Bearing a grudge
Parshat Pinhas
This week’s portion (Numbers 25:10 - 30:1) opens with the records of a census carried out some 39 years after the census enumerated in chapter one of the Book of Numbers.
The intervening years between the Exodus from Egypt and the arrival at the borders of the Promised Land have witnessed the transition of the generations. Those who left Egypt, except for Moses, Joshua, and Caleb, have died on the way; the new census reflects the clan contingents of those who were born and raised in the wilderness wanderings.
Aside from the statistical anomalies found in comparing the two tallies, there is a small but significant discrepancy between them. The census in Numbers, chapter one, records with uninterrupted bureaucratic precision the tribal totals. But the census in this week’s portion interrupts itself for the occasional parenthetical observation. What is of interest is where the Torah chooses to interrupt itself, and what it takes time to report.
The opening of the census, Numbers 26:1-8, proceeds as in chapter one; but at verses nine and 10, we are informed that “the sons of Eliab were Nemuel and Dathan and Abiram. These are the same Dathan and Abiram, chosen in the assembly, who agitated against Moses and Aaron as part of Korah’s band when they agitated against the Lord. Whereupon the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up with Korah...and they became an example.”
This event is recounted in Numbers chapter 16. The remembrance here reflects the persistence of problematic behavior in the life of a community, even generations after the protagonists have died.
When a member of a community commits an act of disgrace, dissonance, or destruction, the repercussions reverberate. Dathan and Abiram will forever be associated with the rebellion against Moses, Aaron, and God; whatever they may have accomplished prior to their defection to Korah goes unremembered.
By breaking off the census to remind us of this treachery, the Torah teaches us how important it is to guard our behavior as a guarantee against the legacy with which our name will be associated. How easy it is for one negative act to overtake a lifetime of accomplishment.
Jewish tradition holds that the highest honor to which one can aspire is the Keter Shem Tov, the Crown of a Good Name. When we die, what remains is our name, called forth in memory and we hope in honor. What we want is for our name to evoke respect and recognition, not disgrace and dishonor. Dathan and Abiram suffer the ignominious fate of those who disrupt the very core of a community: they are remembered for evil.
Yet there is another side to the census narrative. The persistence with which the Torah recapitulates the rebellion of Korah and his associates reflects the inability of certain communities, or members within a community, to let go of the grudges and resentments that simmer long after the precipitating event has ended. While it is never necessary to abandon totally the memories of difficult times in the life of a community, there also often comes a time when the matter is best put to rest.
Regrettably, despite best efforts and intentions, it is not always possible for a community to abandon earlier conflicts. In its most destructive form, this plays out when contemporary issues are debated and decided on the basis of prior resentments. Committee or board members vote for or against other members, clergy or staff, rather than for or against the issues under discussion.
How do we know when to let go of conflicts, and when to retain their memory? Some negative events remain vital to the life of a community, establishing and supporting what sort of behavior is regarded as unacceptable. The rebellion of Dathan and Abiram appears to be such a conflict: in its subversive design, it sought to undermine the entire structure of the community, rather than to advance an alternative policy.
Other retired conflicts serve no purpose except to deflect attention from the challenges of the present and the needs of the future. The energy spent nurturing a grudge and keeping it in front of the community is energy that is unavailable for creative and constructive work.
The ancient Israelite census, far from being a mere reckoning, thus takes on a new significance: as the Torah literally suggests, what we do “counts.”
Comment | | |
All rights reserved