PARASHAT SHELACH

By Rav David Silverberg

            Parashat Shelach tells of the meragelim (scouts) who were sent to scout Eretz Yisrael and bring a report back to the rest of the nation.  Among the places the scouts toured during their excursion was a place called Nachal Eshkol (“Eshkol Stream”).  The Torah tells that the group took some fruits from Nachal Eshkol to bring back and show the people, and adds that the location was named “Nachal Eshkol” to commemorate the “eshkol” (cluster) of grapes which they took from a vine at that site (13:24).

            A number of commentators addressed the question of why the Torah refers to this place by the name “Nachal Eshkol” even when it first speaks of the scouts’ arrival in this location (13:23).  If this name was given only after the scouts harvested some of its fruits, then why does the Torah write, “They came until Nachal Eshkol, and there they severed a branch...” – indicating that this had been its name even previously?

            The simplest answer, as Ibn Ezra explains, is that the Torah called the location “Nachal Eshkol” in retrospect, using the name that would eventually be assigned to this place.

            A different theory, however, was proposed by Rav Chayim Paltiel (late 13^th century), who claimed that the site had been called “Nachal Eshkol” even before the scouts’ excursion.  Rav Chayim Paltiel noted that Nachal Eshkol is mentioned as the scouts’ first stop after arriving in the city of Chevron, perhaps suggesting that Nachal Eshkol is within relatively close proximity to Chevron.  As we know from Sefer Bereishit (13:18), part of Chevron was called “Elonei Mamrei” (“Plains of Mamrei”), referring to a man named Mamrei who was a confidant of Avraham (Bereishit 14:13,23).  Mamrei had two brothers named Aner and Eshkol (Bereishit 14:13), both of whom appeared to have been close allies of Avraham.  Rav Chayim Paltiel speculates that Eshkol perhaps lived near his comrade Mamrei, and, just as Mamrei’s area became known as “Elonei Mamrei,” the stream or valley in Eshkol’s region similarly assumed the name “Nachal Eshkol.”  Thus, the scouts came to a place that had already been named “Nachal Eshkol,” and after taking a cluster of grapes from the site they affirmed this name in commemoration of the “eshkol” that they had taken.

            Rav Chayim Kanievsky, in his work Ta’ama De-kra, also proposes this theory, adding that the Torah spells the word Eshkol differently in the two verses.  In recounting the scouts’ arrival in Nachal Eshkol, the Torah spells the word without the letter vav, whereas in recording the naming of the site Nachal Eshkol in commemoration of the scouts’ cluster, it spells it with the letter vav.  This might indicate that these are two different names.  The first refers to the individual Eshkol, while the second commemorates the cluster taken by the scouts.

            Rav David Mandelbaum, in his Pardes Yosef He-chadash, suggests a different reason for why the Torah calls the place Nachal Eshkol even before it tells of the cluster taken by the spies.  Possibly, there had been a stream in that area called Nachal Eshkol, and the scouts assigned this name also to the adjacent area in commemoration of the cluster of grapes they took from that site.  According to this theory, then, the two verses that mention Nachal Eshkol refer to two different places: the stream that had originally born this name, and the location nearby from where the scouts took a cluster of grapes.

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            Parashat Shelach begins with the tragic story of the meragelim, the scouts who reported negatively about Eretz Yisrael and discouraged the people from proceeding to the land.  Rashi, in a famous passage, cites a Midrash that draws an association between this episode and the incident related in the final section of the previous parasha, Parashat Beha’alotekha.  That parasha concludes with the story of Miriam’s tzara’at, with which she was punished for speaking derisively about her brother.  The two episodes are juxtaposed to one another, the Midrash comments, to indicate that the scouts could have avoided their mistake by learning the lesson of Miriam’s punishment.  Miriam was punished for speaking negatively about Moshe, and the scouts were guilty of speaking negatively about Eretz Yisrael.  They should have learned from the incident of Miriam about the consequences of negative speech, but instead they committed the same mistake.

            How might we explain this association drawn by the Midrash between Miriam’s wrongdoing and the sin of the spies?

            It is common for family members to feel a kind of casual closeness with one another, which often makes it difficult to feel respect and reverence.  A possible cause of Miriam’s disparaging remarks about Moshe is this casual, informal feeling among siblings that may have diminished, however slightly, from her reverence toward her younger brother.  Miriam spoke about Moshe’s private affairs as she would about any other family matter, because their informal family relationship made her lose sight of the respect he deserved as the nation’s leader and the greatest of all prophets.

            To some extent, this is true as well of any situation of lashon ha-ra (negative talk about other people).  People frequently engage in negative speech about friends, peers, coworkers, neighbors, family remembers and relatives – people with whom they share a close, casual relationship.  As the saying goes, “familiarity breeds contempt.”  People who become too familiar with each other become all took aware of each other’s faults and weaknesses, and feel at ease casting judgment and criticizing.  The incident of Miriam is often viewed as the paradigm case of lashon ha-ra in the Torah, perhaps for this very reason.  Hers was an extreme case where a person of towering stature was insufficiently respected by somebody who may have felt a bit too comfortable around him, who may have known him a bit “too well.”  This is indeed an accurate model of lashon ha-ra generally, where our familiarity with a person leads to a lessening of our admiration for that individual, such that we feel free to speak negatively and derogatorily about him/her.

            For good reason, then, the Torah required that the metzora – a person stricken with tzara’at as punishment for lashon ha-ra – must remain outside his city.  If close relationships with his friends and neighbors caused him to lose respect and admiration for them, then he must live in solitude, where he has an opportunity to reflect upon the people in his life from a distance.  This experience is intended to change his perspective and help him regain the respect that had been lost due to his close, ongoing contact with those around him.

            When Moshe sent the scouts, he did so not as a military tactic, but rather for the purpose of helping Benei Yisrael familiarize themselves with Eretz Yisrael.  The questions Moshe asked the scouts to answer (13:18-20) related not to the Canaanites’ weaponry and strategic positions, but rather to the land’s agricultural qualities and the kinds of people and communities that inhabit it.  The mission’s purpose (as Rav Soloveitchik famously explained) was to endear the land to the people before they would come to settle it.

            Once again, familiarity bred contempt.  The scouts saw a much different picture than the idyllic, majestic images that their minds had drawn of a land of unbridled serenity and holiness.  Their firsthand look at Eretz Yisrael exposed them to some of its less-than-ideal realities – and it was these aspects that formed their perception of the land.  Just as Miriam’s close relationship to Moshe diminished from her reverence toward him, similarly, the scouts’ newfound familiarity with the land led them to focus less on its extraordinary agricultural and spiritual qualities, and more on the difficulties entailed in capturing it.  They failed to learn the lesson of retaining respect for something great even when viewing it from up close, rather than allowing that closeness to diminish from the appropriate level of admiration.

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            We read in Parashat Shelach of the scouts who returned from their excursion in Eretz Yisrael and frightened the people by describing the military might of the nations of Canaan (13:28-29).  After Kalev voiced the dissenting view, insisting on Benei Yisrael’s ability to capture the land, the other spies reiterated their argument (13:31) and then resorted to a different tactic – disparaging the land itself.  They called Eretz Yisrael “a land that consumes its inhabitants” (13:32), indicating that even if Kalev was correct in his assessment of the nation’s military capabilities, the campaign would not be worthwhile.  Even if Benei Yisrael succeeded in conquering and inhabiting the land, the spies argued, this itself would be a misfortune.

            After describing Eretz Yisrael as “a land that consumes its inhabitants,” the scouts then added, “and all the people we saw in its midst were anshei midot.”  Most commentators, including Rashi, Ibn Ezra and the Ramban, explain the term “anshei midot” to mean “large people.”  It appears that immediately after portraying the land as an uninhabitable region, the scouts returned to their previous warnings about the size and strength of the Canaanite nations.  Contextually, it seems odd to revisit the subject of the Canaanites’ military superiority while attempting to portray life in the land in a negative light.  What was the spies’ intent in depicting the Canaanite people as “anshei midot” in this context?

            The Ramban and Seforno explain that the scouts’ description of the “anshei midot” was, in fact, part of their effort to disparage the land.  They sought to impress upon Benei Yisrael that only people of exceptional natural strength and size can survive in Eretz Yisrael.  The scouts emphasized that “all the people we saw in its midst were anshei midot” – the only ones who can live in the land are the “anshei midot.”  As Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch explains:

It is a land that wears down, exhausts its inhabitants.  It is a land that is not designed for people of ordinary size.  It demands the constitution of giants.  Ordinary people soon become moribund there.  That is why the inhabitants have developed into such extraordinary size.  Small and weak people do not survive there.

Rav Chayim Paltiel suggests a slightly different explanation, interpreting “anshei midot” to mean “anshei melakha” – people engaged in grueling labor.  According to this approach, the scouts did not depict the land as a place designed only for people of natural strength, but rather as a place that demands hard work.  Rav Chayim Paltiel explains “a land that consumes its inhabitants” to mean that the land “strengthens” those who live in it, by requiring them to exert hard work and effort to survive.  The scouts perhaps sought to play on the people’s discontent in the wilderness, which was expressed in Parashat Beha’alotekha, where we read of the nation’s grumblings about their conditions in the desert.  In essence, they were telling the people, “You think things will get easier in Eretz Yisrael?  It’s going to be difficult there, too.  And perhaps even more so.”  The scouts warned the people that awaiting them in Eretz Yisrael is a life of grueling work, rather than a life of comfort and relaxation.

According to Rav Chayim Paltiel’s reading, it becomes possible that the scouts spoke the truth in their depiction of the land’s qualities.  They were perhaps correct that the Land of Israel makes certain demands of its inhabitants, and might require more effort and exertion that other places.  They erred, however, by viewing this quality as a reason to reject the land as their eternal national homeland.  If the land the Almighty gives us demands that we become “anshei midot” – people who work hard, then we ought to accept this challenge and do what it takes to reside there.

This message, of course, can be applied to all areas of Torah and mitzvot.  Torah life often requires being “anshei midot,” considerable investments of time and effort.  Rather than shying away from these challenges, we should instead gladly embrace them and accept them as part of the privilege we are granted to live our lives as devoted avdei Hashem.

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            The final section of Parashat Shelach introduces the mitzva of tzitzit.  The purpose of this mitzva, as the Torah explicitly states, is to remind a person of his religious obligations: “…you shall see it and then remember all the commandments of the Lord and perform them, and you shall not stray after your hearts and eyes after which you would [otherwise] be lured” (15:39).  The obvious question arises, how do the tzitzit strings remind a person of the mitzvot?  How does this mitzva have the effect of reminding the individual of his obligations, and preventing him from “straying” after his sinful instincts?

            Rashi, citing the Midrash Tanchuma, explains that the numerical value of the Hebrew word “tzitzit” equals six hundred.  When we add to this total the five knots and eight strings tied to each corner of one’s garment, we arrive at a total of 613 – the total number of mitzvot.

            The Rashbam cites a different Midrashic passage (from the Sifrei), which points specifically to the symbolic significance of the bluish tekhelet dye with which one string on each corner is colored.  This color resembles the color of the heavens, and thus reminds a person of his subjugation to God.  (The Ramban elaborates on this concept and explains it on the basis of Kabbala.)

            Seforno writes that, quite simply, the tzitzit strings function as “the signet of the king upon his servants.”  Just as servants wear uniforms reflecting their status of subjugation to their master, similarly, Benei Yisrael affix special strings to their garments as a permanent reminder that they live their lives in the service of the Almighty.

            Rabbi Menachem Leibtag suggested a different approach in explaining the function of tzitzit as a “reminder.”  The mitzva requires affixing one string dyed in tekhelet among several white strings.  The beauty of the tekhelet is manifest only off the backdrop of the white strings; it is the contrast between the blue and white strings that lends the tzitzit their unique appearance.  This contrast might allude to the fundamental nature of Am Yisrael’s designation: we are to become the beautiful “tekhelet string” that shines and stands out from among the other nations.  The Torah admonishes in the next verse, “...in order that you remember to perform all My commandments, and you shall be sacred to your God.”  Kedusha means being distinct and set apart from the rest.  Tzitzit does not provide a magical formula for achieving kedusha, but rather demonstrates what it means to be a holy nation – to be different, distinct and special.  With the acceptance of the Torah we accepted upon ourselves to live at a higher standard, as dictated by the mitzvot, and thereby be worthy of a special relationship with the Almighty.  The mitzva of tzitzit accurately reflects that acceptance by requiring a tekhelet string that glitters off the background of the white strings, symbolic of Am Yisrael’s obligation to rise above the ordinary standards followed by other peoples.

            Appropriately, this section concludes with a brief reminder of the Exodus: “I am the Lord your God who took you from the land of Egypt to be your God.”  At the Exodus, God took a nation from within another nation; He miraculously brought Benei Yisrael out of the mudpits of Egypt, for the purpose of representing a higher standard to all mankind.  At this point we were assigned this special challenge of kedusha, the responsibility of serving as the beautiful tekhelet string among the white strings.

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            As mentioned yesterday, Parashat Shelah concludes with the mitzva of tzitzit, which requires affixing strings to the corners of a four-cornered garment.  Rashi, commenting to these verses (15:38), suggests two explanations for the etymology of the word “tzitzit.”  He first cites a verse from Sefer Yechezkel (8:3) where the prophet refers to the hair on his head as “tzitzat roshi.”  From context, it appears that the word tzitzit means “thread” or “string,” and thus hair is referred to as the “tzitzit” of the head.  Accordingly, the word “tzitzit” simply refers to strings.  Secondly, Rashi notes that the verb root tz.tz. means to “glance” or gaze, and is thus used in reference to tzitzit to emphasize the function of this mitzva, which, as the Torah describes, is that “you shall see it and remember all the commandments of the Lord…” (15:39).  According to this interpretation, the word “tzitzit” describes not the tzitzit’s physical properties, but rather its function.

            Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, in his Ha-ketav Ve-ha’kabbala, presents a variation of Rashi’s first interpretation, associating the word “tzitzit” with the phrase “tzitzat roshi” in Yechezkel.  He claims that the word tzitz refers to anything that grows or extends from a certain surface.  It is thus used in reference to hair, as in the verse in Yechezkel, because hair grows from the surface of the head.  Similarly, later in Sefer Bamidbar (17:23), the Torah describes the blossoms that sprouted from Aharon’s staff, and writes, “va-yatzetz tzitz.”  Here, “tzitz” is used in reference to a sprout, which grows from soil.  Thus, the tzitzit strings are so named because they serve as an extension of the corner of the garment.

            Rav Zalman Sorotzkin, in his Oznayim Le-Torah, insightfully suggests that both of Rashi’s interpretations of the word “tzitzit” may in fact be correct, and it takes on different meanings in different contexts.  In the first verse that speaks about tzitzit, Rav Sorotzkin contends, the Torah uses the word “tzitzit” in reference to “strings” or “fringes”: “…they shall make for themselves tzitzit on the corners of their garments, for all generations, and they shall place a tekhelet [blue dye] string on the tzitzit of the corner” (15:38).  In the next verse, however, the Torah says about the blue string affixed along with the white tzitzit strings, “ve-haya lakhem le-tzitzit” – “it [the blue string] shall be for you as tzitzit…”  According to the first interpretation of “tzitzit,” as a thread or string, this phrase is very difficult to explain.  If, however, we follow the second interpretation, that “tzitzit” means “something to be gazed upon,” then this verse becomes readily understood.  The Torah instructs that the blue tekhelet thread should be used as a “tzitzit,” something to be seen and gazed upon, in order that a person will be reminded of God’s commands.  Thus, while in the earlier verse the Torah uses the word “tzitzit” to mean “string,” in the next verse the word is used in reference to seeing and viewing.

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            The final verses of Parashat Shelach introduce the mitzva of tzitzit, the fringes which we are commanded to affix to the corners of our four-cornered garments.  The Torah states that the tzitzit strings are intended to serve as a reminder of our religious responsibilities, so that we do not “stray” after our sinful instincts (15:39).  Accordingly, the Rambam, in Hilkhot Mezuza (6:13), lists tzitzit as one of the three reminders that the Torah requires that we make for ourselves to help ensure that we remain loyal to the mitzvot.  The other two are the tefillin worn on the head and arm, and the mezuzot affixed to the doorposts in one’s home.

            When considering the nature of these three reminders, we might expect them to correspond and relate to three different areas of human life which the Torah demands that we devote to the service of the Almighty.  Regarding the mitzvot of tefillin and mezuza, this correspondence seems clear and obvious.  Tefillin is placed directly upon the body, and thus reminds us to subjugate our physical beings to God.  The body’s natural impulses and cravings are often at odds with the spiritual ideals that are to characterize Torah life.  We are therefore commanded to wrap the tefillin upon our bodies to remind ourselves that our physical lives must be bound by the dictates of the mitzvot.  The mezuza, of course, is affixed to the doorpost of the home, and thus relates to one’s private life.  It reminds us that Torah laws and values are not confined to the public sphere or our religious institutions.  The Torah governs our conduct even in the privacy of our homes, and the relationships we maintain with family members.

            How might we explain the particular “reminder” of tzitzit, which is tied to our garments?  Which area of life does it remind us to devote to avodat Hashem?

            The primary function of garments is to afford a person a dignified appearance.  The concept of clothing was first devised by Adam and Chava after they partook of the forbidden tree and thereupon felt shame in their nakedness.  Clothing signifies the human being’s desire for dignity and respect, to rise above his brutish nature and establish himself as an honorable being.

            Accordingly, we might conclude that the tzitzit remind a person to fulfill this innate desire for dignity within the framework of Torah observance.  This mitzva perhaps seeks to answer the question of where we should look for dignity and self-respect.  In what areas should we endeavor to distinguish ourselves, and develop a feeling of self-worth and importance?  By affixing tzitzit to our garments, we remind ourselves that our quest for a sense of purpose and dignity should be directed toward the mitzvot, that it is there where we should focus our efforts to become accomplished and respectable creatures.

            Clothing serves an additional function, as well, and that is protection from the harsh natural elements.  In this sense, perhaps, tzitzit relates to the human being’s constant struggle with nature, our quest for survival and comfort in an often hostile environment.  We spend much of our lives trying to find comfort in spite of the elements, to make our environment pleasant and secure even amid the ravages of inclement conditions.  The tzitzit perhaps remind us that this pursuit, too, must be undertaken in strict compliance with the Torah.  We are certainly entitled to expend efforts to secure a comfortable livelihood, but these efforts must be undertaken in complete consonance with the laws and values of the Torah.  The fringes on our garments perhaps remind us that even as we “clothe” ourselves, as we work to bring ourselves comfort, we must make Torah observance our highest priority and never compromise our religious commitments for the sake of luxury, comfort or convenience.

(Based in part on Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch’s Torah commentary)

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            Parashat Shelach tells the tragic story of the meragelim, the spies who returned from their excursion to Eretz Yisrael and discouraged the nation from proceeding to the land.  God initially decided the annihilate Benei Yisrael in response to their mistrust, but Moshe immediately interceded on their behalf.  God accepted Moshe’s prayer, but nevertheless decreed that the nation would travel about for forty years in the wilderness until that generation perishes, at which point their children would enter Eretz Yisrael.

            In issuing this decree, God bemoans to Moshe, “Ad matai la-eida ha-ra’a ha-zot asher heima malinim alai” – “Until when will there be this evil congregation, which has brought complaints against Me…” (14:27).  He then proceeds to describe the punishment He has decreed against the “evil congregation.”

Rashi explains this verse as a reference to the ten spies who led the people to complain against God for bringing them to Eretz Yisrael.  This reading is based upon the word “malinim,” a verb constructed in the hif’il form, which generally refers to an action performed toward another person.  The Hebrew word for “complain” is “mitlonen,” in the reflexive hitpa’el form, as opposed to “malinim,” which seems to denote causing others to complain.  Understandably, then, Rashi explains this verse as a specific reference to the ten spies who inspired the nation to protest against the Almighty.  Rashi cites Chazal (Megila 23b) as inferring from this verse that the term “eida” (“congregation”) is defined by a minimum of ten people, as indicated by its use in this verse in reference to the ten wicked spies.

            The difficulty with this reading, as noted by Shadal, lies in the subsequent verses, which clearly address the entire generation of Benei Yisrael, and not merely the ten scouts.  In these verses God declares that He will “do to you just as you spoke in My ears” (14:28), referring to the people’s wish that they would die in the wilderness rather than face the Canaanites in battle (14:2).  He also makes reference to “your young ones whom you said would fall captive” (14:31), a clear reference to the nation’s fears that their children would be taken captive during battle against the people of Canaan (14:3).  Clearly, the words spoken by God in these verses are directed toward all Benei Yisrael, and not merely to the ten spies.  This might call into question Rashi’s reading of the introductory verse, whereby it refers specifically to the ten meragelim.

            Shadal therefore reads the introductory verse differently, claiming that it speaks of all Benei Yisrael.  He claims that in Biblical Hebrew, the hif’il construction of the verb “malinim” occasionally refers to complaining itself, as opposed to causing others to complain.  (One example is the verse in Sefer Shemot 16:8 – “asher atem malinim alav.”)  There is thus no reason to explain this verse as a reference to the ten sinful spies, in light of the fact that subsequently God clearly speaks of that entire generation.

            Seforno and Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch accept Rashi’s explanation, that “this evil congregation” refers specifically to the spies.  They claim that after this introductory verse, God shifts His remarks to both guilty groups – the spies, who played on the people’s fears and dissuaded them from proceeding to Eretz Yisrael, and the people themselves, who blindly accepted the spies’ report rather than trusting in God’s promise.  According to Seforno and Rav Hirsch, God begins by bemoaning the “evil congregation” – the spies – who misled Benei Yisrael, and then proceeds to declare the punishment He would visit upon both the spies and the entire nation.

            In light of this reading, we might suggest that God sought to emphasize that the nation bears guilt despite being the victims of the spies’ conspiracy.  Although the spies deliberately misled the people into thinking they could not enter Eretz Yisrael, the people, for their part, were guilty of allowing themselves to be misled.  There is a limit to how much a person can blame his faults and shortcomings on the influence exerted by those around him.  At a certain point, we all bear personal responsibility for the decisions we make, even if we fell under negative influences.  We are expected to remain steadfast in our loyalty to God so that we can successfully resist the lures of wrongful behavior.  Thus, God emphasizes that notwithstanding the spies’ guilt for deliberately misguiding the people, the people bear accountability for falling prey to this conspiracy and rebelling against God.