Beha’alotcha
Numbers 8:1–12:16
Zechariah 2:14-4:7`
I didn’t originally want to be a rabbi. I had lots of other ideas and dreams, as well as a few summer and part-time jobs along the way through years of schooling. My favorites were years spent working in a supermarket through high school, and summers spent running a kitchen and cooking for a thousand people daily at a JCC day camp. Yes, I do enjoy being around food, and the presence of a walk-in fridge is always welcome on a summer afternoon. (My childhood dream job was that of a Jedi Knight, but it
wasn’t available. While meditative and allowing one to carry a light saber, it also requires potentially lethal dueling with Sith Lords every few years when a new movie comes out.)
But there was a deeper gratification in those occupations as well: the joy of finishing a day of working with my hands and going home knowing there was nothing more I could do. I couldn’t cook the next day’s food from home any more than I could organize the supermarket shelves while sitting in my living room. All these years later, it is this satisfaction that explained to me a puzzling question I ran across in my current Torah endeavors.
There are two groups that express concern and worry in this week’s Torah portion. The first is the Kohanim (priests) represented by Aharon the High Priest.
According to the Midrash cited by Rashi at the opening of Beha’alotcha, Aharon and his compatriots feel left out and worried after the dedication ceremonies described in last week’s parshah.
Each tribe brought gifts to the Temple and was included in the process, with the exception of their tribe of Levi. They wondered anxiously if they were being overlooked on purpose. Had they done something wrong? Were they perhaps being excluded due to some past transgression, such as Aharon’s role in the debacle of the golden calf?
To help soothe their fears, HaShem directed them right away to a special role just for them: tending to the lighting of the Temple menorah.
The second concerned group is the so-called “mixed multitude,” or “asafsuf” in Hebrew. The Asafsuf traditionally are identified as a group of tag-alongs who followed the Jews out of Egypt: slaves of other nationalities, Egyptians jumping ship from a crumbling empire, people looking for something new who figured the Jews had the freshest ideas in the ancient Near East and others.
The Asafsuf are worried about the availability of food in the desert and complain that all they eat is manna. Could other food be made available? The response they receive is angry and dripping with disdain.
Yet isn’t this a reasonable concern? Most people in the desert for a prolonged period would be concerned about what food is available, and it is only natural to desire a bit of variety! Why do the Asafsuf get a harsh response when Aharon is treated gently despite the gravity of his past errors?
A traditional insight into the concepts of worry and faith may prove useful here. In his book titled “Emunah U’Bitachon,” the Chazon Ish writes that Jewish faith does not mean that whatever HaShem does will be what we want, but rather that ultimately it will be good for us. Wishing for and worrying about specific outcomes miss the point. Instead of trying to get things to go a certain specific way, our job is to be concerned with whether we are playing our role in things as well as we can.
Addressing our question, this may distinguish between Aharon and the Asafsuf. Aharon worried whether he would be granted the privilege of a role to play and wanted to do what he could, while the Asafsuf worried about the available menu. He seeks to contribute as best he can, and they worry about getting what they want.
That was indeed the great personal peace I found when I worked in food service. I knew my role and what I had to do, and after that was done that was it. Worrying about specific outcomes or trying to change things by pondering them endlessly at night served no purpose; then as now, I simply had to get up the next day and do the best that I could with what was in front of me.
Rabbi Judah Dardik is the spiritual leader at Orthodox Beth Jacob in Oakland. He can be reached at [email protected].