Podcast #70: Parashat Bamidbar

Alisha and Shlomo discuss the fires in the north of Israel and the book of Bamidbar. They talk about the lack of mitzvot in the Parsha but the presence of important life lessons. They also discuss a journalist's point of view and the search for a spiritual anchor. Alisha reads one of Shlomo's poems and they discuss the end of his poetry writing. They also talk about changes in Halakha and the importance of adapting to new challenges. Shalom Shlomo, Alisha Shalom, and hi everyone, a new book, a brand new book, Bamidbar, Bamidbar, and I'd like to share that I'm very disturbed this morning. There are huge fires up north, they can be seen from where my parents live, the north is really burning, and somehow that really touches me deeply in a very painful way, like trees burning in the land of Israel, we don't have that many trees, and we're in the book of Bamidbar, the desert, will this land return back to the way it was 120 years ago before Zionism when it was desolate and a desert, because people who claim to love this land but don't, are rejoicing with how this land is burning. So we think that these are fires that were set, or caused. Well they were not set, there were fires in Jerusalem that were set, but the fires up north were caused by the drones, by the missiles, the Hezbollah missiles and the drones, but there were sites of people in Lebanon who were watching the fires and rejoicing. So Elisha, Bamidbar, we're starting a new book, a new adventure, in English it's called Numbers because it begins with a census, it's an unusual Parsha, Elisha, it's quite long, it's 1,800 words, and it's unusual because there are no mitzvot, not a single mitzvah, but it is full, I think, of life lessons, which are as important as mitzvot, and your drashah is unusual, it's a very short drashah for a long Parsha, it's from the book, do you recall when you might have written this? No. A journalist's point of view, at least, I guess, ten years, Elisha, I'd like to do something unusual, because it's short, I'd like to read it for our listeners, is that okay? Okay, sure, that'll be interesting. It's just 400 words. Parshat Bamidbar, a journalist's point of view. This week we are beginning a new book, Bamidbar, in the wilderness. The wilderness is the endless and unclear expanse in which we live each day. There are moments in which we experience clarity of vision, goals, and answers, but they are few and far between. I recently heard an interview on the radio with Jonathan Berg, who is a journalist and a poet, a rare combination. Berg expressed this dichotomy between moments of clarity and daily confusion very well, hence his appearance in this drashah. Berg spoke about his two professions, the journalist who knows quotation marks and reports, and the poet-artist who draws sustenance from the unknown, from the vast desert in which all that can be heard are the words of the living God. Berg's professional interests reflect our own reality, living simultaneously in the world, which is known, and within our grasp, while accepting and being elevated by all that we don't know. What was most exciting to me in this interview was that despite being such a complex, at the same time very normal Jew, Berg has found his synagogue, his Jewish holy place. He describes the process of searching for that which would merge all of his yearnings, his need to be alone on the one hand, and a desire to be part of a community on the other. The craving for a spiritual anchor in the here and now, on the one hand, while remaining in the vastness of the wilderness. I was moved to tears by this discussion in a way that surprised me, especially as this confession came from a non-observant person who has no halachic need of a formal commitment to synagogue life. So as we approach both Bamidbar and the festival of Shavuot, Shavuot is coming up, I wish all of us the ability to find that holy place, may it be our synagogue, where we can all balance our journalist side, which seeks facts, regardless of how actually true and precise they are, and the poet within us, who wanders in the wilderness as a person newly freed from Egypt, free of all definitive knowing, of binding logic, of limiting conditioning, free of the fear of the unknown that prevents most people from reaching the promised land. In a few more parshot, in the middle of the book of Bamidbar, we will again meet these opposing characters, the journalist and the poet, in the form of the 12 spies who were sent to scout out the land. Ten of these men bring back, quotation mark, facts, slightly altered by interpretation as journalists do, which will cause panic, while the other two, Kalev Yifune and Yoshua Bin Nun, bring back the same facts, but they leave space for the unknown, for the poetic void from which they draw strength and courage. Listening to Berg, I had the deep sense that it is there, in that union of opposites, of knowing and loving to know, and not knowing anything, and surrendering to this lack of knowledge, that the keys to the promised land are hidden. These two men do, as we will see, enter the land, while the other ten do not. Beautiful. Thank you. And Elisa, that especially spoke to me, because I'm a journalist, as you know, I write a column for Jerusalem Report, a regular column, and I'm a would-be poet, and I brought you a copy of my book of poetry. Yeah, I'm kind of shocked. I didn't know you wrote poetry. Well, I did. I did. I'll explain why. 23 years ago, I was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and suddenly realized I was not going to live forever. And I began thinking about matters of life and death, the title of my book of poems, and the result are those poems. And the strange thing happened, Elisa, I wrote about 50 or 60 poems, and that was it. That was like the well went dry, and no longer did I feel the need or have any more ideas. And since then, I've written many books and many words, but no poems. But I understand absolutely your point about the journalist and the poet, and the clash between those two. Well, I'm kind of, first of all, I'm really surprised. It's beautiful for those who are not sitting here with us, which is all of you who are listening. There are also beautiful pictures, and I'm kind of tempted to read one of the poems. Please. Yeah? Okay, so is it totally random? Okay, totally random? Or is there a poem that you think I should read? There's a poem you should read. I've picked it out. Ah, okay. Okay, great. Great. Okay. Time is up. A buzzer will sound after 24 seconds. If the team in continual possession of the ball has not scored, the ball reverts to the opposing team through an inbound pass. That's from Nietzsche. That's the rules of basketball. That's the rules of basketball. Yeah, you've got to score in 24 seconds or you lose the ball. That's right. That's right. That's right. Okay. The quote is from basketball? Rulebook. Rulebook. Okay. Was it Nietzsche who said, become who you are? Yes. The purpose of life is to become who you are. In your teens, you become whom you admire. In adulthood, you become whom you must. Near life's end, you know who you are at last, but lack the time to become it because the buzzer sounds and possession reverts. Wow. Shalom. Wow. This is deep. This is beautiful. This is really, really beautiful. Wow. Eze Yofi. Eze Yofi. It's really interesting. There was this well of poetry within you. You brought it out into the open, and it ended, and dried up. Yes. It was like a need, and I fulfilled the need, and then it ended. What show are we talking about? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Rabbi Uzziel doesn't oppose to changes in Halakha. He opposes to preventing changes in Halakha. And this is a quote from him. Condition of life is changing of values, discoveries in technology and science. They lead each door to questions and problems and new problems that demand solutions. And we cannot hide ourselves, hide our eyes from questions and we cannot say, anything new is forbidden by the Torah because it's always things new, always new challenges and the Jewish people have adapted to them, Elisha. It seems to me, after the Shoah, the Haredim decided they had to build a wall in order for the Jewish people to survive and to create a wall around themselves and study Torah and preserve Judaism in that sense. They had the obligation to preserve Torah and they did that by shutting out the modern world. And this is a misreading of history because the only way the Jews have survived is by adapting to all of the new things that came along. And we faced other cultures and we learned from other cultures, Greek philosophy, and they learned from us. And they maybe learned more from us than we learned from them. But it was always an interaction. We never built a wall. It's misguided to do that. Especially now. Yeah. First of all, I just want to say it was way before the Shoah even. We're talking about the 19th century and as Jews were leaving the fold. I want to ask you a question. Now, you're bringing this thing up because of Shavuot, because of Mount Sinai, because of Revelation, because how do you see the connection? I just want to connect with your connection. So here's the connection. Bamidbar is really interesting because it reflects something from the Torah written 2,500 years ago. By the way, Bamidbar apparently was written around 700 BCE, before the Common Era, and may have been revised by some priestly writers in the Babylon exile. A lot of things were written in the Babylon exile, including the Talmud. But the reason I bring this up is this. There's a modern theory, which is fascinating, by Neil Howe and William Strauss, who wrote a book called Generations. And they point out that there is a cycle of generations and each cycle is 25 years. And it kind of goes according to the seasons. You have a situation of a kind of birth and awakening, and then a crisis, and then chaos, and then creativity dealing with it. And this happens over a period of each 25 years. I'm the generation just before the baby boom. The baby boom is 45 to 60. Shona was born in the baby boom, a time of great growth and awakening, 60 to 75. The next generation, Generation X, then Generation Y, the questioning generation, the crisis, the financial crisis, pandemic, COVID, wars, Ukraine, and the next generation. We see this now. This new generation will emerge from the chaos and bring solutions and bring order back to what was chaos. And the reason this is relevant is because I think this is the story of Bamidbar. The slave generation from Egypt, they come out of Egypt, and there is an awakening generation, freedom. And then there is rebellion. We're going to read about the rebellion and the difficulties in Bamidbar. And this generation has to die because they still don't get it. And so there's chaos. And then in the new land, they're conquering Eretz Israel, and a new generation and new leadership and new values. Then we have troubles again. We have problems again, and 10 of the tribes disappear. So there seems to be a cycle in history that these authors discovered, actually embedded in the Torah. Yeah, it's very beautiful. I think very often following these cycles, there are all kinds of theories about different cycles that exist. They give us a perspective and they give us hope because they tell us the doom and gloom that we feel right now is just part of the cycle. And we will emerge out of it. It doesn't mean that it's not painful. There are no losses and casualties. There are. But it's only because something new is wishing to be born. And it cannot be born until reality gives way to that something new. And birth, as we know, is painful. And birth is not an easy and pleasant experience. And yet, new life is born. So God willing, we can look at this period as something new is seeking to be born, a new generation. And indeed, we see with the young generation, those who fought in Gaza, those who are still fighting in Gaza, they're amazing. There was a lot of talk before the war, before the protest, two or three years ago, that this is a lost generation. They are smoking their brains to death. And we know what they're smoking. And with the legalization of cannabis, etc., how will we ever defend ourselves again? And it turns out these youngsters know how to extinguish the cigarettes and go out and fight and deliver. So it really depends on what we want to put our focus on. An amazing, amazing young generation is being born here. A small story, Alicia, in parenthesis. Not directly relevant, but it's really cute. This was on TV last night. So a young lady serving in Bar-de-Less. Bar-de-Less is an army unit that does the drones. The drones are life-saving because they identify dangers ahead so soldiers can prepare. She'd been serving in Gaza. And her boyfriend, serving in the same brigade, also in Gaza. And the two platoon commanders put their heads together and managed to get them together. The reason I'm telling the story is they are Noam graduates from a Noam Gareen, a unit. Noam is the youth movement or the majority movement. Exactly. So they knew each other in Noam and knew each other in the Gareen, in the unit, and then were drafted in the army. And met again in Gaza in the midst of the war. Only in Israel. But you mentioned optimism and pessimism, Alicia. I find so many people in Israel now are increasingly pessimistic partly because of our impossible political situation. And I am an optimist, but not just on the face of it. I truly am. And I'll explain why. In terms of cycles of generations, I've been through this before. I was drafted in the middle of the night in 1973. We had a terrible war. We lost 2,500 soldiers. Desperate situation on our borders. And then we had political instability and we had an economic recession and inflation and an oil embargo and a second oil embargo. Ten years of relative chaos. And then 1980, 1981, hyperinflation, and we came out of that as well. And then became the fat years. The years of growth and stability. And we came out of it. And it may take us a few years to clean up this mess, but we did it before. And we were a lot less wealthy and had a lot fewer resources at that time. We'll do it again. We will do it. I've seen it, so I'm optimistic. Yeah, yeah. I'm there with you. When I'm not too overwhelmed with the amount of pain and losses and fires and I can, like a drone, kind of go up into the air and look at things from a distance with a perspective, then I certainly become a lot more optimistic. And being optimistic is very, very important to me. Really important to me. And yes, I think that's... We have no choice. I think maybe the book of Bamidbar, as you said, it's really all about that. It's the changing of the guards. We're basically going back to the wilderness to be reborn again. And whenever there's a rebirth, whether it's a personal rebirth or some rediscovering of oneself, in the Tanakh, it's always in the desert. Eliyahu and Levi, after the big drama up on Mount Carmel, went down to the desert to reconnect with God, to reconnect with himself, to be reinvigorated. And indeed, they're now going out to the wilderness. And these are huge, huge lessons. If we could only not be scared of our life experiences, then we would know that it's all a journey in the wilderness, a journey towards growth. And since I personally believe that there is... that life, with a capital L, continues after the physical body dies, and I know not everyone believes in that, and that's okay, then all the more so. Even death is not the end of the story. Absolutely agree. And, Elisha, regarding the desert, so I was in artillery, in a unit of surveyors. We used to measure gun positions before the guns would come in. So we were independent out in the field. I spent a lot of time in reserve duty in the desert. Our base is in Ovda, which is in the middle of the Negev. I came to really, really love the desert. I even love Milouim, reserve duty, because when they're not shooting at you, it's a big summer camp. And in artillery, there's not a lot to do during the day. It's a time to reflect and relax and think and play Frisbee. I introduced Frisbee to Tzahal. That's my big achievement. I was the Frisbee guy in our unit. But you mentioned drones, Elisha. There's something amazing in Bamidbar. Bamidbar, the Parshah Bamidbar, describes the camp. So here you have this rabble of slaves who come out of Egypt, and somehow you've got to build them into a unit, into a people, like a nation is born, like America was born in 1776. We were born long before that. And this is happening now in Bamidbar, making order out of the chaos. And how do you do this? Physically. So we're given a picture of the camp as it is. In the middle, the tabernacle, the Mishkan. That's the center. That's the core of the people, the core of the Jewish people, the Torah, the worship. And then surrounding them, the Leviim, the Levites. Not the Kohanim, the Levites, Gershon, Narari, etc. And the four pieces of the rectangle. And then beyond that, there's a larger rectangle. On each of the four sides of the rectangle is three tribes. And the tribes are orderly arranged around. So you have this beautiful, orderly camp, making organized people out of a rabble. And there's a lesson here, Elisha, as a lesson for our life. That is, when you take the Torah, the values of Judaism, and put them at the core of your life, the center of your life, like in this beautiful camp that they built, you find meaning. You find meaning and purpose and direction. When you have just chaos and randomness, it just doesn't work. We need to have Judaism and the Torah at the core of our lives. As we interpret Judaism, not as people tell us, as we ourselves, as thinking people, interpret those values, putting them at the very center, like the camp of Bnei Yisrael, that's the answer. That's really beautifully said. That's really, really beautiful. And that goes back to a verse that you love in Parashat Tulmayn. Like, you shall build a sanctuary for me and I will dwell in your midst. And we always say, in your midst, meaning inside you, inside your heart. And in this case, it's actually in the midst of your camp. Because the Mishkan, this is what they're talking about, is going to be at the heart of your camp, of your people, of your nation. And I want to say two things about it. First of all, I think it's really important, indeed, as a nation, as a people, as a group, as a synagogue, whichever collective it is, to ponder what's at the center of our camp. What is our vision? What is truly at our center, at our core? Not what we would like to have, but what we truly have. Being honest with ourselves, what do we have at the center of our camp? I would also want to suggest, we can do the same thing on a very personal level. I don't know if this is the appropriate place to suggest it or preach it or whatever, but I think one of the ways to ground ourselves in this really difficult time is to center and to really get to experience ourselves centered in our body, in the midst of our body. That's where we truly are. That's where we dwell. That's where our divine presence dwells. And it's something that can be actually felt and actually experienced. And if we can do that, those who can do that, find a lot more peace and quiet in their lives and a lot more focus, as opposed to those who continuously, their awareness is always on the periphery of their attention. They're looking out. Oh, just like I started today with what's happening up north with the fires. That's an example of it. And it's important to know what's going on in the world, but it's really important to come back to the core, to the center, to where our individual tabernacle lies inside of ourselves. And it's possible. It requires practice, and it requires doing it. Exactly. So, you're quite right. My favorite words in this whole Torah are, v'shachanti mitocham, God dwells within us, but before that, before that, the context is important. We build the mishkan. It doesn't just happen. You have to build it. You have to make it happen. So, there is, I think, a psychological method called centering, which has to do with what you described, looking inward and finding our core, our core values. But I think centering may be related to something that you study and practice, which is focusing. Is there a connection between focusing and centering? 100%. Yes. Focusing is a form of centering. Absolutely. Got it. Yes. And that's indeed very, very helpful. But you say something very beautiful. It's in the context, God is in our midst in the context of building that tabernacle. So, just as we build an external tabernacle, to know how to build an internal mishkan, an internal place for God to dwell. And that's something people need to learn. We can't do this in a podcast, but it's something that's really worthwhile putting the effort into. Just imagine that the benefit is if you know how to build your inner tabernacle, then God dwells in your midst. That's worth it. That's worthwhile. It's worth putting the effort on building that internal tabernacle. And it may take a while. Like for me, 81 years. It may take a while. So, you need to work at it for sure. And it's not a one-time show. It's not a one-time deal. It's something that you create and then there's the upkeep. You have to upkeep it all the time and recreate it and refocus and re-enter time and time again. That's a real lesson. So, Elisha, many wonderful, generous people contribute buildings to Technion. And there is a problem because they contribute to the cost of building the building, but there's maintenance. And you have to keep up the building and sometimes the resources are hard to find. The buildings get run down and we see that all over the place, not just at the Technion, all over the world. So, yes, you need to build and then you need to do the maintenance, which takes real investment of resources. Right, and the maintenance is perhaps the most important part because you build it once, but then the maintenance is, life is made up of maintenance. You don't get to build all the time. You do get to maintain all the time. Yes. So, Elisha, maybe we can end with a real mystery. So, the parashah, B'amidbar, describes the 12 tribes and they're all arranged in an orderly fashion and we even get the numbers from the census. We know exactly how many there are. I'm a numbers guy as an economist. It's interesting to me that the largest tribe by numbers is Yehudah. Now, what is the mystery? There were 12 tribes and they were significant tribes and they averaged 50,000 of men 20 years old and up and in the end, in history, there were only two tribes who survived. The tribe of Yehudah and Israel almost became Judea. There was an argument whether the state of Israel should be called the state of Israel or the state of Judea. Israel, they decided. The other tribe that survived was a little tribe of Binyamin. Yehudah and Binyamin survived. Where are the other 10 tribes? Where did they go? What happened? Because they've disappeared. Do we know? Well, historically speaking, we know that they were dispersed and it was a time when the strategy was to take the people and dislocate them. Is that a correct word? Relocate them. Relocate them. Thank you. To relocate people and to reshuffle the populations throughout the region. So, the children of Israel were relocated to other places and others came to the land of Israel from afar. The Samaritans, for example, the Samarians, what would they be called in English? Samarians. Samarians. Yes. Samaritan is more of a value thing, correct? Right. The Samarians were basically people who were brought in by the Assyrians and later by the Babylonians and others who were brought into this area and the tradition at the time was that you adopt the local god. So, when a new, when the people arrived here they kind of looked around and asked, what is the local god here? What do you guys follow? Because idols were local. So, they adopted many of the laws of the Torah and indeed the ten tribes were lost. Many did flee to Judea and today we keep on finding the lost tribes. The tribe of Menashe, supposedly in India, many have made Aliyah. The tribe of Dan, which went to Ethiopia. They are the Bet Israel. So, we keep on rediscovering our old, old relatives. There is even an amazing theory that I read, Elisha. There is a tribe in Afghanistan, Afghanistan, called the Pashtun and there seems to be a connection between the Pashtun and some of the lost tribes of Israel. And I hope this is not the tribe that makes up the Taliban. No, I hope not. I hope not. Because I know what is going to happen next. There is going to be a huge campaign to bring them all to Israel. To their homeland. To their ancestral homeland. Yes, indeed. So, we have to end. What we will, I guess, suggest in the spirit of this podcast is living on those two spheres. The sphere of the journalist who is really trying to get the facts right. Trying, you know. Trying, not always succeeding. Getting the facts right. And the poet. The poet who knows how to dream. Who knows how to fly high. Who knows how to live with the unknown. And find a lot of creativity in that place. Because that is what the wilderness is for. The wilderness is for poets who are seeking to reinvent themselves and recreate. And we need poets. And not just journalists or engineers or high-tech people or scientists. We need poets. And Elisha, the study of the humanities is going downhill rapidly. And it's a terrible shame. We need philosophers. I have grandsons and wives and husbands of grandsons who love philosophy, are really good at it and can't make a living at it. And it's a terrible shame. We need poets. We need more poets. Yes, yes. So, it won't only be Startup Nation. We will be the nation of philosophers and thinkers. Yes. So, Shabbat Shalom everyone. And we look forward to speaking with you again next week. B'ezrat Hashem. B'ezrat Hashem. Oh, one last thing. Just to tell everyone that Shlomo deserves a big Mazal Tov. He has a new great grandchild that's born. So, Mazal Tov Shlomo. Thank you. Bye.