In Numbers 11:4, the Torah offers us a startling and deeply human moment. The asafsuf (the mixed multitude traveling with Israel, often translated in English as the “rabble” or “riffraff”) gave in to their cravings, crying out: "Who will feed us meat?" Despite having witnessed miracles, despite the manna that appeared each morning, they collapsed under the weight of the wilderness journey and retreated into something ancient and instinctive. They craved not merely food. They craved certainty. Comfort. Control.
Modern neuroscience has confirmed what the Torah intuited thousands of years ago: when stress overwhelms us, we default to primal responses; fight, flight, or freeze. The fighters among us argue, push back, play devil's advocate, or raise their voices, needing to do something with the anxiety. The flight responders avoid conflict, exit difficult conversations, or choose deliberate silence when leaving the room isn't an option. The freezers say whatever gets them through the moment, even things they don't mean, or go shock-still, waiting for the storm to pass. None of these responses are wrong. They are human. They are ancient. They are, in a sense, our own cry for meat in the wilderness.
Yet the Jewish people have long refused to stop there.
Our sages teach us of a village struck by drought. The anxious villagers argued over whose well to dig first. Some fled to neighboring towns. Others stood paralyzed at the cracked earth, unsure where to begin. But one group, the healers, the builders, the problem-solvers, gathered under an oak tree to ask a different question: not what do we feel, but what do we do?
This is the ancient Jewish instinct at its finest. We disproportionately became doctors because we refused to accept preventable suffering. We became lawyers because we believed the arc of justice can be bent by argument and precedent. We became engineers and entrepreneurs because we saw tomorrow's problems and build solutions today.
And from that same instinct, we built the Jewish Federation. Born not of comfort, but of collective necessity, the Federation embodies tikkun olam, the repair of a broken world. Sometimes we fight for vulnerable communities. Sometimes we walk away from what cannot be saved to preserve what can. And sometimes we hold steady in the chaos, calm, deliberate, and purposeful, emerging with a plan born not of panic, but of wisdom and experience.
As the late Don Schlitz, Grammy Award-winning Jewish songwriter, immortalized through Kenny Rogers: "You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run."
The wilderness will always produce a craving. Our legacy is knowing, with wisdom, courage, and community, exactly what to do when it does. Be Stronger Together.
Shabbat Shalom.
|
|