Moshe, Miriam and Shel Silverstein

How a children's classic explains the rock-hit

Hi and welcome back to TGH. We are in the sweltering heat of summer, which makes this a good moment to seek out some refreshing hydration. And our portion of Chukat is all about H2O — how it’s used in the red-heifer ritual, how the Israelites had none to drink, how Moses tried to get it, how he eventually did get it, what it cost him.

Yes, this episode of TGH is the tall glass of water you've been waiting for.

If you'd like to dig into the sin of the rock-hit in the context of “The Godfather,” go on here. And for last year’s look at how we can understand the Edomite request with an assist from “August: Osage County,” right this way.

Now let's get to waterin'.

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To hear the Talmud tell it, there's a good reason we hear the Israelite complaint about water right after Miriam's death.

There needs to be. Because on its face, the two verses leading off chapter 20 in our portion of Chukat seem like serious non-sequiturs.

"And the Israelites came to the Tzin desert in the first month, stayed in Kadesh, Miriam died there, and she was buried there," says the first verse. "And the congregation didn't have water so they converged on Moses and Aaron," says the second verse.

And what in the name of Archimedes would one thing have to do with another? These verses seem like they could be in different books. Why jam in a water shortage so quickly? Certainly a more natural segue was possible after the death of the Israelites' most prominent female leader before moving on to the latest Israelite discontentment.

A sage named Rabbi Yose bar Yehuda in the Talmud tractate of Ta'anit weighs in with that good reason. He says that Miriam was....actually how the Israelites were hydrated in the desert. 

"The people of Israel had three excellent leaders — Moshe, Aaron and Miriam,” he says. “Three good gifts were extended to the people of Israel on their behalf — the well, the clouds, and the manna.  The well was provided due to the merit of Miriam, the clouds of glory because of Aaron, and the manna on account of Moshe.  When Miriam died, the well disappeared."

Rashi, solidifying the connection, says that this "well" was actually a rock.

Yep, the same rock Moses hit.

A little fanciful? Perhaps. But it’s kind of backed up textually. When God tells Moses in Verse 8 the plan for getting water, He says, "Take the staff and gather the congregation, you and your brother Aaron, and talk to the rock," (ha'selah). This is the first time we are hearing about a rock; shouldn't God have said talk to a rock? Or, "Talk to this rock that I will point out"? But He says, "Talk to THE Rock." Unless Dwayne Johnson had made a surprise appearance in the desert, this rock's a known rock. Miriam's rock.

So Miriam died, the rock dried up, and the people cried out. Our two verses now make sense. One directly follows from the other.

As it happens, Miriam and water have been connected for a while. As noted by the Pardes scholar Michael Hattin (we've gone to the well on him recently), it was water that allowed her to save Moses as a baby when she placed him in the Nile, and a miracle of water that she heroically commemorated when, with the Israelites stunned after the splitting of the sea, she took the initiative and led the women in song. In fact, in that passage too, in Exodus 15, the text ALSO pivots quickly and inexplicably to the Israelites not having water, with the story of Marah, when God told Moses to toss a branch in and sweeten bitter waters. 

Yes, after water had saved Miriam several times, she has now turned around and become a patron saint of water. Providing water to the Israelites is Miriam's life work. Which, with her death, means the water is gone.

(Btw once you know about this Miriam-water connection you’ll start to see it everywhere. In the Marah incident, for instance, the text says that the Israelites couldn’t drink the waters because they were “marim,” bitter. "Marim” is spelled with the Hebrew letters mem, reish, yud, mem sofit. Which of course spells Miriam.) 

What emerges from all this is a whole other fascinating layer of meaning going on beneath our text in Chukat. A connection has existed between Miriam and the people of Israel in which she provided them with water for 40 years. For the current generation of middle-aged and older adults, this has meant she and her rock have nourished them since they were kids (remember, almost anyone still alive now was at most a teenager at the splitting of the sea). 

That makes the Israelite reaction — a three-verse burst of complaint at the lack of water when Miriam dies in our portion ("If only we had died earlier," "why did you bring us to this desert" "why did you bring us up from Egypt to die in this bad place...there's no water to drink.") far more intriguing than it first appears. The Israelites here are not just randomly complaining about a missing item — they're panicking after the death of their prime caregiver.

But how should we read this strong reaction? Should we see it as pure petulance, a stunning lack of faith after 40 years of having their needs met by Miriam?

Or should we see it as an understandable panic after she who gave them sustenance for so long is now gone?

Indeed, this angry lash-out leaves us pondering the whole relationship between the Israelites and Miriam/her rock over the entirety of the 40 years. Was it a beautiful one, in which a helpless child was nourished by a nurturing leader, she and her rock providing them with life from their youngest years into their dotage? These fragile innocents, after all, had no other way to survive, and she came in time and again to save them.

Or was it an exploitative relationship, in which a nurturing source provided them with life for so many years and they barely uttered a word of thanks, let alone offered to reciprocate the gesture, even well into adulthood? An exploitation that is now capped by this entitled reaction in our portion.

The Torah doesn't say, and leaves us to decide on which side of the aisle we might fall.

Viewing our portion in this light, another story of a long-time nourisher from childhood comes to mind: Shel Silverstein's literary classic "The Giving Tree."

The 1964 (but really timeless) story, as you almost surely know, concerns an apple tree that gives of itself in so many ways to a boy as he becomes a man and then an elderly man, giving him apples he could sell for money to branches he could use for a house. All of this makes the tree happy.

At the end, the tree, now a stump, is mad that the boy has abandoned it. But then the two realize that as a stump he can provide a place for the boy (/elderly man) to rest, and that makes the tree happy once again. (The book gets me every time.)

As you may also know, the meaning of the book is controversial. Particularly for those who interpret the tree as a mother and the boy as her son. I’ll let two of the main litigants offer their takes.

The late University of Chicago scholar Amy Kass says that "it is wise and it is true about giving and about motherhood.” She endorses what’s happening here.

The Harvard legal scholar Mary Ann Glendon, on the other hand, calls the book "a nursery tale for the Me generation, a primer of narcissism, a catechism of exploitation.” She is a lot less enthused about what the boy is doing to the tree.

Two ways of viewing the protagonist of a Silverstein classic. And two ways of viewing Miriam’s rock. Is this narrative threaded through the Israelite wandering meant as a paragon of selflessness? Or a cautionary tale about not becoming ungrateful takers?

Like Silverstein, the Torah seems to leave the matter ambiguous, and us to wonder (and argue) over the best way to view this giving source.

But I think there’s some clarity to be gained if we look at what happens next — if we look at Moshe’s reaction to all of this.

The story of Moses coming to God in desperation, God telling Moses to speak to the rock, Moses hitting the rock, then God chastising Moses for not doing what he was told to do generally plays like a straightforward tale of anger (or lack of faith). God told Moses to do one thing — doesn’t even matter what the thing is really — he did another (because of anger or lack of faith), God punished him.

But what if we see this whole story through the lens of Miriam and her nourishing rock — through the lens of “The Giving Tree?

Well, now points-of-view start to become dimensionalized. Moses didn’t want to speak to the rock because he felt like Miriam’s work was done. He’s kind of taking Glendon’s view. “The tree has given and given; the boy has taken and taken. Even in death it must give?!” Moses picking up the staff and refusing to ask the rock for water isn’t because he didn’t feel like it (what reason could there for that?) It’s because he felt his sister’s work was done. This was her rock, she/it gave for 40 years, she’s gone, we’re done.

The prospect that it had to keep giving angered him. So he picked up the staff and, instead of asking the rock to keep giving, smacks the rock in a burst of anger and yells at the people besides. “From this rock I’m supposed to extract water?!,” as he exclaims in Verse 10. “This rock.” It has given so much. You want me to keep asking it to give? This is a man angry that even in his sister’s death her work and her rock cannot rest.

And God says, uh-uh. Miriam and her rock can still give. “This is a beautiful and wise story of motherhood and giving. This is Amy Kass’ ‘Giving Tree.’ You should still ask, Moses, and it will still provide. And when you don’t, you’ll be punished.”

Moses in refusing to speak to the rock is resisting the idea that the tree has to give until it has nothing left — until it’s a stump and beyond. It is a very reasonable stance, and no doubt will resonate with many parents.

And God in telling him to do it anyway (and punishing him when he doesn’t) is saying that nurturing doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t stop when the boy is older. It doesn’t stop when the boy is ungrateful. It doesn’t stop even when the nourisher is gone. That is the nature of this kind of giving. It continues even after the recipient is no longer young. It continues even after the giver’s body is no longer here.

And look at what the punishment is: Moses can’t enter the land of Israel. The Land of Israel, the ultimate nurturer, which is described so many times as a character providing nourishment to its inhabitants, giving them everything they could ever need. Moses didn’t understand the nature of eternal giving, God is saying with this punishment. And thus he will not be able to receive.

There is one last point, highlighted by a Hattin linguistic insight, that I think drives home this interpretation of our portion’s narrative.

When Moses raises his staff in anger, he says to the Israelites. “Shim’u na ha’morim,” “Listen you rebels.” It is a strange noun to invoke, as they’ve rebelled far worse before and he’s never used it. (The noun doesn’t appear anywhere else in the Torah.) In fact the last portion saw an actual rebellion with Korach, and Moses never uses this word. So why is he using it now?

Well, he’s using it now since he’s angry about how his sister is still being exploited.

Because the Hebrew word “morim” is spelled mem, reish, yud, mem sofit.

Yes, it spells Miriam.

Thank you, as ever, for reading, and have a good, peaceful and hydrated weekend.