Bemidbar
Numbers 1:1-4:20
I Samuel 20:18-42
When you think of the wilderness, what do you imagine? A place that is stark, desolate and terrifying, full of danger and empty of the comforts of civilization? Do you also imagine that this wilderness is a place of awe-inspiring beauty, of extraordinary quiet and clarity?
Each year, Parashat Bemidbar invites us to contemplate the qualities of the wilderness, after which this parashah, and this book of the Torah, is named. (While the English name of the book is Numbers, its Hebrew name is its first word, “Bemidbar,” which means “In the Wilderness.”) We are invited to consider why the Torah was given to our people in the wilderness, rather than in a city, a fortress, a forest or a beach. We are led to reflect on the wilderness experiences in our own lives, and what possibilities are available to us there.
Consider the following midrash: “When the Blessed Holy One came to the sea, the sea fled, as it is said, ‘The sea saw and fled’ (Psalms 104:4) …When God came to the wilderness, the wilderness came to greet and praise the Holy One, as it is said, ‘The wilderness lifted up its voice…its inhabitants sang’ (Isaiah 42:11), and ‘The wilderness and the arid land shall be glad’ (Isaiah 45:1).” (Bemidbar Rabbah)
This midrash, along with many other rabbinic commentaries, reflects the view of the rabbis that the wilderness was the perfect place for the revelation of Torah. In the wilderness, devoid of the comforts of home, in a place that is utterly still, where nature can bring great beauty and raw terror, this is the place to hear God’s voice. Hence the “coincidence” by which the Hebrew word for speech (dabber) is imbedded in the word “Bemidbar.” (I am indebted to a young man celebrating his bar mitzvah this weekend for this insight.)
For Jews — as for many peoples — the wilderness comes to represent a place filled with the presence of the Divine. Looking back, the prophets come to idealize the desert as the honeymoon period in the romance between God and the people Israel, despite the many lapses in faith that actually occurred during those years. The haftarah that we would normally read this Shabbat, if it were not the day before Rosh Chodesh, has the prophet Hosea imagining God luring his unfaithful but repentant lover (the people of Israel) back into the wilderness, where love would surely be rekindled. In this beautiful image, the wilderness becomes a place of reconciliation, of renewal of love and devotion.
Not long ago, I attended a silent meditation retreat with some 20 rabbis. We came together at a beautiful retreat center and we sat, almost entirely in silence, for five days, alone with our own minds. Without the comforting distractions of home, without immediate responsibilities of any kind, we sat and explored what would happen for us in silence. We were there to learn more about what lay within us, what inner noise obstructs our own desire to live with compassion and wisdom.
In that sacred silence, I came to wonder about those places in my life that are as quiet, stark and clear as the wilderness, those places where I am most able to see people deeply and to hear the voice of the truth, the voice of the Divine.
Sometimes the quiet of meditation or the stimulation of physical exercise brings me that sensation of clarity, as if I have opened my eyes after a long sleep, or as if the earth has been washed clean and I can see everything in its exquisite beauty. Frequently, the hospital room or the shiva home have some of this quality. Leaving there, for a moment, I see what life is really about. So, too, lifecycle moments — the simcha as well as the tragedy — bring to the fore what is really important. Regularly, a visit to the beach or a redwood forest inspires this kind of awe and clarity, even a glimmer of what God wants of me.
When are the times that God could get your attention? Where are the places where you find quiet and clarity, where life’s challenges grow more manageable and you know where you need to be? What can you do to visit these places more often?
May Parashat Bemidbar help us to find the places of quiet awe and clarity in our lives, and may we attend to them well.