Parshat Hukkat
The word hukka, or decree, is associated with the word hakikah, or engraving. The Torah is to be in our hearts like an engraving, etched into our very being — part of our very nature. Parshat Hukkat contains a rich array of rituals and key events in the life of Moshe (Moses) and our people in the wilderness years.
We have the mysterious ashes of the red heifer, a not easily rationalized ritual, from which our sages understood hukkim as laws often beyond our everyday understanding. We have Moses hitting the rock, costing him passage across the Jordan; Miriam and Aaron die after a lifetime of service to the birth of the people of Israel, no longer only the tribes. There are more murmurings amidst the populace just prior to an outbreak of poisonous snakes, at which time Moshe fashions a copper snake that helps as an antidote for faith and healing.
Yet, in the ever-unfolding cycle or spiral of a lifetime in which we engage and re-engage our sacred texts, it is the grand leap of 38 non-narrated years that takes place in this parshah that is often overlooked, given the powerful events in the parsha. It is into this silence of years that I invite you to join me in a creative imagining of what Moses might have privately thought as he and the Israelites arrived and encamped in the Jordan Valley.
I offer this in our tradition of midrash, that our sages and people have done for centuries, of seeking out interpretations and imaginations to explore not only the written black letters in the Torah, but also the white space between them:
“I am opening my diary for the first time in decades, now that we are finally closing in our lifelong dream, one which most of my generation will not have lived to see in our forty-two stops since leaving Mitzrayim forty years ago. Where have the years gone? Not a word written of the last thirty-eight, except in my heart’s silence, and in the knowing poignant look Joshua, Caleb and I exchange on occasion.
In the blink of an eye, the wilderness is no more. Fading memories of laying Miriam to rest, her sustaining waters ebbing away as our tears failed to fill in the drought that followed. Ah, bitter waters overcame me, Source of Life, and I struck the rock — consigning me to my generation’s attitudes and a lapse of faith. Years of pent-up feelings burst forth, shattering the sustaining utterance You had been for me these long desert years. Then in sight of all Israel, Aaron’s days ended as I took the garments off his aged torso and placed them on the shoulders of a new generation, which knew not Egypt.”
“And now I too hear You calling me to sing a final song — a song I will only sing once with the breath still in me. Yet, I feel strangely relieved. It is as if all the losses, and my own shattering, has brought peace to my heart. I have finally become a free man. At first, I only felt remorse and grief — I would not taste the milk and honey of which we had dreamed. But now, with the future in firmer hands, I can spend my remaining days pouring out my soul to you without concern for status or merit.
I now see how hard I made it for Your people by agreeing to their demand that only I talk to You on their behalf. For in that moment, the intimacy you and I shared, was no longer theirs as well. I awoke today on the Plains of Moab, Jericho before me. Though I will not see the other side of the Jordan, I am no longer a stranger in a strange land. I am home, in You, once again.”
What might your words be if you gave the gaps in your own life story, your own Jewish spiritual journey, a voice? What actions are important for you to take, not only ponder in relation to our world now that will help us all in our collective human journey toward the promise of a future that evades us now? What are the moments and events along the journey of your life that do not get mentioned or have been lost to time that may hold wisdom and meaning if you reflected on them or with curiosity asked others about them?
May we all find what is deeply engraved in our hearts that connects us to a meaningful, just, caring and inspiring life. May we double down to stay engaged and work for laws that free people from oppression and control of their bodies or limiting their lives due to fear of violent aggression and murderous weapons, race, religion, abilities or socioeconomic class. The hukkim (the engraved laws) we established after leaving Mitzrayim were to do exactly this. May all our actions and choices lessen the sadness for the life unlived and increasing the fulfillment and gratitude for the love, justice, and compassion we expressed and lived out in this one precious life.
Rabbi Shawn Israel Zevit is rabbi at Mishkan Shalom in Philadelphia. The Board of Rabbis of Greater Philadelphia is proud to provide diverse perspectives on Torah commentary for the Jewish Exponent. The opinions expressed in this column are the author’s own and do not reflect the view of the Board of Rabbis.