וּלְפִ֞י הֵעָל֤וֹת הֶֽעָנָן֙ מֵעַ֣ל הָאֹ֔הֶל וְאַ֣חֲרֵי כֵ֔ן יִסְע֖וּ בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וּבִמְק֗וֹם אֲשֶׁ֤ר יִשְׁכׇּן־שָׁם֙ הֶֽעָנָ֔ן שָׁ֥ם יַחֲנ֖וּ בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃
And whenever the cloud lifted from the Tent, the Israelites would set out accordingly; and at the spot where the cloud settled, there the Israelites would make camp. (BaMidbar 9.17)
Our parashat hashavua this week invites us to reflect upon what it means to be a community on the move. The Israelites have passed through the first stage of their combined existence, that of formation. The year and a bit more since the Exodus from Egypt have been spent at the foot of Mt Sinai, fashioning religious and social systems to replace those that were left behind.
Someone called the three stages of group creation “forming, storming, and norming.” In this week’s parashah, the Israelites move from the first to the second of these universally human situations. The Book BaMidbar, Numbers in English, is full of “storming”: uprisings, arguments, and complaints against each other and against HaShem reveal the Israelite community as vibrant and passionate – great qualities if the energy can be wisely shaped toward group cohesion.
What keeps a group together long enough to reach stage three, “norming”, so that one day you find yourself saying “that’s just how we do it here”?
The mythology of our people enshrined in the Torah offers experience writ large, symbols and analogies to offer us a broader perspective than we might otherwise attain, when we are enmeshed in the daily experiences of a group and our emotional responses. In true mythological fashion, the Torah describes a mysterious Cloud of Glory that constantly hovered over the Israelite camp, a clear and everpresent sign of the protection of HaShem (and some nice shade in the trackless wilderness as well).
We might dismiss the description in our parashah as in the sloppy use of the word “myth” by which some mean impossible and untrue; I mean it here in the anthropological sense of those simplified stories by which human cultures understand the deepest – and least given to articulation – human experience.
We no longer have a Cloud of Glory showing us the way – or do we? Over many generations of the development of ancient Jewish belief, the concept arose of the Shekhinah, a sense of the presence of HaShem as close and as reassuring as that ever-present, protective Cloud. This idea became a support for the minhag of wearing a kippah, or baseball hat or whatever, but always covering the head.
רַב הוּנָא בְּרֵיהּ דְּרַב יְהוֹשֻׁעַ לָא מְסַגֵּי אַרְבַּע אַמּוֹת בְּגִילּוּי הָרֹאשׁ. אָמַר: שְׁכִינָה לְמַעְלָה מֵרָאשֵׁי.
R. Huna son of R. Joshua would not walk four cubits bareheaded, saying: The Shekhinah is above my head. (BT Kiddushin 31a)
On what did Rav Huna base his declaration? Not on a literal cloud that followed him around, but on the ancient sense (borne out by modern science) that when we are together, and focused upon that which makes us a sacred community, we can evoke a sense of something greater than us, that holds us. That focus is brought about by Torah study and prayer.
שְׁנַיִם שֶׁיּוֹשְׁבִין וְיֵשׁ בֵּינֵיהֶם דִּבְרֵי תוֹרָה, שְׁכִינָה שְׁרוּיָה בֵינֵיהֶם
if two sit together and there are words of Torah [spoken] between them, then the Shekhinah abides among them (Pirke Avot 3.2)
We as a community find our way by coming together to study and learn and consider what makes a Jewish community sacred, and in so doing we learn so much about how to be good human beings. Torah study reminds us that compassion is more important than achievement, that connection is more valuable than possessions, and that community is more than any one moment of upset, anger or even embarrassment.
It’s hard to meet each other in all of our shared humanity right now; there’s a lot of stress all around us. But as we hold on to what is greater than each of us, that which we create when we are together as a sacred community that learns together about the world and ourselves, we will come to behold it ourselves. Almost as if we could see it: the Shekhinah that dwells among us, moving when we move and steadfast in those moments when we can’t. It’s in your eyes, my smile, and their offered hand.
Torah for the 21st Century by Rabbi Ariel Stone 