Drash – Bamidbar

Rabbi Dean Shapiro

Beth Shalom, Auckland, New Zealand

Wilderness is emptiness. It is a place without trees, without rainfall, without demarcation, without a clear way forward, without hope. At the same time, wilderness is also full – full of sand, wind, heat and cold, despair, trial, ingenuity, and encounter.

In our parsha this week, the first of “Bamidbar” – the Book of the Wilderness – the Hebrews remain adrift in the desert.

Wilderness is a transitional space, somewhere between having left and having not yet arrived. No wonder, then, that the Hebrews find themselves there after leaving Egypt but before entering the Promised Land. Where else could they be? They are not enslaved yet they are not fully free, birthed but not realised, literally neither here nor there. Wilderness is a place, and it is also a state of mind.

Many of us have found ourselves in just such a state. We’ve graduated Uni, but haven’t launched our career. Our marriage is over, and we don’t know what’s next. Our parent has died, and we’re not yet at peace. And, sometimes, there’s no identifiable cause at all; we’re simply adrift, waiting for something else to happen.

That’s the time of trial. For the Hebrews, the trials come in the form of war, hunger, thirst, and doubt. Will they make it through or not? For us, its temptation, experimentation, lethargy, wastefulness, and, yes, doubt. Such trials are manifestations of not knowing.

It’s no surprise, then, that Great Encounters take place in the Wilderness: Abraham in the Negev, Hagar at Beer-sheba, Jacob at Bethel, Moses at the Burning Bush, the Israelites at Mt. Sinai. That’s when we’re most open to something new emerging, to making a discovery. The landscape matches our soul-scape – open, unencumbered, fearful and hopeful. We are in need of a new beginning, of a new mission.

It’s easy to despair in the desert. We feel as empty as the land, vulnerable as a tuft of grass. But desert-times can be times of hope, too. Like a summer storm or a hidden oasis, there’s goodness to be found. Sustenance awaits, if only we know where to look for it. The wilderness provides for those who embrace it.

Such times require patience. We’re easily tempted by any shade, any hope of rest. Aching to lay our burdens down, we chase mirages, those promises of succor that beckon but never quite materialise. If we would instead wait, breathe, assess, consider, and then determine what we want for ourselves, we’d more likely head in the right direction.

I’ve walked through the wilderness myself. My job had ended; I didn’t know what would come next. I felt empty inside, and angry as the blazing sun. Was I a failure? Would I ever find stability, safety? Like the scapegoat of old, I didn’t know what fate would befall me. Like the Israelites, I thought about going back – not to that job, but to those old ways of doing things. Did I want to remain that person? No, I determined. Time to evolve. Time to grow. Time to shed yesterday’s habits, the ways of being that didn’t serve. Instead – esai enai – I turned my eyes to the mountain and got moving. Something new and far better emerged. Not just a better job, but a better me – hardened by fire, softened by vulnerability.

Life is a desert full of risk and without guarantees. We can return to what was, or we can forge on and see what awaits us. Perhaps it will be our own Promised Land.