of another teaching of this week’s parasha (Torah portion): Bamidbar focuses on the census and the counting of the people. Names and numbers fill the first chapters. In the midst of this chapter, four words caught my attention this week:
וְאֵלֶּה שְׁמוֹת הָאֲנָשִׁים אֲשֶׁר יַעַמְדוּ אִתְּכֶם לִרְאוּבֵן אֱלִיצוּר בֶּן־שְׁדֵיאוּר
These are the names of the men who shall stand with you, from Reuben, Elizur son of Shedeur (Numbers 1:5).
Asher ya’amdu itchem: shall stand with you. In the midst of the wilderness, in the midst of uncertainty and through the journey of life, we stand with others. We don’t stand alone.
Answers to our unfolding questions come and go. Perhaps making ourselves hefker means allowing ourselves to live – with an open heart for what may come – with the understanding that we are not in full control. But most importantly, we are not on the journey of life alone. We stand with each other. This is what belonging to a community means.
My most important memory of that broken bus experience in the middle of the Atacama Desert is of the people I walked with. I can name them, even though I haven’t seen them in more than 25 years. I did not wander alone.
So, here we are, no matter which of life’s journeys we are on: when buses break and we walk in the heat of the desert, make sure you are not walking alone and, most importantly, make sure no one is walking alone. That is what being in community is about. That is what Torah teaches us.
May this Shabbat bring renewal and blessings to all of you and your loved ones.
May we find strength, courage, and patience, and open our hearts with generosity.
May all those who are ill find healing. And may we have a joyful, sweet, and peaceful Shabbat.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rav Claudia