Parashat Chukat 5785

As a child, I had a lot of fears. The dark terrified me, and I would need ample nightlights, even traveling with them to a sleepover at a friend’s house. Bees sent me into a frenzy, even without being allergic and without ever having been stung, because of the pain I saw it caused others. Tornados–growing up in the Midwest–were a real threat, as many Spring and Summer days were spent in the basement with my family making art and listening to music as the storm passed. 

But, my biggest fear was fire. I believe it started with the mandatory–and completely inappropriate for children–videos we were shown in school about the risks of fire. Images of destroyed homes, of burnt skin, of family’s wailing over their losses–all due to a single cigarette or candle left unattended, have stayed with me to this day. My family would frequent a Greek restaurant in Minneapolis for birthdays and celebrations, and they had a famous appetizer that was a slab of cheese set completely aflame. I did not take this well. As demonstrated by my six year old body bolting out of the restaurant and onto the street, I would have way rather braved the cold Minnesota night alone than be in the room with the platter of flaming cheese.

I remember seeing a school counselor about my fears, and their main tactic involved a clipboard, pen, and a checklist. The checklist was a list of common fears in children: the dark, spiders, being alone, etc), and each week I was supposed to check off what I was still afraid of. I remember even at such a young age, internally rolling my eyes at this technique, because it didn’t seem to be going anywhere. But, now, I can see that the purpose was to normalize the fears, put me face to face with them (at least in my imagination) and hopefully demonstrate progress.

This week’s Parsha is so packed with notable moments–the laws of the Red Heifer, the death of Miriam, Moshe striking the stone (perhaps out of his grief) and then being told he will not enter the promised land, and the death of Moshe’s other sibling, Aaron. And then there is the often overlooked plague of serpents. 

In their typical fashion, the very Jewish Israelites are once again complaining about food. Perhaps connected to their overwhelming grief about Aaron’s death, they are once again unsatisfied and fixating on something they can (or feel they should be able to) control: food. The text said they grew “וַתִּקְצַ֥ר נֶֽפֶשׁ” short of soul or short tempered, and started in again with their usual complaint,

“Why did you make us leave Egypt to die in the wilderness? There is no bread and no water, and we have come to loathe this miserable food.” i.e. Manna.

Without even a pause, God sends nechashim seraphim, burning serpents to attack the people, and many of the Israelites perish. The people beg Moshe to intercede (it’s interesting that he doesn’t do so of his own desire, perhaps he too is fed up with these people), and God stops the serpents and instructs the people to

וַיַּ֤עַשׂ מֹשֶׁה֙ נְחַ֣שׁ נְחֹ֔שֶׁת

“Make a seraph (burning) figure and mount it on a standard. And anyone who was bitten who then looks at it shall recover.”

“Moses made a copper serpent and mounted it on a standard; and when bitten by a serpent, anyone who looked at the copper serpent would recover.”

There are so many questions that might arise from this story. Some of them include:

Why is Moshe being asked to make what the Advanced Talmud participants know very well is at the very least edging on being an idol? And, how is looking at this brass serpent going to heal the people from their serpent bites? 

Rashbam ignores the whole idol thing by saying that looking at this brass snake on a pole was just a way for the Israelites to look up towards the heavens, “from whence their help will come,” as the Psalm says. Perhaps, he’s implying, that without a physical thing to force their eyes upwards they would stay fixated on themselves.

The 13th century Spanish commentator Rabbeinu Bachya, however, said that the serpent worked, “the opposite of the natural process.” He brings in examples, such as King Chizkiyah who was cured from his boiled by applying dried fig leaves (which would normally intensify a rash), or the bitter waters at Marah back in Exodus 15 which were sweetened by adding a bitter (not sweet) wood into it. 

Here too, he explains, the snake-bitten Israelites had to look at not only the image of a deadly snake, but one made out of copper, which Rabbenu Bachya says, “symbolizes the planet Mars associated with war and death.” “In this instance,” he teaches, “by looking at “death” the people were cured…the very symbol of what bit them had therapeutic effects for the victims instead of the reverse.”

For Rabbeinu Bachya, this serpent was not simply a statue, it was a type of spiritual vaccine, a way of the people ingesting a little bit of the fear and poison from the snake without actual harm and through this exposure to what they feared and what harmed them, they were able to be healed not only spiritually and emotionally but physically. 

When we think about the things that fear us the most, whether it be the loss of a loved one, not living our purpose, health crises, or maybe darkness, bees, and fire–most of the time what we are most afraid of is the unpleasant experience of fear itself. When we look back at all the losses we have weathered, all of the bees that have stung us, we see just how strong and resilient our souls truly are.

In this time of great uncertainty in our world, it would be a type spiritual vaccination for us to contemplate, what do we fear the most? Without diving headfirst into it, without constructing an actual moving and biting serpent to face, can we look our fear–or even our fear of fear–right in the face? Perhaps through this type of meditation we can find healing, and above all a reminder of our deep well of strength.

Shabbat Shalom.