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July 16, 2004/Tamuz 27 5764, Vol. 56, No. 43
Wilderness of words offers our best hope
Torah study
RABBI MICHAEL PALEY
Matot-Masei/Numbers 30:2-36:13
History has shown us that words can kill, can gather and can heal. Next week, we begin reading the book of Deuteronomy, Devarim, which means literally "words" and contains thousands of Moses' final utterances. This week, we complete the book of Numbers, Bamidbar, a more action-packed book than Deuteronomy but filled with words all the same.
Literally, Bamidbar translates as "in the wilderness" - appropriately named for the place where the Jews wandered for 40 years. But Bamidbar also contains the word "word" itself, devar. We can perceive the midbar as a wilderness of words, a place of fantasies and dreams.
Unless we read Matot and Masei from this perspective, the parshiot seem devastatingly brutal. A central narrative describes Moses' victorious attack on the Midianites, after which he laments only that they haven't also killed the women.
Tales of such violence can be difficult to read. They evoke the images of the Middle East splashed daily on the front page of our newspapers, stories of tribes bent on annihilating each other, settling old scores and clearing the way for their own future no matter the cost.
Words, however, can be transformative. In the beginning of Matot we read about how seriously this people takes their words. We learn of two kinds of speech acts, the neder, vow, and shvua, oath, that possessed enough power to create legal entities and change personal status. With a vow one could turn permitted food into prohibited delights. When the nazirite took an oath, he committed to a different standard that forbid eating grapes and cutting his hair.
Time and again in Bamidbar, words transform characters and situations. Bilaam intended to curse the Israelites but offered blessings instead. Pinchas, overcome with anger and self-righteousness at seeing Cozbi and Zimri embrace in illicit love, hurled his words and pierced the transgressors with his fury. The nazirite, so passionate that he could not stand not being a priest, took upon himself a new regimen of piety, enacted with a vow of words.
If the midbar is a world of ideals and extremes, perhaps Moses' violence, Pinchas' zealotry and the nazirite's piety have a place. Instead of seeing the Midianites slaughtered, we are meant to see the eradication of evil. Instead of seeing Cozbi and Zimri impaled on a spear, we are meant to see the abolition of idolatry.
In the end, the wilderness of words may be our best hope for the future. In working out our angers and fears with words, we can spare ourselves more violent reactions. Only in our fantasies can we envision the world as it ought to be.
Ultimately, Bamidbar is about the journey, moving from place to place in search of peace. It is a long journey with an elusive goal. We, the Jewish people, have been on a long journey back to our ancestral home, and we have gathered many enemies along the way.
In the world of the wilderness, we are inevitably forced to fight them with weapons, blood and pain. But in the wilderness of words, we can envision a day when this bloodshed will end. In our dreams, we can keep alive the hope for peace. If we cannot envision even the dream of peace, we cannot make it a reality.
Rabbi Michael Paley, a member of the Executive Committee of the United Jewish Communities Rabbinic Cabinet, is executive director of synagogue and community affairs of UJA-Federation of New York.
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