YOU CAN LIGHT YOUR OWN CANDLE

There was a teacher known for his constant preaching about the need to nurture children with warmth and love.

One time he noticed some children who were playing in the freshly laid concrete outside his newly renovated home, their little feet leaving lasting impressions. He became irritated and started chastising the children.

A congregant asked, "How can you, a person who devoted his entire life to teaching warmth to children, speak this way?"

The teacher replied:  "You must understand. I love children in the abstract, not the concrete."

In this week's Portion Chukat the Torah describes,

at last, the moment had arrived. For 40 years they had wandered together in a wilderness. Most of the older generation had already passed on. Even the beloved Miriam was no more. By now, the young nation of Israel was finally ready to enter the Promised Land, under the leadership of Moses. But an incident occurred that would transform the nation's destiny.

"The congregation had no water,"

"G-d spoke to Moses, saying, 'Take the staff and speak to the rock in their presence so that it will give forth its water.

"Moses took the staff from before the Lord as He had commanded him. Moses and Aaron assembled the congregation in front of the rock, and he said to them, 'Now listen, you rebels, can we draw water for you from this rock?'

"Moses raised his hand and struck the rock with his staff twice when an abundance of water gushed forth, and the congregation and their livestock drank.

"G-d said to Moses and Aaron, 'Since you did not have faith in Me, to sanctify Me in the eyes of the children of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this assembly to the Land which I have given them.'"

The questions abound. What exactly was Moses' and Aaron's sin? What did they do wrong? G-d instructed them to produce water from a rock and quench the thirst of the people. This they did. What were they being penalized for?

Forty years earlier, shortly after the Egyptian exodus, a similar incident occurred. But in that instance, G-d expressed His desire that Moses actually strikes the rock.

This episode might explain why 40 years later Moses was under the impression that striking the rock was not that bad. After all, G-d Himself commanded him once before to smite the rock in order to produce its waters.

But why did G-d indeed change His position? What is the reason that in the first incident G-d instructed Moses to strike the rock, while in the second incident He insisted exclusively on verbal communication?

The explanation to the above questions is as follows.

Striking a rock and talking to a rock represent two divergent models of influence. When I talk to you, instructing you to emit your water, my communication appreciates the fact that you need to listen to me. Talking is predicated on the fact that you may disagree with me, you may argue with me, and you may choose to disobey me.

 “Hitting the rock” represents a different model. It means there is no alternative, no room for another way. I won’t talk to him; I will strike him till he complies. There is no room for disagreement, for another way. This is how it is. Period.

It is now we can appreciate the subtle depth in our story. Moses struck the rock because for Moses Judaism is predicated on one model. This is absolute truth and there is no other way. For someone who spoke to G-d face to face, for the man who came closer than any other human being to touch the Divine, there was really no alternative.

For Moses, G-d is reality; reality is G-d. Torah and Mitzvot are as real as sunrise and sunset, in fact, more real.

But it is not where the people were—or what their destiny would be. Gone was the generation that saw G-d face to face at Sinai. Recall that at this point, 40 years after the Exodus, anyone who was twenty when Exodus happened had passed on. The majority of the nation consisted of children and grandchildren of the first generation who experienced Sinai. For them, Judaism was a “conversation;” it was discussed. There were pros and cons. The rock needed to be spoken to. And it may not listen. There were choices. There was autonomy.

It is a completely different experience—one based on the fact that G-d is concealed in our world, and there is a choice, and a struggle to discover Him. I need to speak to my own rock and to the rocks around me. It is an ongoing conversation. Sometimes my rock listens; sometimes it, well, acts like a rock. “And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries…”

Moses wanted to bequeath to his people that level of certainty and awareness that he himself had—that is why he struck the rock. He, the greatest shepherd of Israel, knew that G-d said “speak to the rock.” But he also remembered that 40 years earlier, He said to Moses “strike the rock.” Moses did not want to lower the bar. He did want to surrender to mediocrity. He wanted to believe that the people were still capable of that level of Divine sensitivity and wholesomeness.

But it was not the case. The new generation needed a different model. Moses was too “real” for them, to sublime, to in touch with the full truth of life.

Moses could not lower himself down to their state. It was simply not who he was. The next chapter of Jewish history would have been led by Joshua, not Moses.

Judaism would never look again at what it looked like during Moses' time. We would not be able to hit the rock again, only talk to it.

And yet, the perspective of Moses remains intact forever. Even as we struggle to find G-d in our lives, to see our world as a spiritual garden of G-d, we know that there is Moses, the “Moshe Rabanu,” for whom there are no questions, no doubts, no conflicts, no turning back. G-d plants in each generation a Moses, a true Rebbe, whose souls precedes the concealment that eclipses the Divine presence in the world. It is these people who give all of us the gift of insight, to always be able to remember who we really are and what our purpose is.

In our generation, the Rebbe was such a Moses. In his presence, there was no concealment. The Divinity of every Jew, the G-dliness of every moment, the holiness of every moment, the truth of Torah and Mitzvot were reality itself.

Yehuda Avner served as an advisor and speechwriter to Israeli Prime Ministers Menachem Begin, Yitzhak Rabin, Shimon Peres, Golda Meir, and Levi Eshkol, and as Israel’s Ambassador to Australia and the United Kingdom.

He came for a private audience with the Rebbe he writes in his book. The Rebbe and his deep blue eyes and with an encouraging smile, he said to me, "Let me tell you what I try to do. Imagine you're looking at a candle. What you are really seeing is a mere lump of wax with a thread down its middle. So when do the thread and wax become a candle? Or, in other words, when do they fulfill the purpose for which they were created? When you put a flame to the thread, then the candle becomes a candle."

As he was speaking, a rhythmic cadence crept into his voice in the manner of a Talmudist poring over his text, so that what he said next came out as a chant: "The wax is the body, and the wick the soul. Ignite the soul with the fire of the Torah and a person will then fulfill the purpose for which he or she was created. And that is what I try to do – to ignite the souls of our people with the fire of Torah."

A buzzer had been sounding periodical, indicating that others were awaiting their audience. So I rose and took my leave, pausing at the door to ask, "My candle – has the Rebbe lit it?"

"No," he said, clasping my hand. "I have given you the match. Only you can light your candle."

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky