Monsters, Giants, and Other Formidable Obstacles
Parashat Sh’lach L’cha, Numbers 13:1–15:41
Paul L. Saal, Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT
I originally wrote this d’var Torah in 2008. I cannot remember what fears I felt forced to confront then, but somehow this commentary feels every bit as relevant today. Much has been said about the fears we faced as we went into quarantine or semi-lockdown mode. But 15 months later we deal with a totally different set of fears on the way out. To vaccinate or not to vaccinate; going back to the office, school, or even synagogue; what are the correct procedures and protocols? And the greatest fear of all, putting on my hard clothes that fit last year. The one thing that has not changed is the nature of fear itself. So, I hope this drash offers some perspective and some hope!
In the spring of 2002, I went to an art exhibit featuring a group of pictures painted by a good friend who was beginning the process of leaving the safety of a career as a commercial artist and pursuing an art form that was uniquely his own. The collection was entitled quite simply, “Monsters.” I was not prepared for the transition in his work. My friend’s commercial work had always been clean, crisp, and professional and uncluttered. His new art was dark, convoluted, layered and primitive, obscuring warm colors with dark shadows.
What my friend had done was to take his seven-year-old son’s crayon drawings of monsters and reinterpret them in a more adult, almost surrealist genre. The oil re-creations hung next to the crayon originals in this sophisticated Massachusetts gallery. Though there was no written explanation of the work, it communicated to me an honest, yet often ignored reality of life. The fears, horrors, and insecurities of our childhoods do not disappear with time, as we might imagine, but rather remain buried deep in our psyche only to reemerge in more sophisticated genres and expressions. Unless we deal with, slay, shrink, or unmask the monsters and giants of our past, they make a home next to our “child within.”
Giants of Old and Now
The Torah portion this week begins with Moses sending out twelve agents, one from each tribe, to examine the land and give a report to the people. They all reported that the land was a good land that did indeed “flow with milk and honey” (Num 13:28). But ten of the twelve tribes saw only the potential for calamity in the land and could not imagine that the God who had guided them to this land might also deliver it into their hands. Their report is very telling: “we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, as so we must have looked to them” (13:33). What is even more telling is the reaction of most of the people, who wept all night and complained about their leaders, imagining that they would have all been better off staying in Egypt. In fact, they even contemplated heading back to Egypt. In their minds they were still slaves, undeserving of freedom.
On the surface their reaction seems so illogical that it would have been not only silly but also improbable. Of course, their lives in Egypt were a 400-year living hell—beatings, starvation, thankless labor, and often-unceremonious deaths at the hands of ruthless masters. Yet how can we explain that even today, in the midst of our “enlightened” society, there are those who remain under the thumb of abject abuse? Wives and children who are regularly beaten, employees who stay in thankless underpaid jobs, and devotees who remain in systems of spiritual abuse, exhibit the same tendency to endure the hardship of the known, rather than face the giants and monsters that loom so large in their imagination.
In stark contrast though, the spies of our Haftarah portion, Joshua 2:1–24, give us a renewed sense of hope. They went into Jericho after forty years of wandering and came out with a completely opposite opinion to their predecessors: “Truly the Lord has delivered into our hands all of the land; and moreover all of the inhabitants of the land melt before us” (Josh 2:24). What happened from one generation to the next? How did they conquer their fear? They spent forty years observing that an unseen force nurtured, protected, and preserved them. They came to believe that the God who had delivered them from bondage for the sake of their fathers, and who had promised them the land they were about to enter, could and would bring it to pass. The fact is, fear is to courage as inhaling is to exhaling. It is hope, though, that gives us the courage to do what we are afraid to do. We fear and we hope at the same time; and fear lurks behind hope, just as the bright face of the moon hides its dark side.
The Many Faces of Courage
Courage has multiple faces. It can mean saying no to compromise, or it can mean making a difficult compromise. It can entail dying a heroic death or living through terrible pain. It can mean fighting a good fight or knowing when it is best for all to concede. But courage always involves facing our fears.
Having courage often means enduring when troubles are upon us. Morrie Schwartz exemplifies this passive kind of courage as recorded in the book Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mitch Albom. Morrie was Mitch’s beloved professor with whom he had kept in sporadic contact. But when Morrie became terminally ill Mitch decided to visit him with regularity. The book documents their every Tuesday meetings and Morrie’s rapid physical decline. But as his condition declined his inner courage became more evident.
The Children of Israel certainly endured much torment during the years of enslavement. Much is made of their lapses of faith and mutinous activities, but not enough is spoken of Israel’s emerging courage. In large measure Israel endured despite endless foes and constant threat to their survival, and so it continues today. Through inquisition, holocaust, pogrom, and jihad, Israel has grown in its passive courage.
But active courage is also essential. This requires us to act well at the risk of danger. We look our fears full in the face and do what we must in spite of it. Israel had to muster this type of courage as they prepared to enter the fortified city of Jericho. It would have been easier to find elsewhere to sojourn. After all they had livestock, and gold and treasures taken from Egypt. Weren’t they the descendants of nomads and, after all, weren’t their encampments in the wilderness vastly superior to their past life of bondage in Egypt? But that would not have allowed them to fulfill their destiny.
Ruby Bridges is no longer a household name. But when the Louisiana public schools were integrated back in the turbulent 1960s Ruby was the first little girl to cross the line and enter a previously segregated public elementary school. Having only sheriff’s deputies and State Policemen between herself and the assembly of bigots who came out to spit and hurl insults, the courageous little girl walked the gauntlet to a new school where she would have no friends, no acceptance, and no comfort. When interviewed, Ruby’s mother described why Ruby did what she did: “There’s a lot of people who talk about doing good, and a lot of people who argue about what’s good and what’s not good, but there were also some other folks who put their lives on the line for what’s right.” Active courage is no more difficult to muster than passive courage, but easier to put off. Much of our procrastination is a sluggish denial of our fears.
Oxford English Dictionary defines courage as “facing danger without fear.” This may be a popular opinion, but I think it’s patently untrue. In fact, I believe only people who are afraid truly exhibit courage. The question is, where do we get the strength to do the things we are afraid of? The answer is hope. The spies in this week’s Haftarah portion in a sense are the reconstituted courage of Caleb and Joshua, who stood up to the masses and their own monsters and giants, and believed the promises of God. Continuing a forty-year journey of monotony, pain, and suffering demanded resolve, courage, and spiritual stamina. As a result, the people of Israel were birthed in a womb of hope. God met all their needs and led them toward his promises. So, in this sense hope was their fear as seen through the lens of their courage.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a German pastor who risked everything to fight the Nazis. He was put in prison, and from there he penned letters that give people hope today. In one, he wrote this prayer: “Give me the hope that will deliver me from fear and faintheartedness.” He was given hope and hope gave him courage. The Nazis killed Bonhoeffer anyway. But his hope was not unrealized. The Nazis were defeated, and God was seen, as he always is, as the ultimate victor.
We are often afraid that we are losing the fight, and we suffer fear and anxiety. But hope brings back a faith that we will win. So, face those fears, large and small, head on, and echo the words of Rav Shaul, “I can do all things through Messiah who strengthens me” (Phil 4:13).