Shabbat Bamidbar

Written by Rabbi Professor Jonathan Magonet Thursday, 01 June 2006

Bamidbar

The word ‘midbar’, usually translated as ‘wilderness’, conjures up images of endless sand dunes and a hot sun beating down, perhaps a caravan of camels swaying under their load, men trudging beside them, and the hope of an oasis and water somewhere over the next rise; ‘Laurence of Arabia’ territory. Or possibly of rocky terrain, empty of plant life, a biting wind, and the distant howling of a threatening animal. All of which may be true, but the word is also used as a specific contrast to another Hebrew term, ‘carmel’.

When the prophet Jeremiah wanted to depict the destruction of the world, he reversed the imagery of the creation story: ‘I looked to the earth and behold! [it was] tohu vavohu, unformed and void (Jeremiah 4:23)’. Amongst the series of reversals, he describes the ‘carmel’, which seems to mean ‘cultivated land’, a place of human habitation, reverting to ‘midbar’, ‘uncultivated land’, empty of human beings engaged with the soil. This gives a very different sense to the word. A ‘wilderness’ or ‘desert’ evokes lifelessness, emptiness and threat; ‘uncultivated land’ suggests the potential for new life, if human skills can harness the resources that are present.

The Book of Numbers which we open with this parashah, knows both realities. The first ten chapters describe the ideal set-up of the camp of the Israelites as they head off into the wilderness. At the centre is the tabernacle, its components carefully guarded, assembled and disassembled by the Levites. Around them the tribes are formally located, ready for the march. A few chapters resolve problems about the cohesiveness and purity of the community. Everything is as well organised, as cultivated, as is humanly possible. In chapter ten the trumpets sound, and they set off in perfect formation, following the cloud.

But from chapter eleven onwards, once the real journey begins, everything falls apart – water and provisions fail, the leadership is out of touch with the people, rebellions break out, and this generation is condemned to spend a lifetime in the ‘wilderness’. Theory bumps into reality. ‘Man proposes, God disposes’.

Two sayings address the challenge of the ‘wilderness’ that is human life. From our tradition comes the familiar: ‘It is not for you to complete the work, but neither may you desist from it.’(Pirqe Avot 2:21) Perfection is not expected of us, but crucial is the engagement with ‘the work’ – be it providing the fundamental necessities of life for all or pursuing our own spiritual journey. From the East comes a proverb: ‘You have the right to do the work, but not to own the results’. Nothing is guaranteed, however much we may plan and cultivate.

That is the ‘wilderness’: a task and a potential; frustration and the need to come to terms with our limitations and transience. Life mixes hope and improvisation. Nothing endures and ultimately we possess nothing, except, as our tradition asserts, ‘the pure soul that must one day give its reckoning before God’.

Rabbi Professor Jonathan Magonet