Sh'lach L'cha -- 5775

It’s been a rocky road from Freedom to the Promised Land – an army in pursuit, an (im)passable  sea, doubling back, detouring, fighting, stopping, running out of water.  And now that they’ve arrived at their destination … giants.  “The country that we traversed and scouted is one that devours its settlers.  All the people that we saw in it are men of great size” (Numbers 13:32).  The Hebrews have marched gallantly.  They realize that they won’t make it only now that the Promised Land is within reach.

I am writing this dvar Torah on the floor of Chicago Midway Airport.  It’s midnight.  My flight has been delayed several hours due to weather.  Another, bound for Charleston, has just been cancelled for the night and I’m wondering whether we’re next.  We’ve been bounced from concourse to concourse.  The restaurants are closed except for one or two.  There’s no telling how this night will end.

“The whole community broke into loud cries, and the people wept that night.  All the people railed against Moses and Aaron” (Numbers 14:1-2).  There’s a crowd of upset people pointing fingers at the flight managers, and I don’t blame them – but I don’t understand them, either.  What is the airline supposed to do – fly in violation of FAA rules?  What’s yelling at the gate attendant going to accomplish?  It’s mighty frustrating, but what do they think can be done?  At least we aren’t crossing the prairie in wagons or the stormy sea by steamer.  It’ll be late and unpleasant, but we’ll all be dry and safe and get where we need to go eventually.

Sometimes, things don’t work out as planned.  You can get upset and frustrated all you want, but you’d do better to roll with it.  I’m concerned about my son spending the night on a cot.  I’m concerned about my appointments tomorrow.  But muscling your way through life, determined that there’s only a single satisfactory ending, will only get you a sore back.  “Man plans.  God laughs,” the Yiddish saying goes.  Let go of the illusion of control, and go for a ride.

B'ha-alotcha -- 5775

Two silver trumpets shine in the sun.  Their blasts, loud and sweet, resound through the hills and across the plains.  They summon soldiers with their cry “War!” and they announce joyous occasions.   They shall be “l’chukat olam l’doroteichem,” in Fox’ translation, “as a law for the ages, throughout your generations” (Numbers 10:8).

If the law of the trumpets is for the ages, doesn’t it inherently last throughout the generations as well?  Why the repetition?

Ibn Ezra picks up on the dual nature of the trumpets when he observes that they are to be used both in the Land and out of the Land.  That is, they are to sound when the Israelites are invaders and also when they are defenders.

The twin trumpets are no more, yet we are told they exist forever.  Perhaps, then, they live on inside us.  Perhaps the trumpet’s call is the pure voice within us that we summon when we cry out for what’s good and true.  It’s the righteous demand in times of trouble.

 If so, why are there two of them?

• One trumpet calls out when you need to defend yourself, and one calls sounds when you need to protect others.
• One trumpet summons Justice; the other trumpet cries for Mercy.
• One trumpet blasts when it is time to start, and the other when it is time to stop.

Be the trumpet, and sing out.