Losing Control
A Message for Parashat BeHa'alotekha 2017
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In a recent article entitled “We Aren’t Built to Live in the Moment,” psychologists Martin E.P. Seligman and John Tierney argued that humans are best distinguished as a species by their ability to contemplate the future. They suggested we alter our reference to humans as Homo sapiens, or “wise men,” to Homo prospectus – as our most unique characteristic is the ability to consider our prospects. Seligman and Tierney explained:
We want to know what is likely to happen so that we can do
something about it. If interest rates are going to skyrocket next month, then
we want to shift our money out of bonds right now. If it is going to rain this
afternoon, then we want to grab an umbrella this morning. Knowledge is power,
and the most important reason why our brains insist on stimulating the future
even when we’d rather be here now, enjoying a goldfish moment, is that our
brains want to control the experiences we are about to have. (Daniel
Gilbert)[1]
* * * *
Parashat
Beha’alotekha begins the long march of Am Yisrael in the
wilderness. As they set out on that journey, the Torah described the exact
process of their travels and encampment:
And as the cloud lifted
from the tent, then Bnei Yisrael would journey onward, and in the place where
the cloud would abide, there would Bnei Yisrael camp. By God’s word Bnei
Yisrael would journey onward and by God’s word they would camp… (Bemidbar
9:17-18)
Although
the itinerary was unilaterally decided by God, Moshe was instructed to aide in
its performance:
And God spoke to Moshe,
saying, “Make you two silver trumpets…and they shall serve you for calling the
community and for the journeying of the camps. And when they blow them, all the
community shall meet with you at the entrance of Ohel Mo’ed. (10:1-3)
The
journey began:
And it happened in the
second month on the twentieth of the month that the cloud lifted from the Mishkan
HaEdut. And Bnei Yisrael began on their journeyings from the Wilderness of
Sinai, and the cloud abided in the Wilderness of Paran. And they journeyed on
from the first by the word of God through the hand of Moshe… (10:11-13)
This
section of the parashah is appropriately concluded by a description of
the Aron’s role on their journey:
And they journeyed on from
the mountain of god a three days’ march, with the Aron HaEdut journeying before
them a three days’ march to scout for a resting place for them. And God’s cloud
was over them by day as they journeyed on from the camp… (10:33-34)
Immediately
before those concluding verses, however, the Torah described a conversation
that took place between Moshe and his father-in-law, Hobab:
And Moshe said to Hobab
son of Reu’el the Midianite, Moshe’s father-in-law, “We are journeying to the
place of which God said to us, ‘It will I give to you.’ Come with us and we
shall be good to you…” (10:29)
Following
Hobab’s refusal, Moshe continued to insist:
And he said to him, “Pray,
do not leave us, for do you not know our encampment in the wilderness? And you
will serve us as eyes…” (10:29)
As
this short conversation concluded, the text conspicuously omitted what would
appear to be the most critical detail – did Hobab come along with them or not?
R. Yonatan Grossman suggested that this is apparently not the crux of the
story. The Torah’s intention in recording the conversation between Moshe and
Hobab was not for the ultimate decision, but rather for the ways in which Moshe
attempted to convince him.[2]
What message, then, did the Torah seek to impart through its recounting of this
plea of Moshe?
* * * *
In
his best-selling book, Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind, sociologist
Yuval Noah Harari described a shift in the history of mankind from the ancient “foragers,”
who constantly lived on the move in search of food and resources, to the onset
of farming during the Agricultural Revolution. He explained that this change
brought forth the dominance of mankind’s prospective thought, as farmers must
always keep the future in mind and work in its service. The seasonal cycles of
production and fundamental uncertainty of agriculture forced people into
constant thought of the future. Necessary worries sprang into their minds. Nightmares
were now consumed by the thought of drought and flood. And people did all that
they could to prepare for the future – storing excess foods, clearing away
extra fields, digging additional irrigation canals and sowing more crops.[3]
In a recent article entitled “We Aren’t Built to Live in the Moment,” psychologists Martin E.P. Seligman and John Tierney argued that humans are best distinguished as a species by their ability to contemplate the future. They suggested we alter our reference to humans as Homo sapiens, or “wise men,” to Homo prospectus – as our most unique characteristic is the ability to consider our prospects. Seligman and Tierney explained:
If you’re a chimp, you
spend much of the day searching for your next meal. If you’re a human, you
usually rely on the foresight of your supermarket’s manager, or you can make a
restaurant reservation for Saturday evening thanks to a remarkably complicated
feat of collaborative prospection.
This
example is built upon a joint imagination of a future time – Saturday, which
exists as a collective fantasy. You trust the restauranteur to acquire food and
cook it for you, and she trusts you to show up and give her money, which she
will accept only because she expects her landlord to accept it in exchange for
occupying his building. The authors further presented a study that found that
people think about the future three times more often than the past, and
explained: “Our brain sees the world not by processing every pixel in a scene
but by focusing on the unexpected.”[4]
* * * *
It is of little use to us to be able to remember and predict
if it makes us unable to live fully in the present. …If, then, my awareness of
the past and future makes me less aware of the present, I must begin to wonder
whether I am actually living in the real world. (Daniel
W. Watts)[5]
As
Am Yisrael set out for their journey in the wilderness, they were
immediately told to cease all future thought. They understood that planning for
the future was useless, as they were powerless in affecting it. By God’s
word Bnei Yisrael would journey onward and by God’s word they would camp. Their
method of sustenance was taken out of their control, as well. It now came in
the form of the manna which poured down from the sky, whose purpose, God said,
was “that I may thus test them, to see whether they ill follow My instructions
or not” (Shemot 16:4). Consistent with our depiction of Am Yisrael’s
journey in the midbar, Ibn Ezra explained that the manna tested the nation’s
acceptance of the difficult reality of “needing [God] each and every day.”[6]
Am Yisrael was effectively instructed to return their thoughts and vision
to the time of the ancient “foragers,” and to focus on the past and present, while
setting aside all plans for the “uncontrollable” future.
The
Torah’s description of the journey process was interrupted by Moshe’s plea to
his father-in-law. Moshe’s objective was clear: “And you will serve us as
eyes.” In a situation which God had informed would not be controlled by
humans, Moshe sought some control through the “eyes” of Hobab. The
conversation was cut short by the continued description: “And they journeyed
on from the mountain of god a three days’ march, with the Aron HaEdut
journeying before them a three days’ march to scout for a resting place for
them. And God’s cloud was over them by day as they journeyed on from the camp.”
The message is clear: Am Yisrael’s journey in the wilderness was to be
governed by rules that were different than life’s general reality. Man’s “eyes”
and future vision played no role on this mission. Am Yisrael would be
fully dependent upon the decisions of God during this period.
God’s
plan for the nation upon their journey in the midbar holds a message
that expands further than the forty years of sun and sandals. It is a lesson
about relationships. Though Am Yisrael would soon enter a “future
looking” agricultural society in Eress Yisrael, their first priority was
to cement the building blocks of their respective relationships with God. A
healthy relationship begins with a sense of vulnerability. It is the sense of
trusting the other party, and relinquishing some self-control. It is a “leap of
faith” in the other, entrusting them with secrets and decisions which were until
then yours alone.
By
cutting short Moshe’s dialogue with Hobab, the Torah contrasted the necessary
first steps of a “mission” with those of a “relationship.” It taught us that
enduring relationships begin with the courage to step into a state of vulnerability
and to accept the loss of total control.
[1] Stumbling on Happiness
(New York, NY, 2006), pg. 21.
[2] See Torah MiEtzion
(New Milford, CT, 2014), pg. 116. Although I share R. Grossman’s suggestion for
the general significance of this episode, I diverge from his thought in my
understanding of its particular meaning.
[3] Yuval Noah Harari, Sapiens:
A Brief History of Humankind (New York, NY, 2015), pg. 100-101.
[4] Martin E.P. Seligman and
John Tierney, “We Aren’t Built to Live in the Moment,” The New York Times, May
19, 2017. Available at:
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/05/19/opinion/sunday/why-the-future-is-always-on-your-mind.html?_r=0.
[5] The Wisdom of
Insecurity (New York, NY, 1951), pg. 34-5.
