Beshalach
Exodus 13:17-17:16
Judges 4:4-5:31
Just over 18 months ago, an antiques auction in Birmingham, England sold something quite old and rare indeed. It was a 138-year-old piece of wedding cake, thought to be the only surviving item from the wedding of Princess Louise to the Marquis of Lorne. The inch slice is a small portion of the original cake, which was 5 feet high and weighed 225 pounds. The auctioneers recommended that the buyer refrain from eating it.
I struggle to understand why people would pay large sums of money for old and inedible food, albeit old food of famous people. But intellectual honesty dictates that I ask the same question of my own religious tradition.
For nearly 40 years wandering the Sinai Desert, the Jewish People were sustained by manna from heaven. (For more about manna and its symbolism, go to http://bit.ly/TyVUZ.) This week’s Torah portion includes a command to “take one container and fill it with… manna and place it [inside the Holy Ark] for safekeeping as a remembrance for the generations” (Exodus 16:33).
Yuck! While miraculous food is arguably more interesting than old British cake, why are we told to save food for centuries? The Midrash only seems to make matters worse. Mechilta D’Rebbe Yishmael (Beshalach parasha 5) offers a lengthy debate about what the container that held the manna was made of. Opinions listed include silver, iron, lead, copper and glass. But the Midrash summarily informs us that all of those opinions are wrong, and the container was made from clay.
Why does the Midrash spend time analyzing what was holding our leftovers? And why tell us of the incorrect opinions if it knows the final answer?
Given that manna serves as an easy symbolic stand-in to represent our sustenance and physical lives, it seems sensible that the container may signify our quest to find assurance of our physical security. The Midrash begins with silver; one of the natural first sources of reassurance is in amassed wealth. Money may help us buy new things, but it cannot stave off long-term change and the deterioration of what we have.
In Hebrew, the word for silver is “kessef,” and may be related to the word for longing (kissufim). If so, it may also symbolize putting faith in our relationships as immutable. But relationships can and always do change with time.
The next option considered by the Midrash is iron — belief in our own physical strength as the way to fight off the ravages of time. I am quite confident that readers who are past their teen years are aware of the unstoppable slow changes in one’s physical prowess, and the folly of this conviction.
So the text moves on to consider other options. Lead is known for its density and weight, and the Hebrew word for heaviness (koved) is the same root as the word for honor and respect (kavod). Could the path to immortality lie in one’s honor, social standing or respected legacy? There is surely value in the mark that one leaves on their loved ones and the world around them, but it hardly constitutes an assurance that life will be preserved as is.
In the Talmud (1st chapter of Tractate Sotah) copper is described as the material of ancient mirrors. Will our beauty save us for all time? Popular movies and media suggest this to be true, but little faith is recommended in that conclusion. Perhaps glass? Could faith in human transparency and the integrity of our good deeds keep our lives where we want them? I wish this were the case.
The Midrash then says that the manna was kept in a delicate clay jug because, in fact, there is no guarantee of protection in life. We are always vulnerable, and understandably seek security, but it is nowhere to be found.
Still, the container did survive in the Ark under HaShem’s protection. Do we ever know how long our lives’ blessings will be preserved? We do not, but recognizing the true fragility of their container can remind us to savor the contents.
Rabbi Judah Dardik is the spiritual leader at Orthodox Beth Jacob in Oakland. He can be reached at [email protected].