Having and being a rock

Yes, once again I am writing about rocks. I like rocks. Can you tell?

At the beginning of July, we will be reading the Torah portion we call Chukat. As are all Torah portions, Chukat is replete with myriads of themes and ideas and pregnant with possibilities.

Since I wrote about deep and meaningful friendship just last week, I will expand on that direction in Chukat for today’s post.

We find the portion of Chukat in Numbers 19:1–22:1, and here is a brief recap of what happens in this section: After wandering for 40 years, the people finally make their way to the wilderness of Zin. In this short portion, both Miriam and Aaron die, Miriam’s well dries up and the people are parched for water, and Moses strikes a rock to bring forth water. In so doing, he brings judgement upon himself and loses all possibility of entering Canaan.

I always wondered, when Moses struck the rock, twice, and brought forth water, why was he so harshly punished for that? Afterall, the people would die without water, so didn’t he save a lot of lives by that act? Why then the punishment? Didn’t the end justify the means?

Numbers 20:8 tells us that Moses was instructed to speak to the rock, not strike it. And certainly not strike it twice. Why should Moses, who has served so faithfully for so many years and through so many trying situations, be so harshly punished for what seems like a minor infraction?

In search of answers, we look ahead to verse 10, where we read that Moses said to the assembly, “Listen, you rebels, shall we [he and his brother Aaron who had not yet died at this point] get water for you out of this rock?” And here is where we get an inkling of the deeper issue.

In the first place, it seems clear that Moses was having a Monday. He was obviously grouchy, and spoke harshly to the people. He was clearly impatient with them, as evidenced by calling them rebels. He comes across as being completely put out and exasperated with them. Perhaps he would have even preferred to strike the “rebels” assembled before him rather than the rock, but the rock seemed like a better choice. And yet, he was still punished harshly, was he not?

In Moses’ defense, we find several things at play in the background. Miriam had died and immediately the people began quarreling with Moses, whining and complaining about being led out into the wilderness, a wretched place with none of the foods they miss and now, no water. Surely this was very stressful and vexing to Moses. After all, his sister and deepest friend had just died, and no one, not even Moses, now had access to water.

Here they were, in the desert and parched, and Moses’ heart was grieving the loss of his sister, Miriam, who had been Moses’ most trusted friend. Maimonides refers to this brother-sister relationship between Moses and Miriam as chaver habitachon, which means, a friendship of trust. We might use the English term confidante for this level of trusted friendship and endearment. This is someone with whom you share your deepest vulnerabilities and doubts, where your trust is absolute and unguarded. In other words, you don’t even have a need to tell this friend to hold this information in confidence; it is not optional, but automatically built into the relationship itself. It is a rock bottom given, if you will.

Moses had lost his rock, his dear Miriam. He is crushed and angry and sad and grieving, and one big ball of mess. The people are kvetching and complaining, and blaming Moses for having gotten them into this whole mess in the first place. And in the midst of his grieving, he is expected, no, demanded, to abandon his own needs in this time of loss and to take care of the needs of the assembled people, the very people who were blaming him for this situation and ignoring his time of grief and own need. Is it any wonder he called them rebels?

In losing his rock, his chaver habitachon, the well of Miraim which dried up could likely be referring to Moses’ own inner well. He had given his all, and he had no more water in his own well. And yet, where were the people? Were they there supporting him? Were they out digging holes and searching for water, or were they still relying on Moses to do it all for them? Were they instead complaining and whining and expecting Moses to fix it for them? I think we here begin to catch a glimmer of a different look at this scenario.

So now, we turn back to the question at hand: Why should Moses, who has served so faithfully for so many years and through so many trying situations, be so harshly punished for what seems like a minor infraction? Or, is this even the right question to ask, or does the very question itself demand that we take a further step back and look at our question anew, with fresh eyes? In other words, what does this question assume?

It assumes that Moses being barred from crossing over into Canaan was a punishment. While later we learn that Moses does yearn to cross over, we still cannot presume that this is a punishment on the part of G!d for Moses, who was clearly in grief and feeling unsupported and cranky and thirsty and fed up with the heavy mantle of responsibility, so much so that he spoke in anger and made a show of striking the rock twice rather than just speaking to the rock as commanded to do.

Perhaps, we must also ponder, did G!d see that Moses was worn out? That Moses needed a break from these people?

Perhaps, was the punishment for the people, who had leaned so heavily on their fearless leader and asked too much of him? Had they asked for more nurturing when they themselves were unwilling to feel even the tiniest bit of compassion for a man who had served so faithfully, stretching himself to the max? What had they given Moses in return?

Perhaps, was it the people who did not deserve Moses, and Moses who deserved a rest? Had the people not learned how to give back, how to be compassionate and patient with Moses? Had they become so wrapped up in their needs that they were simply unwilling to try and be the rock that Moses needed?

Perhaps, was it G!d recognizing that Moses’ time of leadership was over, and that the people needed to learn how to lead themselves into the land of promise?

In the final analysis, what can we learn from all of this?

In the first place, it is critical for each of us to have a rock, a chaver habitachon. We must always have a trusted soul or two who can always have our backs, who will not judge us, but to whom we can turn in our times of trial and need, and, that they will be there with us.

Those who can simply sit there with us in our fatigue or pain or grief or crankiness, and be the rock. Those who can simply accept us as we are in the moment, knowing that it will pass, but also knowing that it is important to be there, to be the rock. And in those most deeply painful moments we all go through, they are our rocks, those who choose not to be absent, but to be present; to accept, not to fix and not to ignore.

We all have fair weather friends, those who will be there when the times are happy and fun and good. We also need our rocks, those who are there no matter what. The quiet, strong presence who sits in the sand under the beating sun beside us, holding the umbrella for shade.

We need our rocks.

Second, there is a time when current leadership comes to an end, or at least takes a hiatus, and a younger generation must step up to the plate. Leaders need to know when to step aside and when to step up. This doesn’t necessarily mean it will be a permanent shift. Or maybe it will. So we must always ask, what can I do to help? Maybe it’s nothing, but asking that question is never wrong.

Sometimes, our silence and absence speak much louder than our words. We don’t presume to know the answer, to be able to fix the situation, but by asking how to help, we have stepped up to the plate and showed our willingness to be present. This always speaks volumes.

Third, the Great Assembly of Sages told us to “Be deliberate in judgement.” Why? Because there is no greater act of loving kindness. A contemporary author encourages us, “… to the extent that you can, err in the direction of kindness. Do those things that incline you toward the big questions, and avoid the things that would reduce you and make you trivial.” Let go of judgements, of expecting others to be there for us while not being there for them when they are in a rough spot. That reduces us, makes us smaller.

Err in the direction of kindness. Let the knowledge that you are doing kind acts be enough of reward. As Rabbi Zelig Pliskin encourages us, be kind unconditionally, without expectation of kindness returned. But be kind. That is being a rock. The greatest kindness is being there, with, beside, accepting and supporting, even if we can't fix or change things. In fact, presuming to know what someone needs often isn't as helpful as asking, "How can I support you during/through this time?" Erring in the direction of kindess is to be there, to be the rock.

In other words, have your rock(s), your chaver habitachon. And just is vital, BE a rock, a chaver habitachon.

We have a new week before us. How, this week, will you choose to be a rock? And what rocks do you have in your life upon whom you know you can rely without fail? And how will you, to the extent that you can, err in the direction of kindness?

If you have no rock in your life, why not? Are you being a rock? Are you finding ways to be there for others, or are you, like the people in the wilderness, expecting the other to always be there for you without you being their rock in turn?

Let us go forth this week and be rocks, chaver habitachon, for those around us. Let us remember to appreciate those who are our rocks, and to cultivate being that rock for others, too. Let us go forth this week and err in the direction of kindness.