A decade and a half ago I had a blog called Elisha's Double Portion. It was part food blog, part parsha blog. Every week I paired the Torah portion with a recipe I cooked, photographed, and shared. My father was always one of the first people to read each post, and he would gently point out the little corrections that needed to be made. In my excitement to get my posts out into the world, I would sometimes overlook those details. On certain weeks, it was a bit more challenging to feel excited about the parsha in my kitchen. But that was not the case with this week's double portion. With its mentions of figs, grapes and pomegranates I had so many options. Somehow, back in 2010, I decided to make tabouli because of the grains mentioned in the text.
But I barely mentioned the most important ingredient of all: water. Because it’s true that water wouldn’t be so compelling in a food blog. However, water is really the center of Parshat Chukat.
The people cry out, "There is no water to drink." Moshe turns to God, who tells him to gather the people and speak to the rock. As we know, instead, Moshe strikes it. The water still comes, but something has changed. And in one of the most heart breaking passages of the Torah, God tells Moshe that he will not lead the people into the Promised Land, that he himself will only be able to glimpse it. After everything Moshe has done for the Jewish people until this point, and everything that he will continue to do for the Jewish people beyond this moment, it seems like an incredibly harsh punishment. And that the deep partnership between God and Moshe seems to break down in their communication. Was it because of his behavior, or the words he said at the rock - not honoring God - either way it is so final.
When I was in high school, though, I had an amazing Tanach teacher, Rabbi Natty Helfgot. And he taught a different interpretation of this text that has stayed with me ever since. The generation standing before Moses is not the generation that left Egypt. That prior generation all died out. But 40 years ago when they were still alive, God told Moshe to strike the rock when they were complaining about not having enough water. And when Moshe did so, he learned a certain behavior and a particular approach to leadership. And now at this moment, in front of the new generation he can’t get away from those old patterns, he can’t give them what they need. He was no longer able to be the leader who this generation needed. They required something different - they needed a leader who could speak where once force had been necessary.
If you look at the story this way, Moses' departure is not simply a punishment. It is a recognition that every generation needs the leadership that speaks its language.
And then this week I learned another chidush (new idea) when I read Rav Claudia Kreiman's weekly dvar torah that she writes for her TBZ community in Brookline. I love that no matter how familiar one can be with Tanach, to know all the stories - new details and connections are waiting for an aha moment - Sam and I love sharing those with each other. So this was my aha moment.
Rav Claudia taught that right before we get to the Israelites complaints that set off this story, Miriam dies. And the Torah text doesn’t tell us about any mourning rituals or reactions other than that they buried her. But this was surely a huge loss. Miriam, who watched over Moses as a baby in the Nile. Miriam, who led the women in song after the sea split. Miriam, whose well, according to tradition, accompanied the Israelites throughout the wilderness. Moses loses his sister. The people lose a leader, and their source of water. They're not just physically thirsty, there is some spiritual parch they are afflicted with. And maybe in the face of that personal grief, Moshe's patience disappears. Any human who is gripped by a strong emotion, especially when carrying other people's burden, can reach a moment when that emotion overwhelms their judgment.
And that brings us to our second parsha of the day because King Balak is also overwhelmed by an emotion that clouds his judgement - fear. He sees Israel approaching and imagines catastrophe for his own nation. And that fear makes him formulate a plan to not just physically confront them but to try to spiritually overpower them. He hires Bilaam to curse Israel and before he is willing to understand the situation, that God will not allow Bilaam to curse them, Balak keeps trying a million solutions, moving an alter to new vantage points and asking Bilaam to try again and again. But every curse becomes a blessing as God transforms Bilaam's words:
Mah tovu ohalecha Ya'akov, mishkenotecha Yisrael.
"How beautiful are your tents, O Jacob; your dwelling places, O Israel."
There is another line in Bilaam's prophecy that has always intrigued the rabbis:
הֶן עָם כְּלָבִיא יָקוּם וְכַאֲרִי יִתְנַשָּׂא לא ישכב עד יאכל טרף
"A people rises like a lion cub, stands up like a lion, and doesn’t lie down until it has consumed its prey"
The Midrash Tanchuma hears an echo of the Shema: וּבְשָׁכְבְּךָ וּבְקוּמֶךָ "When you lie down and when you rise."
The rabbis imagine that Israel's true strength is not found on the battlefield but in the quiet rhythm of daily faith—rising each morning to declare God's oneness and lying down each night placing ourselves in God's care.
I learned this midrash from Rav Avital Hochstein’s dvar Torah from Hadar, who points out that Jewish strength has always required both physical courage and spiritual discipline. Sometimes we need the strength of the lion. But without humility, prayer, and moral purpose, strength alone is never enough.
Perhaps that is the lesson these two parshiyot have for us. Sometimes we are like Moshe, exhausted beyond our capacity. Sometimes we are Balak, imagining the worst and reacting from fear. But can we find a balance between our strong emotions? Later in the parsha when Moshe looses his other sibling Aharon, and afterwards the nation again complains about not having water, God gets so angry he sends snakes to bite the people. But this time Moshe is able to see through his grief for a brief moment and pray for their healing and safety and God ends the plague. So we may not get the balance right in every moment, but can we come back from one mistake and try again.
The prophet Micah, whose words conclude the haftarah for Balak, offers us the answer:
הִגִּיד לְךָ אָדָם מַה טּוֹב, וּמָה יְהוָה דּוֹרֵשׁ מִמְּךָ - כִּי אִם־עֲשׂוֹת מִשְׁפָּט וְאַהֲבַת חֶסֶד וְהַצְנֵעַ לֶכֶת עִם־אֱלֹהֶֽיךָ׃
"What does God require of you? Only to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God."
Perhaps when we live that way, grounded in our values, we can fully experience our strong emotions of grief and fear, but also make time to lean into the other strong emotions we experience of love, or the joy or a blog post, of the joy of our community. And then our own personal internal tents, and the tents of our homes, and the tents of our communities truly become beautiful spaces of gathering and dwelling.
Shabbat shalom.
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