Parshas Korach 5785
The criticism levied at the government over the span of just a few days has been dizzying. Before bombing Iran, naysayers insisted America was teetering on the edge of entering what would surely be a protracted campaign, maybe even a World War. A couple days later? The bombing wasn’t extensive enough, unclear that it really did the job at all. Voices in one direction, and in the exact opposite direction—sometimes coming out of the very same mouth.
So what should you do when you just can’t win? You do you. It’s what Moshe Rabbeinu would have done.
“Moshe’s not the only one!” The criticism of Korach, citing the fact that, after all, “כל העדה כלם קדושים—The entire congregation is replete with holy people” does more than sting; it reverberates with a familiarity of other criticism we heard all too recently. Just a few short parshios ago, it was Miriam who had been critical of Moshe Rabbeinu using similar language, comparing his activities to those of the people surrounding him: “הרק אך במשה דבר ה׳—Was it only with Moshe that Hashem spoke?”
Both Korach and Miriam take issue with Moshe’s behavior not in a vacuum, but as compared with his surroundings. For Korach, Moshe’s ascent to the throne, as it were, is inappropriate, considering that those around him are likewise qualified. For Miriam, there is something about Moshe’s behavior that is unsettling, not in of itself, but in comparison with other prophets that Hashem had likewise spoken with.
What are we to make of this parallel? Is the Torah suggesting that Korach and Miriam should somehow be spoken of in the same breath? Korach goes down as one of the great rabble-rousers of Tanach, while Miriam is remembered as one of the most righteous women of all time.
We name our daughters Miriam. When was the last time you heard the name “Korach” proclaimed at a bris?
I would suggest that the inherent similarity between the critiques offered by Korach and Miriam exists not to teach us about either of them, but rather, to teach us a great deal about Moshe Rabbeinu.
First, something of a novel approach to Miriam’s critique offered at the end of Parshas Beha’aloscha, though one that maintains fidelity to the simple reading of the pesukim themselves. The actual concern Miriam has with Moshe’s actions is—at least as stated by the Torah—vague. We know only the broad topic of the conversation she has with Aharon about Moshe, namely, “על אודות האשה הכשית אשר לקח—Regarding the Cushite women that [Moshe] had taken.” The problem, it seems, is with Tzipporah, Moshe’s wife. And while the classical interpretation focuses on Moshe’s divorcing Tzipporah—a step necessary to be at the constant prophetic beck and call of Hashem—a strict reading of the pasuk suggests that Miriam may have been criticizing their union in the first place.
Consider that Miriam and Aharon were, as Miriam herself points out, prophets and leaders of the nation in their own right. And while Moshe had looked beyond the literal B’nei Yisrael for a spouse, his two siblings had looked within. Aharon was married to Elisheva, the sister of Nachshon ben Aminadav, and, according to Chazal, Miriam married Calev. Both Calev and Nachshon would serve as heads of the tribe of Yehudah—the shevet identified as the one that would ultimately produce the future kings of Israel. And Calev and Nachshon themselves would achieve great renown as one of only two spies to return from Israel with a positive report of the Land, and as the first to jump into the Yam Suf and serve as a catalyst for perhaps the greatest open miracle in all of history.
In Jewish terms, both Aharon and Miriam married into the aristocracy. Moshe, did not. Spectacularly so.
This is, perhaps, Miriam’s concern. “הרק אך במשה דבר ה׳—Was it only with Moshe that Hashem spoke?” The profile of a Navi, of a leader, is not the sole purview of Moshe to define. There are rules and assumptions and expectations. Royalty marries royalty. How can the effective King of the nation marry a simple woman not even of Jewish origin?
To this, the Torah includes a description of Moshe’s character immediately after recording Miriam’s critique. A description that, though serving as something of a non sequitur when viewed through the lens of other interpretations of the story, in light of this proposed understanding makes perfect sense.
The Torah tells us, “וְהָאִישׁ מֹשֶׁה עָנָו מְאֹד מִכֹּל הָאָדָם אֲשֶׁר עַל־פְּנֵי הָאֲדָמָה—The man, Moshe, was exceedingly humble, more than anyone else upon the face of the earth.” Why didn’t Moshe marry a woman from the upper echelons of Jewish society? Not to make a statement, but simply out of humility. The notion that he needed to marry someone from a particular group, class, or layer of the sociopolitical pyramid hadn’t occurred to him. He needed only marry a tzadeikes, a righteous woman who shared his worldview, his dedication to Hashem, and who would raise their children to do the same.
And herein lies an understanding of the comparison between Miriam’s critique and that of Korach’s. If Miriam’s claim was, in effect, Moshe was too humble, too aloof from the demands and expectations placed upon him as Rabban Shel Yisrael, then Korach’s claim was the exact opposite. Moshe has arrogant and power-hungry, inappropriately grabbing the reigns of leadership for himself.
What did Miriam and Korach each bring to support their claims? Comparisons to those who surrounded Moshe. For Miriam, Moshe needed to compare himself to the other nevi’im and act with more gravitas and stature. For Korach, Moshe needed to compare himself to all the other holy members of the holy nation and stand down, so other equally competent leaders could be given a chance.
If you’re keeping score, it sounds like Moshe can’t win.
And, I would argue, that that is precisely the Torah’s point. For all the value in keeping your antennae out, in being conscious and aware of the standards and norms that surround you, sculpting your behavior purely by examining yourself in the social mirror is not only self-destructive, it is ultimately impossible. There will always be a group on your right pushing you in one direction and a group on your left pushing you in another. Your behavior will always be too arrogant for some, too humble for others. There will always be voices calling for you to change, comply, and follow in a particular manner, while other voices calling for a move in precisely the opposite direction.
How does Moshe react? He doesn’t. He does him. Stays the course. Maintaining the confidence that a call to change is not in of itself a sufficient justification to do so. After all, succumbing to that call will only make the other call—the one that will always be present, demanding that the exact opposite move be made—ever louder.