The Importance of Appreciation
A thought for Parashas Chukas
In Parashas Chukas, we read of the passing of two beloved leaders of the Jewish people, Miriam and Aharon. Both served as parent figures, guiding the Jews during their travels and travails through the midbar. Their deaths marked a period of vulnerability for the people.
We learn about Miriam’s death first. “The Bnei Yisrael arrived at the wilderness of Zin… Miriam died there and was buried there.” And then, immediately, “The community was without water.”1
As long as Miriam was alive, she was a source of water and a source of life as her well provided essential water. With her passing, the well dried up, leaving the people vulnerable and threatened by thirst.
The Torah notes Miriam's death with a peculiar redundancy: "She died there and was buried there." This contrasts with the deaths of her brothers, Moshe and Aharon, which were shrouded in mystery, and it was presumably harder to accept, as we will see later. Miriam’s death was witnessed and her burial known.
Immediately after her death, the Torah describes the Mei Merivah incident. Without Miriam, her well ceased to exist, and there was no water. Moshe, in distress, turned to Hashem, who instructed him to speak to a rock to bring forth water. However, Moshe struck the rock instead which lead to unnecessary drama.
Rabbi Sacks writes:2
Moses lost control because his sister Miriam had just died. He was in mourning for his eldest sibling. It is hard to lose a parent, but in some ways it is even harder to lose a brother or sister. They are your generation. You feel the Angel of Death come suddenly close. You face your own mortality.
Miriam was more than a sister to Moses. She was the one, while still a child, to follow the course of the wicker basket holding her baby brother as it drifted down the Nile. She had the courage and ingenuity to approach Pharaoh’s daughter and suggest that she employ a Hebrew nurse for the child, thus ensuring that Moses would grow up knowing his family, his people, and his identity.
Moses surely knew what he owed his elder sister. According to the Midrash, without her he would not have been born. According to the plain sense of the text, he would not have grown up knowing who his true parents were and to which people he belonged. Though they had been separated during his years of exile in Midian, once he returned, Miriam had accompanied him throughout his mission.
So it was not simply the Israelites’ demand for water that led Moses to lose control of his emotions, but rather his own deep grief. The Israelites may have lost their water, but Moses had lost his sister, who had watched over him as a child, guided his development, supported him throughout the years, and helped him carry the burden of leadership in her role as leader of the women.
Bereavement leaves us deeply vulnerable. In the midst of loss we can find it hard to control our emotions. We make mistakes. We act rashly. We suffer from a momentary lack of judgement. These are common symptoms even for ordinary humans like us. In Moses’ case, however, there was an additional factor. He was a prophet, and grief can occlude or eclipse the prophetic spirit.
Moses, the greatest of all the prophets, remained in touch with God. It was God, after all, who told him to “speak to the rock.” But somehow the message did not penetrate his consciousness fully. That was the effect of grief.The story of the moment Moses lost his confidence and calm is ultimately less about leadership and crisis, or about a staff and a rock, than about a great Jewish woman, Miriam, appreciated fully only when she was no longer there.
Soon after, Aharon also died. Unlike Miriam, Aharon’s death was less direct and more sudden, leaving the people in shock without the opportunity for closure. This lack of closure resulted in greater mourning for Aharon compared to Miriam and even Moshe.
Why is this so? Rav Zalman Sorotzkin explains that with Miriam, people were aware that she was going to die. They saw her die and they saw where she was buried. There was emotional closure.
When Aharon died, there was a tremendous shock. One day he was here, the next day he was gone. There was no opportunity to share any last thoughts. He went up the mountain with his brother and son. Then the two of them came back and announced "Aharon is dead." There was no opportunity to close things off and say goodbye.
Rabbi Frand explains:
“Miriam was an old woman who lived an illustrious life. People knew she died. They knew where she was buried. Spiritual people realize the great tragedy in the death of any righteous person, and from that perspective Miriam's death was certainly worthy of great mourning. But for the average person, there was closure and consequently there was no great outpouring of emotion from the masses upon the death of Miriam.”
After Aharon’s death and the subsequent mourning period, the Canaanite king of Arad engaged Bnei Yisrael in battle, capturing some of them. The relative peace and security on the Bnei Yisrael was shattered. War and that worst of fates, captivity, reared their ugly heads. It seems that it is more than mere psychological reality that with the passing of its leaders, a nation faces calamity.
Rav Pinchas Halevi Horowitz, better known for his Sefer Hafla’ah, whose yartzheit we marked this past week, was the teacher of the Chasam Sofer. He writes in his sefer Panim Yafos that the other side of the sandwich of the death of Miriam is the mitzvah of Para Aduma. He quotes the Gemara that this juxtaposition teaches us that just as the Para Aduma brings a kapara, so too the death of a tzaddik.3 However, he asks, if this is so, why is the death of Miriam mentioned here and not in Sefer Vayikra, where the korbanos are discussed? Furthermore, the korbanos of Vayikra are for a kapara, and the Para Aduma was not even for a kapara?
The Haflaa’h explains that it is not just the death of a tzaddik which brings a kapara, but it is also their life.
The Para Adumah purifies the impure and makes the pure impure. In the same way, the death of a righteous person brings a kapara to the masses, yet it is a loss for those who followed and benefited from their holiness. The righteous person protects the generation. Because of them, blessings come to everyone. The Gemara says "The entire world is sustained because of my son, Chanina." The Tiferes Shlomo4 teaches that every single tzaddik or admirable person sustains the world in a different part or way.
The Hafla’ah explains that while alive, the righteous person brings great light and holiness to all who strive to be pure and seek their guidance. So, even though the death of a righteous person atones for the generation and can save many wicked people from death, this is good for the wicked. However, it is a great loss for the good people of the generation because the amount of holiness and blessings decreases.
This is why the death of Miriam is placed next to the Para Aduma in the parashah, to teach us that just as the Para Aduma purifies the impure and makes the pure impure, the death of the tzaddik atones for many, but is a loss for the righteous followers.
Perhaps this is why we read the story of Yiftach in the Haftara. Yiftach was not a Torah scholar, he was the son of a concubine who had been evicted from his brother’s house and became the ancient equivalent of a gang leader. He is generally considered the least learned and significant of the Shoftim. However, when the Gemara5 wants to teach the principle that we are obligated to follow the leadership of our time, even when the leaders aren’t as great as in previous generations, it says: “Yiftach [the least] in his generation is like Shmuel [the greatest] in his generation.” Yiftach too contributed to the sustenance of this world.
We tend to appreciate our great ones more once they have passed on from this world. Perhaps the message of the parashah is to show and feel appreciative of our leaders while they are still here.
In the past year, we have seen firsthand the deaths of countless Chayalim, not to mention ordinary citizens. At their levayot, we hear how wonderful and special these people were, just as we should be hearing. However, perhaps we need to hear about this before we lose them.
Reach out to a mentor or even someone you simply admire and thank them for being them, for their presence and influence. Thank Hashem for bringing this person into your life.
When they ultimately pass on, realize that we are all vulnerable and all at risk of losing our calm. However the comfort is that the death of a tzaddik, an admirable person, indeed brings a kapara for the entire generation.
When we reflect and appreciate what others bring to our world, we are then able to continue bringing that beauty to the world thus bringing the kapara, filling the gap that was lost.
Rabbi Sacks writes:
“The beauty of Jewish spirituality is precisely that in Judaism, God is close. You don’t need to climb a mountain or enter an ashram to find the Divine Presence. It is there around the table at a Shabbat meal, in the light of the candles, and the simple holiness of the Kiddush wine, and the challot, in the praise of the Eishet Hayil, and the blessing of children, in the peace of mind that comes when you leave the world to look after itself for a day while you celebrate the good things that come not from working but resting, not from buying but enjoying, the gifts you have had all along but did not have time to appreciate.”6
In appreciating the kedusha and guidance that those we admire bring into our lives, we ensure that their legacy of holiness and inspiration continues.
Reflecting on their contributions allows us to bring more light into the world, fostering a sense of gratitude and continuity.
May we merit to be truly appreciative of everyone and thus bring about a complete kapara for the world, to its ultimate tikkun.
Bamidbar 20:1-2
Moed Katan 28a
Chukas
Rosh Hashana 25
Studies in Spirituality p. 281