Trails that Do Not Exist

May 22, 2009
Rabbi Seymour Rossel

     On other occasions, I have taught you that the Torah was originally designed to be only four books ending with the book of Numbers (which, in Hebrew, is called BaMidbar, "In the Wilderness"). When the fifth book was added, the section telling of the death of Moses was taken from the end of the Book of Numbers and added to the very end of the Book of Deuteronomy.

     In other words, the original four-book Torah was purposely intended to end with the people still "in the wilderness." And, even when the fifth book was added, the original plan prevailed and the Torah still ended with the people "in the wilderness." There was never any intent for the Torah to include the Book of Joshua, for example, in order to bring the Hebrews into the Promised Land.

     From beginning to end, the Torah tells a tale of struggle toward a promise that always remains unfulfilled. The promise first appears in the Book of Genesis. God seeks a human being to embody the promise. Adam is unreliable and so is Eve. Noah gets drunk after the flood and proves less than dependable and hardly credible as a representative of God on the earth. In Genesis, God realizes the weakness of human beings but sees a special strength in Abraham and Sarah. It is to them that the promise is conveyed, a covenant to be passed on to future generations: to Isaac and Jacob and to Joseph, who forces the Hebrews to promise that when they are released from Egypt they will take his bones up to the Promised Land.

     So much for Genesis. The rest of the Torah involves the covenant with the whole Jewish people. Moses is chosen as their shepherd and lawgiver, Aaron as their priest and ritual guide, and Miriam as their emotional fulcrum. In accordance with the promises of the land made to their ancestors, the people are personally redeemed by God and the story turns on the faithfulness of the Chosen People, and also on their failings. The Israelites could easily have reached the Promised Land. It was not God who stood in their way, but their own stubbornness and their own wayward behavior. If they had only cared as much about the Promised Land as they cared about their stomachs... (At least, that is the lesson which is implied.)

     Of course, the wilderness is not an easy place for human beings. You may be interested to know how relevant this lesson is by comparing the plight of the Children of Israel in the wilderness to some actual comments by backpackers reported to the U. S. Forest Service.

     In the Torah's wilderness, the people complained because they had no meat and they missed the cucumbers of Egypt (by which, they probably mean the "dill pickles" they used to eat). Apropos, one backpacker left this note in the Forest Service registry: "A small deer came into my camp and stole my bag of pickles." His note went on to ask, "Is there any way I can get reimbursed?"

     Other troubles were also reported. One hiker noted, "Escalators would help on some of the steep uphill trails." Another, equally tired, just said, "Trails need to be reconstructed. Please avoid building trails that go uphill." Of course, in the Torah, the Israelites also complained of all the walking from one place to another. Fortunately for them, it was not mainly uphill. But the Torah does not record anything to compare with this complaint: "The Forest Service should make trails wider so people can walk while holding hands."

     The suggestion of another hiker would have greatly appealed to the Israelites who always complained about food in the wilderness. One hiker wrote: "Instead of a permit system, the Forest Service should reduce worldwide population growth to limit the number of visitors to the wilderness."

     Overcrowded parks are one thing, but the Israelites once came face to face with a swarm of snakes. They would have been comforted to hear another suggestion made to the U.S. Forest Service: "There are altogether too many bugs and leeches and spiders and spider webs. Please spray the wilderness to rid the area of these pests."

     Another backpacker suggested: "Please pave the trails so they can be plowed to be free of snow in the winter." Another asked for "Chair lifts in some places so that we can get to the wonderful views without having to hike to them." Another hiker noted that in his estimation there were "Too many rocks in the mountains." And the Forest Service also heard from someone upset by all the trash on the trails who suggested that "You need more signs to keep the wilderness pristine."

     The most expressive comment left for our Forest Service came from a backpacker who expressed both frustration and anguish by filling out the remarks section of the form to say: "You need to be aware that the places where trails do not exist are not well-marked."

     For me, this comment remains the most vivid because it explains why the Torah was always meant to end BaMidbar, "in the wilderness." As we live our lives, we also need to be aware that places where trails do not exist are not well-marked. We never quite know our future. In fact, many of us are not all that cognizant of our past. But we somehow sense there is a promise, even a promised land. It is not always straight ahead of us. It is not always easy to find because the trail that each of us is on is not well-marked. In fact, it does not exist until we bring it into existence with our lives.

     Like the Forest Service, we need to keep in mind that "the places where trails do not exist are not well-marked." In the wilderness, first Miriam died and then Aaron and finally Moses, but the Israelites were expected to go on. Forget the escalators and the chair lifts, forget the difficulties of having too many rocks in the mountains. Our mission, given to us by God, and posed for us as the central problem of the Torah, is always to find trails that do not exist -- each of us a new trail -- and to mark our trail for those who will come after us. And let us say: Amen.