What does it mean to make oneself like a wilderness? Unlike private property, in the ownerless wilderness there are no walls and no gatekeepers. It is a place of uncertainty and expansiveness, of majesty and possibility. When we make ourselves like a wilderness, we open our hearts and minds to being changed by what we encounter.
BAMIDBAR
When I was a rabbinical student in New York, I would ride the subway from Morningside Heights down to Midtown to take improv classes. Each week, the class would begin with a group of strangers gathered in a circle in front of a blank wall.
Together we would commit to the most important commandment of improvisational comedy: “Yes! And …” Yes, we will accept the reality created by our scene partners, and we will expand on it.
Then, with a simple suggestion of a place or a household object, characters would be born and stories would unfold. As we listened to each other and co-created stories of middle-school cafeterias, missions to Mars and everything imaginable, a group of strangers became trusted teammates. We would leave each session with stomachs sore from laughter, renewed energy and memorable morsels of wisdom. I often think about a teaching given by my first improv instructor, Betsy Stover, who said, “Real listening is an openness to being changed by what you hear.”
This week in our Torah, we enter the Book of Bamidbar. We are in the wilderness, a space where anything can happen to a people in transition. We will move through a landscape of stories and laws, pushing toward the promised land, getting lost and found, banged up and built up along the way. We will taste manna and horde quail meat; we will witness miracles, plagues and rebellions. In the midbar, donkeys talk, water pours forth from rocks and the earth opens up and swallows people whole. In the desert, there are unexpected blossoms and blessings.
We begin to read Bamidbar on the eve of the festival of Shavuot, on which we celebrate the receiving of Torah. Our ancient rabbis ask why the Torah was given in the wilderness, of all places. In the midrash, they answer that God chose to give Israel the Torah in the wilderness because it is ownerless and, therefore, open to all. So, too, the Torah is intended as a gift for all people. The wilderness can also be a metaphor for the spiritual landscape of an individual. The Talmud teaches that in order to receive the gift of the Torah, a person should make oneself like a wilderness.
What does it mean to make oneself like a wilderness? Unlike private property, in the ownerless wilderness there are no walls and no gatekeepers. It is a place of uncertainty and expansiveness, of majesty and possibility. When we make ourselves like a wilderness, we open our hearts and minds to being changed by what we encounter.
It is no simple task to make room for change. From the stories of our ancestors, we learn that change, though exhilarating, can be an excruciating process. Over and over again in the desert Israel complains, longing for the leeks, cucumbers and melons of Egypt.
According to the commentator Rashi, only one-fifth of the Hebrew slaves leave Egypt; the rest stay behind. It is terrifying to leave what is familiar, even if it is oppressive, for a destination that is unknown. It takes a tremendous burst of courage to break out of old patterns, even if doing so will save our lives.
Once out of Egypt, our people need the time in the wilderness to figure out who we can be in the world, if not slaves to Pharaoh. With the backdrop of the wilderness of Sinai, its red crags and endless stretches of sand, we make space in our hearts to receive Torah.
The moment of the giving of Torah at Sinai is like a destination wedding in the wilderness. We enter into a covenant, a sacred relationship with the God who spoke us into being and carried us out of Egypt.
Each year on Shavuot, we renew our vows. With butterflies in our stomachs, we show up at the foot of the mountain ready to receive the Torah yet again, ready to listen with open hearts for fresh insights and new calls to action.
We say “Yes! And…” open to all that may unfold in this epic, ongoing scene between God, Israel and Torah. Listening in the wilderness, we are ready to be changed by the words of Torah. With Torah in our hearts, our mouths and our hands, we set out to transform our world.
Rabbi Annie Lewis is the assistant rabbi at Germantown Jewish Centre. The Board of Rabbis of Greater Philadelphia is proud to provide the Torah commentary for the Jewish Exponent.
