Presumably,
G-d was capable of splitting the Sea of Reeds prior to the Jews' plea for
salvation (Shemot 14:21), there was no lack of water in the Divine reservoir
before the Jews beseeched Moshe for something to drink (ibid. 15:26), the manna
was available before the Children of Israel gave voice to their hunger (ibid.
16:3), and the Divine defeat of Amalek was no less possible before Moshe raised
his hands toward heaven (ibid. 17:11). Why, then, were our ancestors compelled
to plead for Divine assistance no fewer than four times in our parshah, and for
the most basic of human needs – water, bread, and the defeat of their foes?
One might
answer by citing the Talmud's explanation for childlessness of our ancestresses.
(Yevamot 64a) The sages suggest that G-d calibrated His treatment of the
matriarchs based upon the prayers he expected from those paragons of righteousness.
However, this seems a cruel exercise for a nascent nation. Surely, a ragtag
group of slaves, newly emancipated and entering an environment both foreign and
hostile, could have been afforded the bare essentials of life while they found
their equilibrium!
Indeed, the
same question may be asked at the very start of the Torah. Adam and Chavah are
formed on the morning of the sixth day of Creation, and given one instruction
(Bereishit 2:16-17): Eat from all of the trees, except one. G-d places that one
prohibited tree in the middle of the garden, where it is certain to attract
their attention, and He assigns it great beauty. Why place such a challenging
test before Adam and Chavah for their first day on the planet?
One answer
might be found in a talmudic debate (Menachot 89a) regarding the way the kohanim
calculated the amount of oil needed each night for the menorah in the Beit
haMikdash. One view is that the kohanim started with a small amount, and added
as needed until they determined the necessary quantity. A second view is that they
started with a large amount, and reduced as they were able until they determined
the necessary quantity.
The
Talmud's focus on how the kohanim calculated their quota is odd; normally, the
Talmud says of such discussions, "mai d'hava hava!" "What
happened, happened!" Why do I need to know whether the kohanim started
with a teaspoon of oil and worked their way up, or whether they started with a
litre and worked their way down?
The answer
may be that we are meant to learn from the philosophies behind each of the two
oil-measuring approaches. As the Talmud continues to explain, the approach of
beginning with a small amount is predicated upon the idea that G-d cares about
the means of the Jewish people, and He does not wish to waste their property;
therefore, the kohanim tried to use as small a quantity as possible. On the
other hand, the approach of beginning with a large amount is predicated upon
the view that the Beit haMikdash is a luxurious setting, and the poverty
expressed by stinting on oil would be inappropriate for that venerated venue.
The fundamental distinction between the two approaches is where we place our
focus: Meeting our needs, or Rising to a majestic occasion.
Perhaps
this is why G-d tested Adam and Chavah immediately after their
"birth". Certainly, Hashem could have been patient with them,
starting them slowly and having them work their way up to their full abilities.
However, the Divine plan set the tone for their growth immediately, informing
them that they were "a luxurious setting", like the Beit haMikdash. The
spiritual poverty implied by early coddling would be inappropriate. G-d assigned
them the highest possible test, and only after their failure did He make
allowances for a lower bar.
Perhaps,
too, this is why the Jews confronted thirst, starvation and the intimidating
force of two separate foes in our parshah, all while taking their first, wobbly
steps. Allowing a gentle "getting to know You" period out of concern
for their welfare and emotional health would have been a case of what American President
George W. Bush termed "the soft bigotry of low expectations". The
Divine preference was to set the tone for our national existence by making the
greatest of demands, establishing us as a luxurious setting, in which spiritual
poverty would be unseemly.
The natural
question, then, is how we will develop our own spiritual lives. Will we add a
little bit of oil at a time, scraping by with a minimum of investment out of
mercy upon our means? Or will we aim high, starting from the stratosphere and
reducing only when we find it necessary? Let there be no poverty in our luxurious
spiritual setting.
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