Chukat-Balak
Num. 19:1 – 25:9
Précis: Chukat begins with a discussion of the Red Heifer,
used for ritual purification after one comes into contact with a dead body. The
story then shifts to the death of Miriam, and the mourning by the entire people
for her. With her death, the well of water which had accompanied their travels
disappears, and Moses strikes a rock to provide water to the People. Soon
thereafter, Aaron also dies, and the Israelites engage in a series of battles
which conclude the parasha.
In Balak, the King of Moab is fearful because of the
success of the Israelites in war against other peoples. He hires a local
magician named Bilaam to place a curse upon the Israelites. Bilaam begins the
journey riding upon his ass, which refuses to proceed and actually talks to
Bilaam, protesting Bilaam’s foul treatment of the poor beast. Bilaam sees an
angel and refuses to complete Balak’s mission. Balak reiterates his command to
Bilaam to curse the Israelites, but instead Bilaam pronounces a blessing,
frustrating Balak.
The
parasha ends with an interesting narrative episode: Pinchas, the grandson of
Aaron, sees an Israelite having sexual relations with a Midianite woman (a
violation of a commandment not to fraternize with the local population), and he
slays both of them and, in the process, staves off a plague that had been
threatening the Israelites.
Sabbath and Festival Prayerbook (Rabbinical Assembly
of America and United Synagogue of America, 1973): “Faithful art Thou to
grant eternal life to the departed. Blessed art Thou, O Lord, who callest the
dead to life everlasting.”
Why do I cite this
verse from the siddur this week? Rabbi Sacks suggests that Chukat is
really about mortality (Covenant and Conversation, 6/21/18), noting that
within it we read of the deaths of Miriam and Aaron, and we learn that Moses
will not enter the Promised Land, a kind of death sentence as well. But before the deaths are mentioned, we read
about the Red Heifer, a symbol of life (red, like blood). It is burned to ash, reminding us that we are all mere "dust and ashes" (Gen. 18:27). But at the end
of the Red Heifer ritual, the ashes are scattered into water. Water changes, but
the river remains.
From this, Sacks draws two conclusions: we are not just
physical beings made from the dust of the earth because God gave us the "breath
of life" (Gen 3:7). There is something about humans which is immortal, as is
noted in Ecclesiastes (12:7): “The dust returns to the earth as it was but
the spirit returns to God who gave it.”
Second, something about us
remains here on earth, either through descendants or via the influence we have
had on others. We are all part of the unending river of life.
In this context, I ponder on the meaning of a central
part of our liturgy: “mechayeh metim.” This phrase can also be translated
as “who revives the dead” or “brings the dead to everlasting life,” or “gives
life to the dead.” These words are found in the beginning of the
Amidah, and whichever translation one thinks appropriate, it certainly connotes
some kind of continuation of existence after death. Some commentators focus on the literal
meaning, while others focus on the phrase in Ecclesiastes about the “spirit”
returning to God. (It is because of this theological concern that the Reform Movement
has redacted the Hebrew to state “mechayeh hakol” which they
translate as “the source of life.”)
Our tradition has had an incredibly wide range of opinions
regarding “the life to come.” In Second Temple days, the Pharisees and Essenes believed
in the immortality of the soul, while the Sadducees did not. By the medieval period, a belief in a “world
to come” for the souls of the righteous became normative (as per Maimonides).
But virtually all scholars opined that the details of these matters were by
definition transcendental and beyond the capacity of human beings to
understand.
Some have suggested that the Jewish concept of life after
death resulted from the influence of Christian theology. Others have thought
that the concept became prevalent at different periods of Jewish life to help
explain suffering, and to suggest a kind of “reward” for living a righteous life.
I admit that I have not come to terms with the phrase “mechayeh
metim” even as I recite it regularly. Do I believe that once I am dead and
buried, that’s all there is? Do I believe that living a righteous life merits a
post-life reward, or that living a good life is the reward itself? When I have
conversations with my deceased parents in my dreams, is that wishful thinking
or a sign that their “spirits” still exist? I don’t “know” and I will never “know.”
In a quotation attributed to a Hindi philosopher, Sadhaguru, “What I know, I
know. What I do not know, I do not know. Once you come to this sincerely, your
knowing will constantly go on expanding.”
