‫פרשת חוקת‬
Parshas Chukas is one of transition. Abruptly, and without warning, the Torah jumps
from the second year of the Midbar to the final, 40th year. It is worthwhile to note
where, exactly, that leap takes place. Why does the Torah choose to place Parah
Aduma, the opening section of our Parsha as that subject which will juxtapose the
events of the last year in the Midbar?
Of course, Chazal view this subject from another angle. They ask why Misas Miryam,
the first subject after skipping the intervening years, place next to Parah Aduma.
Rashi brings their answer in Posuk 20/1. Our concern is somewhat different. We
want to know the particular valence of these two subjects, Parah Aduma and
Miryam’s death, respectively, as the closing of one epoch and the beginning of
another.
Before we approach these questions we must think about the “ideal” content of the
opening of a section and the “ideal” content of a section’s conclusion. Seemingly, the
end of a “story” should bring it to the highpoint. If the goal is to be inspirational, then
only a positive climax will do. The beginning of a new episode can begin at a low
point, if the goal is to slowly build up to accomplishment.
The fortieth year in the desert was marked by death on the individual level. First
Miryam HaN’viah, then Aharon HaKohen HaGadol, and then the Torah concludes
with the irreparable loss of Moshe Rabbenu ‘Alav HaShalom. These great leaders
leave B’nei Yisroel; there is a sense of loss and abandonment. Who will be Hashem’s
messengers to pass on Torah to them and to future generations?
On the other hand, the fortieth year was one of reprieve. For almost four complete
decades, 600,000 men dug their own graves on the Ninth of Av, lay down in then, and
on the morrow 15,000 did not arise. In the fortieth year, on the ninth of Av, 8 days
following the death of Aharon HaKohen who was to be M’chaper, the remaining
15,000 men dug their graves and knew with complete certainty that they could no
longer escape their fate. No longer would they think perhaps the neighbor would be
chosen; only they were left to suffer a most certain fate. And, as the Gemara at the end
of Masseches Ta’anis tells us, these survivors of Dor Yotzei Mitzrayim woke up the
next day to find themselves fully alive
What was the mind-set of our ancestors immediately before the partial Hester Panim?
Did they have an idea of what would occur, of the limited contact that they would
find? If we assume that they did not know what to expect, then the mitzvos of Parah
Adumah come to foreshadow that was to happen. The laws of Tum’as Meis state
clearly not to take anything for granted. One can be alive now, in full contact with
Ribbono Shel ‘Olam, with all the options available, and in the next moment be bereft
of all the opportunities of ‘Olam Hazeh. The tum’a that indicates the severance of the
tie to the Source of all life served as a clear message, to those who would attend, that
there is no guarantee for continuity. When such a message is received well, its impact
can be great. Were our ancestors to have plumbed the depths of the meaning of the
Parah Aduma and its attendant implications, perhaps they could have avoided the next
point in history.
The fortieth year then comes about. So many of those who now form B’nei Yisrael
were born and reached maturity after the partial Hester Panim began that they are not
aware of what they are missing. How will they realize that the gift that is given to
them with the restoration of full contact with Hashem is tentative, that the relationship
is dependent upon their being deserving of it? At the outset of the resumption of the
full level of communication, Miryam, Miryam HaN’viah, is nifteres. A Navi, a
mouthpiece of Hashem Yisborach, is removed at the very time when a greater
measure of Ruach HaKodesh is reinstated. What more impressive of a message could
be presented!
However, such a powerful statement upon the onset of the re-instatement of
communication could be very overwhelming. Its impact is increased when followed
by the death of Aharon. There needs to a message of optimism. If the n’vi’im leave
this world, what hope can there be for the common man? The answer comes quite
soon. Fifteen thousand of the common man are spared. The g’zeira is removed and a
reprieve given for no apparent reason. Why were these fifteen thousand different
from the 585,000 who preceded them in death? We do not know that answer, we can
only say that when they rose from the grave the sense of relief, the sense of alleviation
was immeasurable and that the sense of Hashem’s mercy was indelibly etched into the
national psyche.
Life forms a great puzzle. We cannot know what will be tomorrow. Thus Chazal tell
us, “Shuv yom echad lifnei misos’cha," for that day of finality can never be known.
Hashem, in His infinite mercy, brings that knowledge to us with great clarity. As
usual, the question is, “Are we listening?”
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi Pollock