Parshat Chukat
begins with a mitzvah we are asked to perform even though we are unable
to understand its purpose and reason - the sacrifice of the red cow,
whose ashes are to be used to purify people who have become
contaminated through contact with a corpse. The narrative then jumps 38
years to begin the description of what transpires just before the Jews
enter the land of Israel. The prophetess Miriam dies and the people are
left without water, since the miraculous well that had accompanied them
throughout
their sojourn in the desert existed only as long as she lived. Hashem
commands Moses and Aaron to speak to a particular rock so it will
miraculously produce water; Moses strikes it with his staff instead,
and Hashem
tells the two leaders that they will not enter into the Promised Land.
After this, the king of Edom refuses to let the Jews pass through his
borders, causing them to take a more circuitous route. Aaron dies and
is buried on Mount Hor, and Elazar his son succeeds him as Kohen Gadol
(High Priest). The Israelis sing a song of praise about the miraculous
well that Hashem had provided, and the portion concludes with the
battles
and victories over Sichon the king of Emori and Og the king of Bashan.
In the news
release for this weekend’s services (which was edited unscrupulously by
West Hawaii Today), Barry wrote that I, not to be cowed by the Red Cow
conundrum that baffled even King Solomon, would discuss this week’s Parshat. Somewhat jokingly, I replied saying that, if all else fails, I
could twist the conundrum into a discussion of the current Israeli –
Palestinian conflict. Well, my friends, that’s exactly what I’m about
to do. Let’s first dispense with the somewhat obvious lesson of the Red
Cow sacrifice and resultant temporary impurity of those participating
in the sacrifice. We all, through common experience, know that if we
wash our dirty hands in clean water, our hands become clean and the
water, dirty. Similarly, if we allow our clean hands to come into
contact with an unclean substance, our hands become unclean. Ask any
doctor.
But does the
Torah really want us to learn the simple rules regarding basic
sanitation? I doubt it. What then is the reason for the command to
sacrifice a pure
red cow, with the resultant temporary impurity of the sacrificers?
There are three
categories of commandments in the Torah: eidos, recalling past events,
Shabbat, and holidays; mishpatim, dictated by moral understanding
(e.g., don’t murder, steal or commit adultery, and give to charity);
and chukim, for which there is no rational explanation. The Red Cow
sacrifice is one of the latter. In it, Hashem asks us to perform as
a sign of our willingness to accept the Torah and his commandments,
even those that transcend our experiences.
The lesson of
the Red Cow, I believe, is that we should love our neighbor, for we, by
giving
of ourselves and becoming impure to help another become pure,
demonstrate
our love for our fellow man. We gain from suffering, and learn from
loving. Perhaps, the Red Cow conundrum is a metaphor for Torah: the
cow’s ashes have the power to cleanse, as does the Torah.
Applying this
lesson of the Red Cow to the current conflict between the Israelis and
Palestinians, we can see that it requires that we love our neighbors,
and be willing to become impure, albeit temporarily, and give of
ourselves to help another.
There is one
other intriguing question to keep in mind: How many unblemished and
perfectly pure red cows that had never borne a yoke do you think
existed at
the time?
This Parshat
continues with the narrative regarding Moses angrily striking the rock
with
his staff, and being punished therefore by not being permitted to
enter the land of Israel. In the old days, they used to say, "Spare
the rod, spoil the child." Rods were in. Discipline of that sort was
very common, and probably quite effective. But hitting and other types
of "contact discipline" have fallen out of grace, and are discouraged
by many prominent psychiatrists.
Why the change?
An analysis of the nature of Moses' sin in the desert will yield some
insights into why the nature of parental discipline has evolved as
it has, and what the Israelis and Palestinians need to do to achieve
peace.
Rashi, the
preeminent Torah commentator, gives one explanation of Moses's sin. The
people thirsted for water, so Hashem instructed Moses and Aaron to
speak
to a certain rock, and water would then miraculously flow from it.
But instead of speaking to it, Moses hit the rock and the water came
pouring out. In another place in the Torah, Rashi seems to indicate
that the reason why Moses was punished was because he became angry
with the people and called them morim - fools. On top of all this,
the Torah itself states that the cause for Moses' not being allowed
to enter the land of Israel was because he didn't have the faith to
sanctify Hashem’s name when he hit the rock.
There seem to be
three different aspects to Moses' sin: (a) a lack of faith; (b)
unjustified anger at the people; and (c) that he hit the rock instead
of talking to it. The three aspects are interrelated, and actually
represent a progression. When we are faced with all types of challenges
and tests in our lives - be they an illness, the loss of a job, or a
difficult child, we are asked to have faith and trust in Hashem, that
Hashem has
only our best interests in mind.
Moses was having
major trouble with the people, and his faith in Hashem was being
tested. Sound familiar? Sometimes, we fail that test and we lose
control of ourselves. That's the second step, when we get angry at
ourselves and at others. We call people names and we yell at them.
Moses called our ancestors rebellious fools when he got upset at them.
The final step is that, in our anger, we lash out indiscriminately at the object of our anger. Sometimes, our kids are just not getting the message we are trying to convey to them. Their head is like a rock, not willing to listen to us. So, in our frustration, we "hit the rock," instead of patiently talking to it. And that never works. It always causes the one who got hit to rebel or to close him up even more. Parenthetically, I believe that this can be said of both the Israelis and the Palestinians. Neither are getting the message, so in their mutual frustrations, they’re hitting the rock.
And this could
be why discipline doesn't work too well nowadays. It's not our kids
that are
the problem. Kids haven't changed all that much throughout the
centuries.
It's the parents that have changed. In the old days, parents were more
firmly anchored in their faith, so when difficult situations and
challenges inevitably fell upon them, such as a difficult child etc.,
they handled
it much better. Even when they needed to discipline their child, it
was done in a more cool and calculated manner, where only the best
interests of the child were in their minds. So the discipline
(generally)
worked.
Today, though,
it's a whole different ball game. We get hit with a difficult test, we
lose ourselves, and we hit with reckless abandon. The kid gets smacked
out of anger or frustration, but hardly ever in a calm, calculated,
and loving manner. So how do we expect it to work?
It is told that, in the previous century, Russian Minister of Education Uvarov once came to a great rabbi, and asked him when is the appropriate time to start educating children. To which the rabbi replied, "Twenty years before they are born." We have to first make ourselves a good example for the kids, and then we can influence them in a positive manner. Similarly, the Palestinians and Israelis must make themselves good examples for each other. Then, they can achieve the peace they profess to desire.
Joel
E. Gimpel