Chukat and July 4th: American Independence and Moses’ Mysterious Mistake

Rabbi Daniel Z. Feldman

Just what exactly did Moses do that was so, irreparably, wrong? Commentators have struggled for centuries to identify the unforgivable mistake that Moses commits in this week's Torah reading, which seals his fate and blocks his entry into the land of Israel. According to Rashi (Num. 20:12), his choosing to hit the rock rather than speak to it was the crucial error; Nachmanides, however, argues on this. If the concern is, as the verse indicates, that an opportunity to impress the people with a miraculous display was lost, it is no more natural for a rock to produce water when being struck than it is when being spoken to. What, then, was so different about the path that he took?

A further question revolves around the apparently unforgivable nature of Moses' action. The Torah later will tell us again about Moses' repeated entreaties to have his fate reversed, and to be allowed entry into the lands. And yet it is all to no avail. Not only was this devastating for him, it is discouraging for us; we read about this again (Deut. 32:48-52), right before Yom Kippur, a time when belief in the power of repentance is crucial and axiomatic. And yet we enter into those days with a message of apparent futility in undoing a divine decree, and hopelessness in an effort to change the consequences of a mistake. 

The ambiguity in the text as to the precise nature of Moses’ offense has led to a multiplicity of suggestions in the commentaries, which in turn has heaped much more guilt on Moses than he deserves; in the words of Shadal, he “committed one sin but the commentators piled upon him thirteen sins and more, as each invented a new sin”. And yet, Moses, who bore so much for the Jewish people, is doing so once again; he is serving as the tableau for the “seventy faces of the Torah”, which allows for multiple messages to emerge from a single source.

To address first the irrevocability of the decree upon Moses, some suggest that it reflects the fact that it was actually not a punishment, which should have been responsive to repentance.  Rather, it cemented the reality that Moses was not the leader who met that moment in time. (See Rabbi Jacob J. Schachter, Mitokh HaHa-Ohel, I, pp. 477-482, for a fascinating suggestion along these lines, and for a detailed discussion of this topic.)

Perhaps there is room for yet one more interpretation in that vein. If indeed it is to be understood that the consequence for Moses was not a punishment but rather a reflection of his incapability for the role of leader of the next phase, this can inform our understanding of what went wrong at that moment.

This point in time was a transition from a state of slavery in Egypt to a state of independence and freedom in the Land of Israel, with a transitional phase in between of overt miraculous divine protection in the desert. The crucial difference between slavery and freedom is that of personal agency. The slave has no control over his choices; he can only carry out his master's will, and should he hesitate or refuse to do so, his master will coerce him physically, perhaps by striking him. In fact, Moses's first entry into the lives of the Jewish people was his intervention when one such master was striking a Jewish slave.

In contrast, a free person has agency and free will to make his own choices. In the Torah’s vision, this does not mean simply so that he can do whatever he wants; it is so that he can choose to partake in a meaningful mission and thus acquire a genuine stake in it.

Perhaps this is what is symbolized by the rock being “spoken to” rather than struck. A slave is struck; a participant in a free society is spoken to and encouraged to see the value in taking up the mission.

There is no contradiction between this freedom and the notion of commandment. The Torah tells us explicitly that the Jews were granted freedom from their slavery in Egypt, and that was so they could become “servants” to God (Lev. 25:55). Free will is axiomatic and coexists with the obligation to choose to carry out God's will. The servitude to God carries with it, as the Rabbis teach, a prohibition of human servitude that could inhibit the first type (Bava Metzia 10a, and elsewhere). The symbolism of human bondage, the act of striking, undermined the entire message so crucial to this stage of Jewish existence.

As we celebrate this weekend the anniversary of American independence, this message resonates especially powerfully. When we read of Moses saying “shimu na ha-morim (Num. 20:10)” “listen, you rebels”, we may conjure up an image, le-havdil, of King George attempting to quell rebels of the American kind.

The initial reaction to that statement may be that the “le-havdil” (a phrase used to deter comparisons of equivalence) is well placed. Surely, the freedom from Egypt and the freedom declared on July 4, 1776 are wholly distinct; the first is to enable the unfettered service to God, and the latter, “the pursuit of happiness”. However, there is more in common between them than it may seem.

Democracy in the aspiration of America’s founders recognizes the boundless potential of the individual, who therefore must be unbound by oppressive forces and allowed to choose his own path, and be protected in doing so. This definition was advocated by Abraham Lincoln, who noted before debating Stephen Douglas, “Just as I would not be a slave, so I would not be a master. This expresses my idea of democracy. Whatever differs from this, to the extent of the difference, is no democracy.”

As Allen C. Guelzo emphasizes in his book, Our Ancient Faith, this is a surprising definition, making no mention of elections or majorities. In fact, however, Lincoln identified the core value, relegating voting to its appropriate place as the tool to protect the voice of the individual, rather than the end itself.

Lincoln understood the Declaration of Independence’s attributing government’s “just powers” to the consent of the governed as a moral value, “that no man is good enough to govern another … without … consent …the leading principle … of American republicanism.”

This principle, dating back to the founders, reflected more than libertarianism; it displayed belief that humanity was capable of greatness and must not be inhibited in that goal. That phrase “the pursuit of happiness” is often understood as following one’s desires. However, as Jeffrey Rosen displays in his book of that title, the phrase predates its appearance in the Declaration of Independence, and has a different meaning. 

As Rosen explains, happiness was defined by writers who influenced Thomas Jefferson as “being good, rather than feeling good…  the founders viewed the pursuit of happiness as a lifelong quest for character improvement, … so that we can be our best selves and serve others.”

As this July 4th weekend converges with the reading of Moses’ mistake, we can recognize the enormous blessing of a nation that is, in the words of R. Moshe Feinstein, a ‘kingdom of kindness”, and that provides a context for another nation that carries God’s message to pursue their full potential in His service, protected at the moment of its founding from forces that restrict and restrain that potential. As both the founding fathers and the missed moment at Merivah sought to teach us, it is now up to us to choose wisely.