The Dangers of Interpretation: Shlach L'cha 5771

There is an ancient Chinese folktale which unfolds as follows:

There once was a man Sei Weng who owned a beautiful mare. She was the pride of his farm and all his neighbors considered her to be the finest horse in all of China. One day, the mare ran away, and people came from near and far to consol Sei Weng. When they comforted him, he responded simply by saying: That’s how it was meant to be.

A few days later the lost mare returned, this time bringing with her two beautiful wild stallions, each as magnificent as she. When his neighbors came to congratulate him on his good fortune, Sei Weng simply said: That’s how it was meant to be.

Some time later Sei Weng’s only son was riding one of these wild horses when he was thrown, breaking his leg and crippling him for life. His friends came to offer their deepest regrets but Sei Weng simply said: That’s how it was meant to be.

Soon thereafter a war broke out in the region and all the able-bodied men were drafted into battle where they all perished, except for Sei Weng’s son. What good luck to still have your son, they said, but Sei Weng simply replied: That’s how it was meant to be.
Clearly the message of the story is that life is filled with its ups and downs, its blessings and its curses; and we should not be so quick as to fancy ourselves as interpreters. The truth is that things which might be for good, we sometimes perceived as malicious; while things that are ultimately for bad can look to us as if they are heaven sent. Therefore, the wise Chinese farmer was right – rather than jump to conclusions, instead of trying to interpret the inscrutable signs of life, perhaps it is better to faithfully wait and see.

Such is the unfortunate case in this morning’s Torah portion, Parashat Sh’lach L’cha. The famous story tells the tale of Moses sending 12 spies, a chieftain from each tribe, to scout out the land of Cannaan,

וּרְאִיתֶם אֶת-הָאָרֶץ מַה-הִוא, וְאֶת-הָעָם הַיֹּשֵׁב עָלֶיהָ הֶֽחָזָק הוּא הֲרָפֶה, הַֽמְעַט הוּא אִם-רָֽב:

“See what kind of country it is; are the people who dwell in it strong or weak, few or many?”

The results of their journey are well documented. They scouted up and down the land for forty days and for forty nights. They reached the wadi of Eshkol where they cut down a single cluster of grapes so large that two of them had to carry it on a frame. Surely they exclaimed, this is indeed a land flowing with milk and date honey. But they also saw some scary things along the way. They witnessed that the land possessed Anakites, giants, b’nei n’filim, super-human creatures, and Amalakites as well, the dreaded enemy of the Israelites. Surely, they claimed:

הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר עָבַרְנוּ בָהּ לָתוּר אֹתָהּ, אֶרֶץ אֹכֶלֶת יֽוֹשְׁבֶיהָ הִוא
“The country that we traversed and scouted is surely one that devours its inhabitants.”

Of the twelve spies, only two, Yehoshua ben Nun and Kalev ben Yefuneh gave positive reports, proclaiming the land to be Tovah Me’od, exceedingly good, and that not only does it flow with milk and date honey, but the Lord will surely bring us into that land, so have no fear. Aloh Na’aleh, ‘Let us by all means go up.’

What is most interesting about these two divergent reports of the land is not how they differ, but what they share in common. Both reports represent the land to be abundant in both produce and settlers. There can be no doubt, especially with regard to the grapes, that this land is overflowing with resources and in this sense it is surely a land in which the Israelites can dwell and thrive. This is indeed an Eretz Zavat Halav u’D’vash, a land of flowing milk and honey; and so the differing reports reflect not a discrepancy of fact, but rather of opinion.

In one of my favorite midrashim, the rabbis seek to explain how it is that the ten spies would come back with such a negative report – especially in their calling the land an Eretz Ochelet Yosh’veha, a land which devours her inhabitants! In Masechet Sota (35a) Rava explains that God said; I was only trying to help, but they interpreted My help as an evil! I thought that while they were touring about the land I would cause the death of one of the most important natives. This way, all of the people living in the land would busy themselves with preparing for the funeral, and no one would have time to ask around about these twelve spies. Rashi, basing himself on this midrash, explains that everywhere the spies went throughout the land, they discovered groups of people who were going out to bury the dead – hordes and hordes of people in mourning. And so it should come as no surprise that some in the group would have jumped to the unfortunate conclusion that it was a vicious land, one which devoured its inhabitants; after all, the desire to interpret the signs we see in life- is only natural.

The sin of the spies therefore, was not in lying. In fact, they told the truth! They saw a land flowing with milk and honey – and they saw giants there. And according to the midrash, they used there eyes, they toured out the land, they saw the formidable signs and they made a conclusion – surely this is a land which devours its inhabitants. No, the sin of the spies was not in lying, it was in eliminating the possibility that something good could come from all this; it was the sin of misinterpretation, the sin of being slaves to their limited perception.

This tendency for human beings to misinterpret God’s ways is certainly not exclusive to the ancient world; it is alive and well in our time as well. I am reminded of something I once heard Rabbi Brad Artson, the Dean of the Zeigler Rabbinical School at the American Jewish University in Los Angeles, say. He explained that when he was a rabbinical student at the Jewish Theological Seminary he was always in awe of, and perhaps even jealous of, those students who came from rabbinic pedigree. What an advantage he thought, to have grown up in a home filled with Torah; think of all the knowledge he lost out on, not having studied Torah with his father each shabbas. Therefore, he resolved, if I have children of my own, I will study Torah with them, I will give them what I never had. Well, Rabbi Artson and his wife were blessed with children, twins in fact; a girl and a boy. But things were not exactly as he had planned. His daughter, he explained was a ba’alat hen, a true master of mercy and righteousness, quick to extend a helping hand to any and all who needed; but when it came to studying Torah, it just wasn’t her thing. And as for his son, well his son was born with a severe form of autism, seriously limiting his ability to speak. So, Rabbi Artson, with gratitude, and with a tinge of disappointment said to God, ‘ok, God, I made a prayer, and I guess that your answer is a ‘no.’’

That is until his son Jacob was about to become a bar mitzvah, when he communicated his desire that he wanted to study the writings of Abraham Joshua Heschel with his father, and learn the parasha together as well. So each Shabbas, Rabbi Artson and his son Jacob sit down to study Torah together; And though Jacob cannot speak, he writes, he communicates, and he dreams of being a writer and a teacher of Torah. Rabbi Artson, in his profound wisdom and honesty, when retelling this story added one more personal detail: an apology that he made to God. ‘God,’ he said, ‘I am so sorry; I misinterpreted Your yes, as a no; just because it wasn’t the yes I had imagined in my dreams.’

Rabbi Artson’s story is one we all can relate to. Life is a complicated series of signs and portents, wishes and dreams, prayers and petitions. Often we are blessed, and just as often we are not. We may feel that our prayers have not been answered, and perhaps they were not. We may interpret life’s twists and turns as hurdles and obstacles preventing us from an easy life, and perhaps they are. But there exists another possibility as well. That within the light dwells the darkness and within the darkness dwells the light. That God’s world is beyond our understanding, our conception and certainly our interpretations.
As the Psalmist says in his Song for Shabbat:
Ma Gad’lu Ma’asecha Adonai, Me’od Am’ku Makhshevotecha!
How great are Your works Adonai; how unfathomable are Your thoughts!
Ish Baar Lo Yedah, u’Chsil lo yavin et zoat,’
The thoughtless cannot comprehend; the foolish cannot understand this.

How many times in our lives have we heard, and indeed mourned over a ‘no’, only to discover it was in fact a ‘yes.’ How many times have we interpreted by means of the immediacy of our eyes instead by means of the discernment of our souls? How often have we acted like the ten, enslaving ourselves to first perceptions and eliminating even the possibility of the good?

And so instead let us learn a lesson from the story of the spies – a lesson about the inherent danger of interpretation. Let us look for the good that lies just beneath the surface, for the light which lives within the darkness

And when life gives us a sign, let us act not like the ten, but like the two: Caleb and Joshua, and find the faith within ourselves to utter the words:
Aloh Na’aleh, ‘Let us by all means go up.’