meta: {"file": "/data/tomer/Sefaria-Export/txt_done/Modern Works/Redeeming Relevance; Numbers/English/Redeeming Relevance -- Numbers .txt"}
text: Redeeming Relevance; Numbers
  פדיון הרלוונטיות על במדבר
  Redeeming Relevance -- Numbers 
  
  
  Redeeming Relevance; Numbers
  
  Preface and Acknowledgments
  
  With the publication of this third volume in the <i>Redeeming Relevance</i> series, I now feel committed to completing the series on all five books of the Torah, something far from what I had intended when I first started writing the first volume. But the response that I have gotten from so many readers and their thirst for more have pushed me to dedicate myself to this challenge and see the project to its natural conclusion. Such a goal notwithstanding, I have chosen to continue out of order and to put out <i>Bemidbar</i> and <i>Devarim</i> before I return to <i>Vayikra</i>, considered by many to be the most challenging book of the five. This choice is not only a result of the difficulty of that book; in the process of writing I have found that each volume builds upon the other, such that I plan to use much of what I have written in the first four volumes to make the last volume on <i>Vayikra</i> a finale to and synthesis of them all.
  As we pass the midpoint in the <i>Redeeming Relevance</i> series, I would like to mention the many individuals who have helped me reach this milestone. The publication of <i>Redeeming Relevance in the Book of Numbers</i> has been made possible by friends who have also become donors, and donors who have also become good friends. Andrew Bloom, Morris and Julie Dweck, Ron and Toby Hersh, and Michael and Judy Kaiser provided the main support for this volume. Others who helped in its publication were Rick and Caryn Bentley-Vogel, David and Ilene Brookler, Ruth Levi and Bob Carroll, Michael and Sarah Hidary, and David and Sarah Sassoon. I am honored by the support of these dedicated individuals, and their friendship is a source of great joy. It is a blessing to have such upstanding and outstanding partners in my work.
  Although I am no longer formally associated with the David Cardozo Academy, I am indebted to the institute for the help given toward the publication of this book. In particular, its founder and dean, Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo, continues to encourage and help me in many aspects of my creative work. He and his staff members, Esther Peterman and Ayala Goldman, provided me with important administrative assistance on this project, for which I am very grateful.
  Tzvi Mauer and Urim Publications continue to provide a warm yet highly professional editorial home for the <i>Redeeming Relevance</i> series. I feel privileged to be involved with Urim, which has done the Jewish community an invaluable service by putting out so many important titles. May they continue to publish many more works of lasting value.
  Many friends and students helped me by tweaking an idea or suggesting additional sources and the like. They are too many involved for me to list, but I would be amiss not to cite the help of Eli Auslander, who reviewed much of the text and provided valuable input.
  As with the previous volumes, my most important partner in this book is my wife, Deena. Among her many talents is being an outstanding Judaica editor. She is a master of both content and form, and thus contributed immeasurably to the readability of my thoughts. As in everything else that we share, she has gone way beyond the call of duty in giving of her time and efforts.
  Most of all, I thank the Master of the Universe for all of the insights and inspiration that He has granted me. Many times when I have come up with a new interpretation, I stand in awe and wonder what I could possibly have done to deserve such a distinction. The one thing I can surmise is that I have shown willingness to really listen to the Divine voice in the text and to hear what it is saying to me. And the only way I can pay back this gift is to recommend to others to do the same and to share that which I have gained by doing so myself. What follows is the third volume in my effort to do just that.
  — FRANCIS NATAF
  Jerusalem
  Tevet 5774
  
  Introduction
  
  Old School, New School, One School, Two Schools
  By the time this volume will have come out, it will mark almost a decade since I began the <i>Redeeming Relevance</i> series. When I started, I bemoaned the decline of traditional Jewish Bible commentary in the twentieth century. I complained that what was being written was either too scholarly or too flighty. There were far too few works that showed the classical combination of sophistication and accessibility, and the proof of the pudding was the lack of twentieth-century works on our bookshelves.
  At the same time, I noted that there were encouraging new lights on the horizon and that I was certainly not coming to a deserted enterprise. No doubt, most readers are aware that if there was reason for encouragement at that time, this is all the more true today.
  There is no question that the last decade has been a productive one. Primarily thanks to what has become known as the “Gush school,” also referred to simply as the “new school,” novel interpretations from a new generation are becoming better known and more widely diffused. Some of the new stars in the field include Rabbi Elchanan Samet, Rabbi Amnon Bazak, and Rabbi Yonatan Grossman, but there are many others. Though this school is primarily Israeli, its work has become more familiar to the English-speaking world through the efforts of various American-born teachers such as Rabbi Menachem Liebtag, Rabbi Yitzchak Etshalom, and Rabbi Hayyim Angel. Concurrently, there has been a more general flourishing of Tanakh study in English-speaking countries, marked by the publication of several new books and translations, as well as the organization of many well-attended study conferences in major Jewish centers such as New York, Toronto, and London.
  Yet, in spite of it all, we can raise the same questions that we raised at the beginning of the journey. Are we really producing works that succeed in combining relevance and rigor? And if we are, do these works bear the depth and creativity of yesteryear that will allow them to find a lasting place in the Jewish library?
  In this regard, the new teachings, especially the ones from the Gush school, have not been unilaterally welcome. One reason is this school’s alleged tendency to discount Talmudic and Midrashic interpretations. Of course, disagreement with rabbinic interpretation is as old as the interpretive endeavor itself.1<i class="footnote">See Ibn Ezra’s famous comments on the rabbinic understanding of Yitzchak’s age at the time of his being brought up as a sacrifice: “If this is a tradition, we accept it, but by way of reason it is incorrect” (<i>Bereshit</i> 22:4). In these few words, Ibn Ezra succinctly identifies the rules of the classical interpretive endeavor – whatever information is passed down as authoritative tradition must be accepted; whatever is the rabbis’ own educated inference from the text, however, is open to question. Moreover, by saying that he doesn’t know whether the age of Yitzchak falls into the former or the latter and then preceding to interpret the verse according to the latter, Ibn Ezra implies that since we almost never know what is actually tradition, we must generally analyze the text as if the words of the rabbis are not based on it.</i> What is new is the place of rabbinic interpretation in the endeavor. When classical commentators differed with rabbinic explanations, they did so only after first examining earlier works of the tradition to which they belonged. They did this believing that they would usually find the correct meaning by poring over these works. Only afterward, when they did not find what they were looking for, did they feel free to disagree and/or proffer new interpretations. But it was not only to save themselves extra work that classical commentators referred back to the past. Familiarity and interaction with rabbinic works provided an interpretive context within which to work.
  The importance of the latter should not be underestimated. Stanley Fish is known for most clearly arguing that which is patently true – that a <i>text</i> necessarily comes with a <i>context</i>. This means that if Jews have preconceptions about the Bible, so does any interpretive community to any text.2<i class="footnote">See Stanley Fish, <i>Is There a Text in This Class? The Authority of Interpretive Communities</i> (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982). Indeed, Nechama Leibowitz was predictably fascinated by his work; see Yael Unterman’s <i>Nehama Leibowitz: Teacher and Bible Scholar</i> (Jerusalem: Urim Publications, 2009), 470.</i> Such a community creates the context, spelling out the basic assumptions, the ground rules, and the accepted “facts” about the text. It follows that arguing how to interpret a text <i>across</i> traditions is a near absurdity – the rules of the game are simply different. This is the point Alasdair MacIntyre makes so forcefully in his famous book, <i>After Virtue</i>: two people cannot even argue if they don’t first agree on the definition of the terms (e.g., virtue) that they are arguing about.3<i class="footnote"><i>After Virtue</i> (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981).</i> Different approaches may share some of the same assumptions or otherwise include insights that can be useful to each other, but this can never be taken for granted.
  To cut to the quick, one of the main questions about the new school is to what extent it is true to the classical Jewish interpretive community. Even if we look at this school’s more traditional exponents, this is an issue. For example, no one can seriously doubt the credentials of Rabbi Yoel Bin-Nun, often considered the father of this school. He is an outstanding and creative teacher of impeccable character. The question can only be about his approach. What made his approach “new” is finding his inspiration in many of the raw materials of the text: etymology, archeology, and language structure. Despite Bin-Nun’s comprehensive knowledge of rabbinic interpretations, it is often not clear what their place is in his approach.
  Essentially, Bin-Nun tries to synthesize the traditional Jewish interpretive tradition with the tools of modern, academic biblical scholarship. When successful, this synthesis can be very powerful. Nonetheless, it is no simple feat to accomplish, especially if the rabbinic reading was intentionally ahistorical and unconcerned with the types of information that Bin-Nun is trying to integrate. In other words, the two approaches that Bin-Nun seeks to integrate may be working at cross purposes. If that is the case, tapping into academic scholarship in any significant way would undermine one’s rootedness in the traditional Jewish approach. This is essentially what Nechama Leibowitz was arguing when she chose to bypass most of the information that Bin-Nun found so valuable. Not surprisingly then, these two magnificent teachers were actually at loggerheads many years ago regarding how to study the biblical text, and consequently how it should be taught in Israeli schools.4<i class="footnote">Unterman, <i>Nehama Leibowitz</i>, 556–561.</i>
  A great admirer of Meir Weiss, who, like her, was influenced by the “New Criticism,” Leibowitz argued that a text had a life independent of its cultural context. Weiss gives the example of the contemporary readers of Shakespeare and Goethe missing the main point by getting overly caught up in the cultural trends and local realia that served as the background for these great writers.5<i class="footnote">Meir Weiss, <i>The Bible from Within</i> (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1984), 13–18.</i> Yet Weiss also points out that ignorance in this context is not bliss, and that if studying Near Eastern languages will shed light on the meaning of a word, such study should not be ignored.
  At the same time, however, though knowledge of the ancient world can add to our understanding, it is not meant to cast a shadow over the text’s <i>meaning</i>, which within the Jewish community has been primarily didactic. It would be difficult to say that Jewish commentaries have ever tried to reconstruct the historical Avraham or David, and there is a reason for this. It would have been only of secondary interest, since these men have been seen as <i>literary</i> characters, described in ways that would provide different meanings at different times. This is how I understand Ramban’s famous notion of <i>ma’asei avot siman l’banim</i>, that the actions of the [biblical] fathers are a sign for their progeny. Subsequent generations will understand the life of Avraham differently from their biblical ancestors and will accordingly derive new lessons from him. This is not, of course, to say that there are no constants, but rather that the text’s subtle nuances permit different generations to see different things, alongside the Torah’s major and obvious teachings that are accessible and relevant for all time.
  The bottom line is that it will be difficult for the new school to follow a more universal medium of discourse without dropping many of the assumptions and methodologies of rabbinic interpretation. In some cases, one can see this quite vividly. For example, while the new school makes much out of words that appear with great frequency in specific sections (the <i>leitwort</i>), it has all but abandoned the rabbinic notion of extraneous language (<i>lashon yitur</i>) as a tool through which to understand the text. Almost universally accepted by classical commentators, the likely reason for the latter’s unpopularity among proponents of the new school is this tool’s assumption of a perfect and uncorrupted text, something unacceptable to the academic circles with which the new school attempts to conduct a dialogue.6<i class="footnote">“Attempts,” since there has been very little interest in the work of the new school by most academics.</i>
  At other times, however, new school writers will ignore the assumptions of academia. Classic ethical assumptions have, appropriately, not disappeared. Most of the new school writers still find Ya’akov’s statement (Bereshit 27:19), “I am Esav your firstborn,” problematic. Yet adhering to these types of assumptions undermines the universality of their work, since academics need not accept Ya’akov’s deception as a problem for Ya’akov or for anyone else living at that time. Hence, the price paid for what is ultimately a hybrid approach is far from negligible. In an attempt to bridge worlds, there comes the risk of pleasing no one.
  But there is also room for a different critique. Relevance is not measured only by content but also by form. One of the beautiful features of traditional Jewish commentaries is the easy access it provides for sophisticated topics and methodology. Too many of the new studies get bogged down in long-winded explanations of structure and the like, often losing all but the most dedicated student in the process. This is not to criticize the need for depth and systematic explanation when it is required; if an in-depth, structural examination of a certain section of the Bible is needed to understand it better, it should be pursued. Yet, what scholars who undertake such studies need to realize is that this will often prevent their work from easily finding a place in the tradition, as their complexity places them in its margins.
  Ultimately, a book that is not read does not contribute. And from a historical perspective, a book that does not <i>continue</i> being read will not make a historical contribution.
  Truly, new knowledge and approaches have always been integrated by Jewish interpreters, but always from within the consciousness of the classical Jewish interpretive tradition. This means that we can greatly benefit from the work of the new school, but in order for it to find its place in the Jewish corpus it must conform to the broader contours of traditional <i>parshanut</i>. Otherwise, the truly valuable contributions it is making will fail to catch the interest of the Jewish people in the long term.
  It is not only the new school that presents weaknesses to the contemporary Jewish reader. The old school is not without its own issues. For one, classical methodology is sometimes unable to address questions that can be answered more readily by systematic literary analysis or by knowledge of the ancient Near East. The sophisticated, contemporary reader is often aware that solutions to certain issues lie in these directions and, as such, is frustrated by the limits of the classical approach to the text. The upshot is that both schools have their strengths as well as their weaknesses. Consequently, it behooves us to try to gain from both approaches to the text as comprehensively as possible.
  In my own work, I am keen to adopt the teachings and methods of the new school, but only from within a profound rootedness in the classical tradition on the one hand, and a fierce independence to forge new paths on the other. In this regard, I follow what I understand to be the road of the commentaries of yesteryear – to look everywhere for edification, but to search within my personal Jewish consciousness for interpretation.
  As in previous volumes, in this book I seek new understandings that are intended to promote greater interest in the biblical text and deeper thought about its ramifications for our lives today. There is no doubt that my understandings are inspired by a diverse array of works, old and new, as well as by a variety of intellectual influences, both Jewish and general. I believe that any commentator’s work is enriched by the influences in his own life. The more diverse the influences, the richer the commentary – so long as it is centered in a coherent integration of these influences into a systematic whole, rooted in the Jewish interpretive tradition.
  Relevance and the Written Word
  In the previous volume, I wrote that Torah study is a conversation between man and God. This is certainly true, but it is also a conversation among the Jewish people as well. A welcome part of the conversation that my books have initiated has been the publication of several thoughtful reviews of my first two volumes. In one of the most insightful of these reviews, Rabbi Aharon Wexler writes that I sometimes bring “[my] points too far by connecting and comparing the lessons learned to the situation in modern-day Israel, or Jewish existence in the Diaspora.” He continues, “Nataf is so adept in elucidating his points that it makes any further discussion superfluous. It might have been better to let the reader come to his or her own conclusions and not walk us through it. I believe it takes away from his point and turns a great teaching moment into a sermon.”7<i class="footnote"><i>Jewish Bible Quarterly</i> 39:4 (Fall 2011), 270.</i> This is an important observation and deserves a response.
  On some level, it all comes down to the need to accept certain trade-offs. What Wexler observes will no doubt make this series less attractive for some readers. Indeed, it may be surprising to see what can be construed as sermonics in a volume whose readership is presumed to be highly intelligent and certainly capable of drawing their own conclusions. Yet, I believe that had I left out my own conclusions, it would be doing a disservice to the reader – if for no other reason than because it would be contrary to the genre that I am trying to emulate. As mentioned, Jewish reading of the Bible is primarily didactic. Such reading teaches with high standards of intellectual rigor and honesty, but they are the means, not the ends. The ultimate point of Jewish Bible study is, and always will be, inspiration and personal growth in light of its towering content.
  Wexler is correct that it is educationally more effective to allow students to come to their own conclusions. This makes a teaching more personal as well as more memorable. Nonetheless, Jewish commentaries have often chosen to connect the dots for the reader and explicitly reveal contemporary applications. Such commentaries were written by great Jewish educators who understood that they were sacrificing great teaching moments by doing so. In those instances, they presumably felt the message was more important than the medium. This is certainly not always the case. In an educational exercise, for example, the message is less important than the process. Similarly, when the context allows the teacher to work with the student face to face, a teacher can afford the luxury of subordinating the message to the medium. In a written commentary, however, this is usually not the case. Here it is critical for the author to make his point known, even at the cost of making it less powerful than it would be in the ideal, oral setting.
  But there is something else as well. While my readership is intelligent, it is also diverse. For each reader who would prefer a more academic style there is another who will find the more explicit implications of my interpretations essential. In a review letter, my friend and colleague, Rabbi Nathaniel Helfgot, writes that my work “moves our study . . . from classic Talmud Torah and exegesis to a work of <i>Torat Chaim</i>.<i> </i>Each chapter concludes with a penetrating insight and ‘take-away’ message for us as spiritually striving human beings, as individuals and as community.” I am sure that for many readers, the importance of going from Talmud Torah to <i>Torat Chaim</i> is critical to the endeavor of redeeming relevance.
  There is another reason to avoid contemporary applications which Wexler actually does not mention. By seeking current implications, the author risks the eventual obsolescence of his work. What is timely for one generation is dated for another, especially in times that change so quickly. For me this is an even greater concern than the one Wexler raises. When one reads certain older works, he often senses their complete irrelevance to our own times. This is surely a high price to pay for seeking relevance. And yet, as I have argued in previous volumes, relevance is precisely what the Jewish commentator is called upon to pursue.
  But relevance need not mean a short shelf life. Truly great works rise above the limitations of writing primarily for one’s own era, even as certain applications become dated. Concerning my own work, it is not for me to decide whether it will ever be considered truly great – I am sometimes embarrassed when my books are found next to authors much greater than I (though sometimes I am embarrassed for the opposite reason). Greatness can only be a dream, but relevance must be an agenda. In these pages, it remains mine.
  
  CHAPTER 1 The Titleless Torah
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 2 The Spies; The Sin of the Wrong Trajectory
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 3 Korach and the Limits of Popular Government
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 4 The Book of Bilam; Of Subtlety and Subterfuge
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 5 Reuven and Gad; The Two Lost Tribes
  
  Having looked at some of the themes common to all the tribes, it is time to return to the Torah’s interest in their differentiation. Some tribes are barely mentioned in the Torah, and in those cases we will not attempt to create something from nothing. Instead we will concentrate on the many tribes that are described in ways that allow us to absorb concepts that the Torah seems clearly interested in our understanding. We will devote the remaining chapters of the book to those tribes.
  In Chapter One, we noted that the Reuven <i>degel</i> formation was made up of less successful tribes. While the story of Gad and Reuven’s request to settle in Transjordan stands at the center of the issue and thus begs our evaluation of it, there are several other reasons for God’s choice of specifically Gad and Shimon to complete Reuven’s formation. Since Reuven and Gad chose a common path, we will discuss them in this chapter. We will get back to the other member of the formation, Shimon – together with Levi – only in a later chapter.
  The Decline of Reuven
  As we discussed earlier, the Torah hints to the inferiority of the tribe of Reuven by placing his formation behind that of Yehudah, as well as by positioning him strategically in the various tribal listings such that even though he is the firstborn he is often not at the top of the list. We also pointed out that the decline of the tribe of Reuven parallels their progenitor’s earlier fall from leadership. In the book of <i>Bereshit</i>, Reuven seems to be tortured by the prospect of leadership. Understanding the responsibility that traditionally accompanies the firstborn but not having the requisite character, Reuven often responds to crises in a rash and emotional fashion. We see this when he tears his clothes and bemoans his own fate after returning to the pit to find Yosef missing. We also see it when, while trying to convince Ya’akov to let the brothers go back to Egypt, he offers his father the right to kill his own children if he comes back without Binyamin. And finally we see it in Reuven’s disgrace of Bilhah, Rachel’s maidservant and one of Ya’akov’s wives. As a result, his father proclaims him to be as “instable as water” (Bereshit 49:4). Thus it follows that Ya’akov designates Yehudah, and to a lesser extent Yosef, to take Reuven’s natural position of leadership.90<i class="footnote">This is discussed in detail in <i>Redeeming Relevance in Genesis</i>, 101–110.</i> Turning our attention to his descendants in the book of <i>Bemidbar</i>, we will not surprisingly note a similar ambivalence regarding leadership which ultimately leads to the tribe’s complete withdrawal from such a role. We will now see how this plays itself out.
  The only individuals from the tribe of Reuven that we know much about are Datan and Aviram, whose fame – or infamy – stems from their being among the major players in the Korach rebellion. Together with Ohn ben Pelet, they are described as <i>bnei Reuven</i> (Bemidbar 16:1) sons of Reuven, a rather rare description of specific individuals within a tribe. This term stands out further because it appears right before the mention of other members of their party, who are described as <i>bnei Yisrael</i> (Bemidbar 16:2). Some commentators91<i class="footnote">See Ibn Ezra and <i>Bechor Shor</i>, <i>Bemidbar </i>16:1, and Abarbanel, <i>Bemidbar </i>16:12–13.</i> note that the Torah is emphasizing Datan and Aviram’s tribal identity to explain why they objected to Moshe’s leadership. Quite simply, they had neither accepted nor recognized the transfer of leadership away from their own tribe – of whom they were leaders – to Moshe and the Levites. (Abarbanel even suggests that Moshe was prepared to make concessions to them in recognition of this, in his opinion, understandable claim.)
  The notion that these Reuvenite leaders are particularly disturbed by someone outside of their tribe holding the reins of leadership is reinforced by their emphasis on the leadership issue when they refuse to meet with Moshe. They ask rhetorically whether Moshe was to <i>rule</i> over them, in view of what they saw as a record of failure (Bemidbar 16:13). Korach and his other followers, in contrast, had seemingly different, albeit related, concerns (Bemidbar 16:3).91a<i class="footnote"> See Chap. Three for a discussion of Korach’s public position and how it may well have been a mask for a hidden personal agenda.</i>
  As opposed to what he would say later, Korach’s opening demand that there be no leadership whatsoever likely resonated most powerfully with the Reuvenites. True, it would have also taken power away from the tribe of Reuven, but this might not have been as unwelcome to them as we might think, considering that it was not necessarily out of jealousy that they resented Moshe’s ascendance. Rather it was a constant reminder of their own incompetence, which was reinforced right after the affair of the spies. There, true leadership had been shown by the delegates of the ascendant tribes of Yehudah and Ephraim (Yosef) as opposed to Reuven.
  Any tribe taking Reuven’s place in leadership always reminded the tribe of their failure to execute that which was expected of them as the firstborn. From this perspective, then, abolishing any hierarchy could be a way to erase their shame. What we see here is a manifestation of an inner turmoil which no other tribe would have to deal with. Thus, their alliance with Korach’s original public stance comes as no surprise.
  It follows naturally, then, that once Korach moves away from his initial position of anarchy and agrees to a contest for the priesthood, Datan and Aviram separate themselves from his cause.92<i class="footnote"><i>Tanchuma Yashan</i> (Korach 2) identifies Korach’s party of 250 leaders who also participate in the contest as mostly Reuvenites. Yet, this doesn’t seem to be in line with the simple meaning of the text, which identifies them as coming from <i>bnei Yisrael</i> and not <i>bnei Reuven</i>, as Datan and Aviram are described. Moreover, other rabbinic sources (<i>Tanchuma</i>, Korach 2; <i>Sanhedrin</i> 110a) may well take a different position, as they relate to other criteria with no mention of any tribal determinant.</i> That is why Moshe makes a separate appeal to them, only to be rebuffed by a stronger and more emotional tirade than anything we hear from Korach himself. In this, they remind us of the emotional instability that Ya’akov identified in their ancestor. Yet, what is most important here is that the Reuvenite leaders return to Korach’s first position, which reveals that their only real interest is in dethroning Moshe. Since they don’t view themselves as candidates for the priesthood, the proposed contest between the Korach contingent and Aharon will not help them. The only thing they are interested in is the complete abolishment of leadership – and with it, their shame.
  Moshe and Aharon held two types of leadership in the desert, that of the king and that of the high priest, respectively. As the contest for leadership from which Datan and Aviram distanced themselves was centered on the latter, it became an inner Levite affair between Korach and Moshe/Aharon. This should not surprise us, since the priestly rites had previously belonged to all firstborn males regardless of which tribe they were from. That means that this role had never belonged to Reuven. Hence, the fact that the test was over ritual leadership and not political and social leadership could also be a reason why Datan and Aviram were uninterested in the contest.93<i class="footnote">One wonders why the 250 leaders who joined Korach did not react similarly, as it appears that they were not Levites; neither is there any indication that they were all firstborns. One is thus forced to conclude that either they were convinced by Korach, who was clearly the plan’s instigator, or that the only remotely possible prize of ritual leadership was so dear to these men that they were willing to make a claim they realized was not likely to succeed. See Netziv, <i>Bemidbar</i> 16:2, who makes the case that they so much desired greater closeness to God that they were willing to pay whatever price was required to go beyond what was allotted to them.</i> Yet, this alone does not explain their behavior; why didn’t they ask for their own showdown over what <i>did</i> have meaning for them? It seems more reasonable to conclude, then, that Datan and Aviram were against the establishment of any new leadership – for them, Korach would be just as bad as Moshe. The pair’s concern was to pursue an exclusively negative campaign against the concept of leadership altogether. Once Korach and his adherents veered from this, they pursued the struggle on their own.
  It is tempting to see this approach as a key to the particular and peculiar punishment meted out to Datan and Aviram. As opposed to Korach’s followers, for whom the contest over the priesthood resulted in their being burned alive, Datan and Aviram, together with their constituency, were swallowed up by the earth – which was to leave no trace of them. On some level, this is an appropriate response to what the Reuvenites really wanted – an end to their shame. Neither is it so different from what eventually happened to the rest of their tribe: their withdrawal to the other side of the Jordan, tucked away in the southeastern corner of Jewish habitation and out of sight from the rest of Israel and its new leaders. One way or another, then, the fate of Reuven was essentially to disappear.
  As we continue in the story, we see still more evidence that Datan and Aviram’s claim against Moshe was based on his presumed usurpation of their tribal claim to leadership. As a sort of footnote to the struggle, the test involving the tribal staffs brings more testimony to what was really in question. Once Moshe’s other opponents, i.e., the 250 adherents of Korach who took part in the fire pan contest, had been killed, the prince of each tribe was told to lay his staff in the tent of meeting in order to see which one would miraculously bloom.
  The “staff test” is a clear sign that there was confusion in the camp regarding who should have the right to the national leadership altogether. Had it only been a question of which <i>Levite</i> should preside over the ritual service, this test would have been out of place. Rather, even though the earth’s swallowing up Datan and Aviram had already demonstrated to the Jews that Moshe’s leadership was divinely sanctioned, it wasn’t enough. Apparently, a new, intertribal test was required in which Moshe would need to be completely passive, since there were those –especially in the tribe of Reuven, presumably – who still contested his and his tribe’s leadership.
  It is worth noting that the next time the Levites take power by appointing one of their own as the political leader, i.e., at the time of the Hasmoneans, their action was criticized by the rabbis as a Levite usurpation of power that was reserved for the tribe of Yehudah.94<i class="footnote">See Ramban, <i>Bereshit</i> 49:10, citing <i>Baba Batra</i> 3b.</i> Still, the two cases are quite different. In the desert and into the early days of the Israelite commonwealth, political leadership had not yet been given to one tribe alone. Until such a situation emerged and the Davidic line would firmly consolidate the sociopolitical leadership for Yehudah, it could be taken on by anyone capable of the task, including the Levites. Accordingly, the <i>Shofetim</i>, the early political leaders in the commonwealth, came from many different tribes.95<i class="footnote">The Talmud (<i>Sukkah</i> 27b) makes the claim that every single tribe was represented. See Rashi ad loc., who explains how this was configured.</i> This was likely the position that the other tribes accepted even when they were in the desert, but it was apparently not accepted by Reuven, whose opposition was coming from a position of assumed entitlement.
  Given Datan and Aviram’s enthusiastic support of Korach’s original call for political anarchy discussed above, the recalcitrant Reuvenites who survived them were no more interested in reclaiming the leadership for Reuven than they had been before. They too felt a guilt-induced inclination to protest its being taken by others, whether from one specific tribe or from any of them. Since the very notion of leadership reminded them of their own perceived failure and resulting anxiety, they would have been likely to protest almost anything having to do with leadership at all.
  Whether the tribe of Reuven desired their own leadership of the Jewish people or no leadership at all, their desert defeat and its subsequent confirmation via the staffs was a watershed event for their aspirations — or at least, for their pretentions to leadership. Since it had now been fully established that Reuven had no particular claim to the leadership, the tribe would need to forge a new identity in line with the changed reality. Although we don’t hear anything more about Reuven until nearly the end of the book of <i>Bemidbar</i>, when we do it appears that the transformation had indeed taken place.
  The next mention of Reuven, which narrates their decision to settle in Transjordan together with Gad, should be viewed as their formal abdication of any claims to leadership. Not only is this obvious from Reuven’s geographical separation from the other tribes, it is also indicated by the order of the two tribes that confront Moshe here. Many commentators note that as the head of the <i>degel</i> formation and the firstborn, Reuven should have appeared before Gad.96<i class="footnote">See Ibn Ezra, Ramban, Rabbeinu Bachya, Kli Yakar, etc., <i>Bemidbar</i> 32:2.</i> While at the beginning of the Transjordan narrative we do find Reuven before Gad, immediately afterward and throughout the discussion between the two tribes and Moshe, we see Gad before Reuven. For these commentators, this means that Gad is the leader of the initiative and Reuven merely the follower. Below we will discuss how Gad came to such a position, yet still such a move is hard to imagine had Reuven not shrunk back, taking on a secondary role even within its own formation. One can actually imagine Gad doing the talking as Reuven sullenly watches, hoping for permission to be left in peace and isolation.97<i class="footnote">See Abarbanel on <i>Bemidbar</i> 32, who suggests that the disgrace of being ruled by other tribes may have been the prime motivator for Reuven in their desire to settle themselves in Transjordan, far from the other tribes.</i>
  Understanding the background makes us now more sensitive to the events that caused Reuven’s decline. Yet the firstborn tribe’s early exile, which we will soon explore, indicates that it did not fulfill its critical new task of showing humanity how to deal with frustration and disappointment. Not everyone is born for leadership, but everyone is born to fulfill a meaningful role. Figuring out that role can be a lifelong project, but dropping out is simply not an option.
  Gad – The Tribe of the Nouveau Riche
  In contrast to Reuven, we have little information about Gad beyond their request for Transjordan, and thus will have to work harder at looking for clues regarding their characteristics and motivations. Fortunately, the Transjordan narrative gives us much insight into them.
  We begin by noting the one verse of narration preceding the actual conversation between Moshe and the tribal leaders (Bemidbar 32:1): “The sons of Reuven had much livestock, and the sons of Gad had very much.” We can understand this verse to mean that although Reuven also had much livestock, Gad had an unusually great amount.98<i class="footnote">See Netziv and R. S.R. Hirsch, <i>Bemidbar</i> 32:1.</i> How the tribe of Gad amassed their property is an interesting point of conjecture, but more to the point is the clear interest they must have had in the accumulation of such wealth. After all, it is reasonable to assume that this type of unusual wealth did not come about without serious effort, and it is difficult to imagine any group putting out the necessary effort without a conscious interest in creating this wealth. Perhaps the sons of Gad saw this as preparation for settlement of the land, when material wealth would come in handy. Still, one needs to ask why Gad seems to have been the only tribe with such an interest. It is possible that others were also interested but simply didn’t succeed, but nevertheless, putting Gad’s tremendous wealth together with various other indications brought the rabbis (Bemidbar Rabba 22:7, 9) to the conclusion that this tribe had an atypically materialist streak.99<i class="footnote"><i>Granted, the rabbis mention this as a trait common to Reuven as well here. One of the major textual observations that leads to this conclusion is stated in the latter midrash: Whereas these tribes told Moshe they would first secure their livestock and children before helping in the campaign to conquer the Land of Israel, Moshe changes the order telling them that they should indeed first secure <i>their children and their livestock</i>. In other words, Moshe’s change in order is seen as a rebuke of their distorted prioritization of their property over their children.</i></i>
  In fact, it may not be so difficult to uncover the motivation for Gad’s likely materialism. Wealth has traditionally been the great equalizer. It is what has allowed those lacking in pedigree (aristocracy) or in accomplishments (meritocracy) to attain power and influence. Given Gad’s unusual assignment as the rearguard of <i>Degel Reuven</i>, and considering that it was the only tribe that stemmed from one of the maidservants to be in a formation with tribes descended from either Rachel or Leah, we should not be surprised that they wanted to find a way to gain some prestige. We can only speculate about the relationship between the tribes of Reuven and Shimon and the tribe of Gad, but it is likely that Gad felt acute social disparity and discomfort – all the more so since Reuven and Shimon had other weaknesses which they would have been able to camouflage by virtue of their pedigree. Hence, they may have emphasized this disparity in their relationship with Gad, who would have likely been conscious of it even in the best of circumstances.
  It is hard to know what is the cause and what is the effect of Gad’s being placed with Reuven and Shimon; meaning whether Gad was put together with them because the tribe had sufficient ambition to deal with the situation, or whether Gad’s ambition was a result of the association.100<i class="footnote">See Chap. One, 26, as well as n. 16, where we discuss why Gad’s placement with these two tribes is not a given and thus needs explanation.</i> But what is clear is that, like Reuven, the tribe of Gad had a reason to be at least somewhat uncomfortable with the role that it had been given. But here the comparison ends, for if Reuven had chosen the path of decline and isolation, Gad would attempt to raise itself up.
  Yet, if wealth is the easiest road to establish parity with aristocrats, it is not necessarily the only one. Moshe’s eventual blessing to Gad (Devarim 33:20)101<i class="footnote">“. . . blessed be He that enlarges Gad; he dwells as a lioness, and tears the arm, even the crown of the head,” <i>Devarim</i> 33:20.</i> indicates that the tribe could have also tapped into its courage and military prowess that it had shown when offering to go from rearguard to vanguard in the fight for the Land of Israel (Bemidbar 32:17). (Again we are assuming that what we hear from Gad and Reuven is coming primarily from Gad.) Yet, even if Moshe’s blessing strengthened the nobler tendency he saw in Gad, it apparently did not completely replace their materialistic streak. As such, his blessing might have paradoxically made matters worse, since prowess alongside materialism is a dangerous combination: the same courage used to settle conflicts on the battlefield can also be used to settle the many internal conflicts generally endemic to a materialistic society. It should therefore come as no surprise that the Talmud (Makkot 9b-10a) mentions the unusually high level of manslaughter in Gad.102<i class="footnote">The Talmud asks why out of six formal cities of refuge (which are designed to shelter those guilty of inadvertent killing), half of them are in Transjordan. The answer given is that there were “many killers in Gilad.” Most have not paid careful attention to the wording here and assume that murder – really manslaughter – was prevalent throughout Transjordan. In fact, a more precise reading should lead to the conclusion that the only problematic place was actually Gad, since Gilad is specifically the province of Gad. But equally revealing is the fact that the geographical arrangement of these three cities gives the residents of Gad three cities of refuge at their disposal (one completely theirs and two shared with the one of the other tribes), something unique even in Transjordan. Thus the <i>raison d’être</i> for the other two cities in Transjordan may not be for the primary benefit of Reuven and certainly not of Menashe, but rather for Gad.</i>
  Menashe – Odd Man Out
  Before we turn to what actually happened when Gad and Reuven petitioned Moshe to settle in Transjordan, there is an additional character – albeit very secondary – who needs to be mentioned. One of the strange features of this story is Moshe’s inclusion of a section of Menashe together with Gad and Reuven in the Transjordanian settlement. It is an unusual and unprecedented move for three reasons: first, we have no indication that Menashe requested to live there; second, Moshe sends only part of the tribe over the Jordan, creating an unprecedented intra-tribal division; and finally, we have no real indication that Menashe would have fit in with the somewhat negative picture we have of Reuven and Gad.103<i class="footnote">We should not forget that Menashe is part of the elite East-West axis, a fact which should further bolster our cognitive dissonance at his placement with Gad and Reuven.</i>
  But things are never as simple as they seem. While Jewish history would generally bear out our conceptual dissociation of Menashe from Gad and Reuven, in truth the picture is more complicated. If Menashe doesn’t fit in with Gad and Reuven, neither is it a perfect match with the tribes of its own <i>degel</i> – nor with any of the other tribes for that matter. But we will need to hold off on this until the next chapter, where we will discuss the turmoil Menashe experiences determining the fate of its inheritance. There also, we will try to get a better handle on that tribe’s unique character. It is only then that we can get to the bottom of Menashe’s association with the other Transjordanian tribes.
  In the meantime, however, it might be helpful to follow Netziv’s approach – at least its general contours. Netziv speculates that Moshe sent Menashe to Transjordan in an educational and watchdog capacity, to try to raise the shaky spiritual state of the other two tribes. While Netziv’s reasons for finding Menashe capable of such a role104<i class="footnote"><i>Ha’amek Davar</i>, <i>Devarim</i> 3:16.</i> may be speculative, his assertion that they were settled there for completely different reasons from Gad and Reuven is hard to contest. Thus, whatever insights about Menashe that we will discover in our next chapter, they will primarily be in contrast to the new partners Moshe gave the tribe. In the meantime, our study here will continue to focus only on Gad and Reuven.
  Now that we know more about our protagonists, we are in a better position to fully understand the near-debacle launched by Gad and Reuven’s request to settle in Transjordan. It is true that on some level the entire Reuven formation was a powder keg; a disaster waiting to happen. That means that the problem was not limited to Reuven and Gad but extended to Shimon as well. We will discuss the threat from Shimon and its mitigation later in the book. In the following sections, however, we will look more carefully at what happened with Reuven and Gad and how the federalist approach we discussed in Chapter One was already able to reap dividends for the Jewish nation at this crucial juncture in its history.
  Israel and Jordan
  The symbol of Menachem Begin’s Irgun militia and other similar organizations includes a map of what is now Israel <i>and Jordan</i>. The map makes the point that the Jewish nation’s ancient homeland included both sides of the Jordan River. And yet, correct as this claim may be, this territory – named by its <i>relationship </i>to Israel (Transjordan = across the Jordan) – has always held a problematic place in Jewish history.
  The territory to the east of the Jordan River was not designated as part of the original Promised Land. It was neither where the forefathers sojourned nor inhabited by the seven Canaanite nations that God planned to expel.105<i class="footnote">In truth, ten and not seven nations are mentioned at first, in <i>Bereshit</i> 15:19–20, and Rashi (15:9) cites one opinion in the Midrash (<i>Bereshit Rabba</i> 44:23) that the extra three nations are actually located in Transjordan (although likely in areas to the east and south of those settled by Gad, Reuven, and Menashe). Nonetheless, even according to this midrash, the conquest of Transjordan would occur only in messianic times.</i> Rather, it became part of the Jewish homeland as a result of a rather unusual turn of events: the land’s inhabitants were vanquished after trying to attack the Jews. The default expectation, however, was that the Jews would continue their march on to their own homeland on the western side of the Jordan while other nations would eventually take the place of the vanquished peoples on the east. Instead, the tribes of Gad and Reuven requested to settle it, ostensibly to find ample grazing for their livestock. While initially taken aback, Moshe eventually grants it to them with the stipulation that they participate in the war of national conquest on the western side of the Jordan. Even from this thumbnail sketch we see that the hasty annexation of these lands lacks the pedigree evident in the settlement of the Land of Israel proper. When we focus on the details, however, we will truly appreciate the actual ambivalence of the Jewish tradition toward this territory.
  Moshe’s conversation with the leaders of Gad and Reuven is not an easy one. To say that he is initially upset with their request would be an understatement. Perhaps most significant is Moshe’s allegation that Gad and Reuven are a new version of the infamous spies whom we know from Chapter Two. The reader will recall that it is they who caused the Jews to remain another ­thirty-eight years in the wilderness, as well as almost the entire adult generation of the time to die during that period. As we discussed at that point, there is reason to describe this as the worst calamity suffered by the Jews in the desert, and perhaps in all of Jewish history. To compare Gad and Reuven with the spies, then, is to place the strongest of accusations at their doorstep.
  Upon reflection, it is difficult not to share Moshe’s surprise at the audacity of Gad and Reuven’s request. Especially in view of the incident of the spies, the centrality of the Land of Israel should have been so clear as to make their request only slightly short of heresy. Moreover, the wording of their request, “Do not bring us over the Jordan,” sounds as if they may well have been rejecting the Holy Land which the spies had rejected earlier.106<i class="footnote"><i>Bemidbar</i> 32:5. R. Yitzchak Arama (<i>Akeidat Yitzchak</i>, Chap. 85), takes this position, as follows: “Indeed it appears that Moshe our master, of blessed memory, with his wealth of wisdom, understood their true intention. . . . For their original intention was not to pass over with them to war. And this is what they meant when they said, ‘Do not bring us over the Jordan.’ Moreover, it is not written [in v. 16], ‘And the children of Gad and the children of Reuven said to him,’ but rather, ‘And they approached him and said,’ meaning that they had heard what he said and had reconsidered, and thereafter they came back to him with their answer.” (Translation by Kaeren Fisch and David Silverberg, <i>Virtual Beit Midrash</i>.)</i>
  As mentioned earlier, the book of <i>Bemidbar</i> is really made up of two separate strands, the second of which begins only with the Jews’ first complaint at the beginning of Chapter 11. Before that point, we see only the “ideal <i>Bemidbar</i>” of the Jews preparing to enter their land. From that nondescript complaint on, however, the “ideal <i>Bemidbar</i>” moves over to share the limelight with the “real <i>Bemidbar</i>,” which describes the obstacles and challenges that meet the children of Israel along their way to the Promised Land. When we look at the latter strand, we see that the narrative of the spies (Chapter 12ff.) and the narrative of Gad and Reuven (Chapter 32ff.) – the two challenges to the land’s desirability – serve as near bookends. More than this, they can be viewed as the first and last <i>major</i> events of the “real <i>Bemidbar</i>.”
  The symmetry of the two stories in question is buttressed by the converse ratios of tribes that are “pro-Israel” to those that are “anti-Israel.” In the episode of the spies, only two tribal leaders encouraged the march over the Jordan. In the episode of Gad and Reuven, however, this is turned on its head, as only two tribes voice resistance to the march forward. In the same way as the rabbis (Megillah 23b) noted the strength represented by the number ten in the case of the spies, one could equally point to the force of the ten tribes that register no interest in the words of Gad and Reuven here. Given this artful setup, it appears that the Torah wants us to note the contrast between these two bookends and appreciate how the contrast came about.
  We can now understand that when Moshe calls Gad and Reuven the descendants of the spies (Bemidbar 32:8) – a phrase he repeats for emphasis (Bemidbar 32:14) – he is tracing the history of a critical sociopolitical movement which defines much of the “real <i>Bemidbar</i>.” Moreover, the very denouement of the entire book of <i>Bemidbar</i> and the Jews’ final readiness to enter the land is largely related to the withering of the movement the spies first set into motion.
  It is important to realize that the bottom line of the anti-Israel movement is resistance to God’s plan for the Jewish people. Its adherents are looking for a way to exclude themselves from a Divine trajectory for which they do not feel prepared.107<i class="footnote">See Chap. Two.</i> Being that the aim of the spies was to counter God’s plan, we understand why He had wanted to wipe out the Jewish people when they followed the spies’ lead (Bemidbar 14:12). In response to Moshe’s plea, however, God settles for the destruction of that generation only and not their children (Bemidbar 14:13-23). For his part, Moshe likely realized at that point that his new and central challenge was to educate the children to think differently from their parents regarding the Divine plan.
  In the ensuing years, Moshe is largely successful in his educational strategy. Still, thirty-eight years later, when the story of Gad and Reuven takes place, Moshe learns that he had been only partially successful with the new generation. Although most of the tribes adapted to the desired new mentality, two tribes had maintained the lineage of the “<i>tarbut anashim chata’im</i>,” the culture of sinful people.
  Following this line of thinking, Moshe’s accession to Gad and Reuven’s request – with certain conditions – is not based on approval or even agreement but rather upon resignation. He comes to terms with the fact that he can’t totally subdue resistance to God’s plan in his lifetime. Instead, he holds up Gad and Reuven only to a standard of basic decency, which had been his first claim against them when he said (Bemidbar 32:6), “How could it be that you will desert your brothers in their fight over the Jordan after they helped conquer your new land on this side?”
  Yet Moshe’s resignation actually reveals the near-complete success of his educational project. He has experienced only partial failure in the face of overwhelming success. At the end of the day, he was able to quarantine the danger, limiting it to just two tribes and putting them on the defensive as well. And he could have done so only if the rest of the camp was basically on board with him. Thus, even assuming that Gad and Reuven’s petition was a threat equal to that of the spies, it wouldn’t compromise the nation’s mission. And now that the threat had been defanged, Moshe (and God) could afford to be more indulgent.
  If Moshe is more forbearing with Gad and Reuven, still it doesn’t mean they got off scot-free. One could argue that Moshe was telling them: “It’s only appropriate that you get what you asked for – an inheritance outside the Holy Land. Indeed, just as your spiritual fathers, the spies, were not allowed to inherit the land, you will suffer the same fate. But whereas they received this decree as a Divine punishment, you will be getting it at your own request!”
  It is truly interesting to contrast the punishment of the spies with the punishment/reward of Gad and Reuven. We know from the book of <i>Bereshit</i> that there are two ways to get rid of troublemakers: death and banishment. Whereas the spies get the former, Gad and Reuven get the latter. As in <i>Bereshit</i>,108<i class="footnote">See <i>Redeeming Relevance in Exodus</i>, 111.</i> and indeed in general, the decision between banishment and death is often made according to the relative threat of the opponent in question. In the case of <i>Bemidbar</i>’s bookend narratives,<i> </i>the spies actively tried to convince the rest of the nation, whereas Gad and Reuven did not. Although the Jewish people were likely to be more convincible at the time of the spies and Moshe was less prepared for their threat, their campaign to win over the rest of the people remains the bottom line there. Exerting influence is a double-edged sword. For those who do it for a good purpose there is almost no limit to their reward, but for those who misuse it, as Korach and the spies did, the opposite is equally true.
  Knowing, however, what we know about Gad and Reuven, we can surmise that their lack of a campaign to convince the other tribes was based not only on lack of opportunity. As opposed to the spies who were from the leaders of all the tribes and presumably influential men, the tribes of Gad and Reuven did not carry much weight and, given this reality, were more focused on themselves. (To some extent and as we will soon note, all the tribes were now more focused on themselves than they had been earlier in the journey.) Thus, when they asked for Transjordan, they were not looking to persuade others. They were really in it only for themselves.
  Yet, even if Gad and Reuven did not have the same interest as the spies in winning over others to their cause, it doesn’t take away from the importance of the common ideology at play between the two groups. Even if it was Moshe that associated the two renegade tribes with the sin of the spies, it could be that the spy incident was even more intensely on the minds of Gad and Reuven than on his. As discussed above, these tribes were coming with a great ambivalence to the role in which they felt they had been placed. Reuven was a fallen leader who simply wanted to dissociate itself from the rest of the nation, and Gad had expended most of its energies into building its wealth and status, which would not carry much weight in the context of the Jews’ ultimately spiritual mission. Neither tribe would likely be motivated by the prospect of new adventures that would no doubt mark the settlement of the Promised Land – all the more so if its conquest required both spiritual discipline and physical sacrifice. They knew that the Land of Israel was supposed to be different; its purpose was to enhance their connection to God.109<i class="footnote">See ibid., Chap. One.</i> Gad and Reuven likely felt that they would not have much success with this focus, just as the children of Israel felt they would not meet with success in the Holy Land after the spies brought back their report. To Gad and Reuven, the spies might have been seen in a quasi-heroic light, as men who tried to derail a spiritual adventure, the pursuit of which did not interest them.
  If we are correct in our understanding of Reuven and Gad’s mindset, Moshe’s campaign to educate the rest of the new generation to reject the scouts’ ideology must have only alienated the two renegade tribes even further. The result of Moshe’s efforts was that they had no one to turn to for sympathy. Such an atmosphere drew them into their own shell, which they could now manifest physically by remaining across the river, away from the other tribes. The separation turned out to be so great that it fostered a complete lack of trust between the tribes on one side of the Jordan and those on the other. This is painfully apparent only one generation later (Yehoshua 22) when Reuven, Gad, and the Transjordanian section of Menashe are wrongly accused of worshiping idols and threatening the entire Jewish people with Divine retribution. Even more disturbing, the accusation is immediately accompanied by an undisguised threat to go to war against them. In response, the Transjordanian tribes explain that the monument they built, and which was the source of the suspicions, was created so that the other tribes would not forget that these tribes, too, are part of the Jewish nation. More serious than the negative impression the Transjordanian tribes had clearly made on the others, they clearly anticipated a time when they would not even be viewed as Israelites!
  Getting back to our story, when Reuven and Gad came to Moshe they were unsure of his reaction, but they must have known that they could not expect sympathy for a cause he himself had fought so strongly against. Their hope must have been to get Moshe to allow them to chart their own course, to create a mini-state with values slightly different from the rest of the children of Israel. With the threat that these two tribes might infect the others already moot as their lack of influence showed, perhaps Moshe would allow for such a project. In the end, and with certain caveats, Moshe did just that. But what they didn’t realize was that by doing so Moshe was really expressing his complete opposition to their ideology. By letting them split off, he was allowing them to choose the poison that they had so badly wanted . . . far from the main populace.
  Given what we have seen, we should not be surprised that the rabbis are highly critical of Gad and Reuven, and point out (Bemidbar Rabba 22:7) that their “rush to inherit land is connected to their being the first to be disinherited.” Though property and livestock is a blessing that God wants to bestow on His people, there is a time and place for everything. Rushing toward material wealth in the desert represents a lack of proper focus. This is presumably what allowed the two tribes to acquire more livestock than the others, who were likely preparing for entry into the Land of Israel in more rarified ways. To draw a contemporary analogy, to check one’s investment portfolio on Yom Kippur can only reveal a gross lack of perspective.
  Putting too much emphasis on wealth is likely to lead to other mistakes as well. Certainly it is a great mistake to trade God’s land for another, no matter how good the latter; even the early, secular-dominated Zionist Congress was not prepared to take the British offer of Uganda as a more practical substitute for their ancestral land. For Reuven and Gad – and indeed, for any Jew living in the Diaspora – there would be at least one major practical disadvantage: living in Transjordan and away from the large Jewish settlement bloc would mean being in closer contact with foreign nations and their negative influences. And it is precisely these types of influences that would prove to be the Jews’ greatest nemesis in trying to hold on to God’s favor, and consequently, to their political independence.
  Given that God allowed Reuven and Gad to live on the other side of the Jordan for many generations, the picture is not as bleak as we may have painted it. Though we have focused on the negative, these two tribes certainly carried many of the good traits of the rest of the Jews and certainly even unique, positive traits of their own. Still, the worrisome materialistic streak coupled with their self-doubts regarding their place within the Jewish people – along with living constantly among the other nations – would lead their descendants to sin more quickly than their brothers. And as noted above, that is why they would be the first that God would send into exile.
  The Federalist Project Revisited
  So far we have contrasted the spiritual and educational conditions of the Jews in the earlier and later periods of the desert experience. We will now look at other critical differences, this time related to tribal identity and affiliation.
  At the time of the spies, we see greater cohesion among the elites – i.e., the spies – than among each individual tribal grouping. In other words, there is little tribal consciousness during this early period of tribal consolidation. While the twelve spies nominally represent the twelve ancestral groups, we have no evidence that the split opinion among the scouts led to a similar split among their constituents. On the contrary, the majority verdict seems to be accepted by all the people, including those represented by Calev and Yehoshua, who themselves had favored a different approach. Moreover, since Calev and Yehoshua are singled out as the two <i>individuals</i> who would be spared the general punishment, it stands to reason that they were not followed by their tribes.
  In contrast to the situation at the time of the spies, Gad and Reuven come to Moshe toward the end of the period of tribal consolidation, a project which had now been almost forty years in the making. During this time, the Jews marched and camped with members of their own tribe in a much more rigid fashion than before the incident of the spies. They were counted according to their tribes and otherwise reminded of their tribal identity on many occasions. Hence, it makes sense to expect more intra-tribal and less inter-tribal cohesion at this point than was the case earlier. Not surprisingly, then, when Gad and Reuven come to Moshe, though it’s likely that the Torah is speaking about a leadership delegation, the fact that it does not confirm this is significant. The implication seems to be that even if it was only a delegation from Gad and Reuven that came to Moshe, it was as if the entire two tribes had come. This is a clear sign that the connection between tribal leaders and their followers had significantly developed since the time of the spies.
  Returning to the theme of federalism that we discussed in Chapter One, it is paradoxically in quasi-secessionist tribal challenges like that of Gad and Reuven that we see the strength of the organizational system created by the Torah. A more unified structure means that the state can fall with its weakest elements. Since all are together, overcoming a significant minority becomes more difficult. Like a sick organism, it either gets healthy or it dies.
  In a federal system, however, it is not all or nothing, as the federated sub-units are able to make more autonomous judgments regarding their fate. In the best-case scenario, the problematic minority is persuaded by the majority to go along with it. But if it is not persuaded, the majority can easily jettison itself, separating the two camps’ fates and causing less damage to the whole. Likewise, the majority can also place an ultimatum before the “sick” element, giving it the choice of going along with or further separating itself from the entire unit. (Incidentally, Gad and Reuven prove that this need not mean complete secession, as we see that they chart a separate course for themselves without dissolving the bonds of confederation that link them up to the rest of the commonwealth.)
  Though the impact of Reuven and Gad’s decline was limited by the federal structure of <i>Shivtei Yisrael</i>,<i> </i>the tribes of Israel, their secession still represents a tragedy of major proportions. If we are left with ten tribes in good standing,110<i class="footnote">We will soon see in Chap. Seven that Shimon was also in a situation of decline and would soon drop out of recorded Jewish history as well.</i> this is far from the ideal. A group functions at maximum capacity only if all of its members are accomplishing their tasks. Hence, Reuven and Gad’s settlement on the east bank of the Jordan River was not just a tragedy for them; it was a tragedy for the entire Jewish people.
  ◆ ◆ ◆
  In our study, we noted how both Gad and Reuven came to their tragic preference for Transjordan due to discomfort with their God-given positions. Reuven didn’t know how to be a firstborn who was unequipped to be a leader; Gad didn’t know how to be in a group where it would be disadvantaged because of its lack of pedigree. We are all challenged by situations that are not of our choosing. Some are born into families into which they don’t “fit.” Others find themselves with responsibilities they wish they didn’t have. Still others are stuck with an image that they would prefer to dispel. There are many things that can be changed, and many others that cannot. One’s adaptation to undesired, unavoidable circumstances is often the most significant factor in his success. We are all familiar with stories that illustrate this point: crippled athletes or wounded veterans who find new careers with passion and enthusiasm, to name but two.
  Reuven and Gad’s predicaments are actually the stuff of everyday life. Their tragedy is really the tragedy of all who become defined by their circumstances. No one is given a life where everything falls into place magically. It is our task to take control of our lives regardless of the situation in which we find ourselves. Ultimately, the failure of Gad and Reuven is that they neither coped nor adapted. Via their tragic, downward spiral, the Torah seeks to warn us about what can happen when we don’t take control of that which is in our power. That it happened to them should remind us that it need not happen to us. 
  
  CHAPTER 6 The Daughters of Tzelofchad  and the Elders of Menashe; Identity, Interests, and Differentiation
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 7 Shimon and Levi; The Brothers Divided
  
  