PARSHAT KORACH

(5768)

 

CONFLICT RESOLUTION

“They combined against Moses and Aaron and said to them, you have gone too far.  For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Lord is in their midst.  Why then do you raise yourselves above the Lord’s congregation?”   (Numbers 16:3)

            I have a very simple solution to avoid conflict.  Move someplace where you do not know anybody.  Live totally alone.  Work for yourself, preferably far away from other people.  Minimize all human contact.  You will probably have no conflict in your life.  You will also be exceedingly lonely and probably have little joy in your life.

            We humans are by nature social creatures.  We need people.  And invariably, when people come into contact with other people, there will be conflict.  The more the contact, the greater the conflict.   The greatest conflict is often with those closest to us, those whom we share a life, our friends and co-workers, our neighbors and roommates, our spouse or partner, our parents and children.  Conflict is an inevitable result of a life with people.

            This week’s portion is built around a major conflict, the biggest Moses would face in his leadership of the people.  The difficulty is that the ring leader of the conflict was a man named Korach, Moses’ own cousin who vied with him for leadership of the people.  The great rebellion led by Korach was a family feud, so common in all of our families.  The image of family members fighting each other reaches all the way back to Cain and Abel, to the beginning of the human race.  Sometimes the worst conflicts are not between nations but between two people who share a common bloodline or live in the same home.

            The Talmud gives some wonderful insight into the conflict between Korach and Moses.  Pirkei Avot teaches, “Every controversy that is for God’s sake shall end in a positive result, but every controversy not for God’s sake in the end will not have a positive result.  Which controversy was for God’s sake?  The controversy between Hillel and Shammai.  And what controversy was not for God’s sake?  The controversy of Korach and his followers.”  (Avot 5:17)

            The early Rabbis Hillel and Shammai had vicious arguments over the details of God’s law, but there was a mutual respect between the two of them.  The argument was for the sake of heaven.  They recognized the legitimacy of the other’s argument.  “For three years there was a dispute between the school of Shammai and the school of Hillel. …  Then a heavenly voice proclaimed, `These and these are the words of the living God, but the law is according to the school of Hillel.’”  (Eruvim 13b)  These were legitimate arguments over points of God’s law.  There were no ad hominem attacks, it was a conflict about ideas rather than people.

            Not so the arguments between Moses and Korach.  True that Korach attacked Moses over points of Jewish law.   The classical example shows Korach wearing a four cornered garment made of blue threads.  He challenged Moses, “Does this need a thread of blue on the fringes in the corners?”  “Of course,” replies Moses.  And Korach laughed, “Your laws are ridiculous.  One thread of blue makes it kosher.  But if the whole garment is made of blue threads it is not kosher.”  On the surface it seems like a straight forward argument about Jewish law.  But the true argument was far more sinister – a power struggle.  Moses had the power of leadership and Korach wanted that power.

            How often are our conflicts power struggles in disguise?    We fight with our children over curfews, with our spouse over money, with our co-workers over which radio station to play in the background.   What is the point of the argument?  Is it really our attempt to increase our power in relationship to these other people, to show them who’s boss?   It takes a lot of brute honesty and serious soul searching to ask the question, “what are we really fighting about?”  If it is about a point of law like Hillel and Shammai, there is room for compromise.  (Listen to one radio station one day, a different one the next day.)   But if the fight is really about power like Moses and Korach, there can be no compromise.

            It is important to ask ourselves the brutally honest question – what are we really fighting over?  After honest soul searching, we must put the fight behind us.  My wife and I have added a wonderful ritual to our marriage.  Each Yom Kippur as we light candles, we ask for forgiveness for any wrongs from the past year.   At that moment all past conflicts are put behind us.  We may not bring them up again.   Once a year we wipe the slate clean of all conflicts.  Perhaps that is one of the ways we have stayed happily married for almost twenty-nine years.

 

 

PARSHAT KORACH

 (5767)

 

LIVING IN A MATERIAL WORLD

 

“Scarcely had he finished speaking all these words when the ground under them burst asunder and the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up with their households, all Korach’s people and all their possessions.”                            (Numbers 17:31-32)

 

            As a native of Los Angeles, I am always sensitive to earthquakes, just as we Floridians are sensitive to hurricanes.   So I always feel a certain tenseness when the ground opens up under Korach, swallowing up him, his family, and his fellow rebels.  According to the Torah this was a just punishment for his rebellion against Moses.  In fact, according to the Midrash there is a certain crack in the ground in the desert where, if you listen carefully, you can hear a voice lamenting, “Moses was right and I was wrong.”

            The Torah often uses natural disasters to bring about punishments.  A flood wipes out most of humanity in the days of Noah, terrible plagues strike Egypt, vicious poisonous snakes afflict the Israelites, and Miriam breaks out in leprosy for gossip against Moses’ wife.   An underlying theological idea of much of the Torah is that when natural disaster strikes, it must be punishment for some moral lapse.  This is precisely the argument Job’s friends use against Job to try to justify his terrible personal suffering.  And Job utterly rejects this idea.  According to Job, natural disasters afflict the innocent as well as the guilty.

            This brings me to the number one question that any religious Jew, or a theist of any faith, must confront today.  Why do the innocent suffer?   Often people ask me, how can God justify the holocaust?   I cannot blame God for the holocaust; it was human beings causing the suffering of other human beings.  But a far more difficult theological problem is natural suffering – floods, earthquakes, tsunamis, tornados, hurricanes, disease, pestilence, birth defects, the list goes on and on.  Why do we live in a world where nature itself creates human suffering?

            Let me try to grope for an answer.  We live in a world of natural laws.  These laws are fine tuned so that life and eventually intelligent creative life will evolve.  But these same laws that allowed life to evolve often create pain and suffering.  For example, evolution requires competition and survival of the fittest, with the death of species and individuals unfit for survival.  Within any species there is competition for food, for mates, and for status within the community.   Evolution moves forward by genetic mutations, the vast majority of which are destructive.  This is the way nature works.  There is one other law that is inevitable in a natural world, all things must die.  The laws of entropy are inexorable; to quote William Butler Yeats in his most famous poem The Second Coming, “Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.”

            To live in a material world is to live in a world of suffering.  How are we to cope?  There are three possible answers – escape the world, accept the world, or transform the world.  The ancient Gnostics believed that this material world was corrupted by evil.  The purpose of life was to escape into some more perfect spiritual realm and leave the material behind.  This Gnostic view is extremely influential today among many mystics including those who have embraced Kabbalah.   How do we deal with the suffering of living in a material world?  The mystical answer is escape.

            Atheists and materialists of various stripes would claim that this world is all there is.  We must live with it.  The French existentialist Jean Paul Sartre claimed that we live in an absurd world, a cold, unfeeling cosmos.  Our goal in life is to act in whatever way we can to give meaning to our lives during the short time we are on this earth.  The only meaning life has is the meaning we give it through the choices we make.  We must accept the world for what it is, a cruel place, and learn to act accordingly.

            The third answer, which I believe is the Biblical answer, is that there is more to us humans than the material.  There is a spiritual dimension to our existence which earthquakes cannot touch.  But rather than escape from this world, we were sent here to transform this world.  We can cure cancer, predict hurricanes, and even build earthquake proof buildings.  We can use the power of genetic engineering to overcome birth defects.  We can use our powers to transform this material world.  When God created the universe, He looked at it and saw that it was “very good” – very good but not perfect.  Our job is to perfect it.

 

 

PARSHAT KORACH

 (5766)

 

ARGUMENTS

 

“They combined against Moses and Aaron and said to them, You have gone too far.  For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Lord is in their midst.  Why then do you raise yourselves above the Lord’s congregation?”                        (Numbers 16:3)

 

            Jews love to argue.  It is more than a stereotype; it is a fundamental part of our national character.  There is a good reason why we Jews poke fun at our own argumentative ways.  (One of the oldest jokes for the non-Jewish readers of this column – Two Jews are in a vicious argument, so they go to their rabbi.  The first gives his side of the argument and the rabbi says, “You’re right!”  The second gives his side and the rabbi says, “You’re right!”  A bystander speaks out.  “How can they both be right?”  The rabbi replies, “You’re right too.”)

            Perhaps our love of argument goes all the way back to our father Abraham, who argued with God about the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.  Perhaps it goes back to the book of Job, where Job calls God to a trial.  Certainly the Talmud is filled with page after page of argument between rabbis. 

            Let me quote one passage from the Talmud as a wonderful example of the joy of arguments.  “Resh Lakish died, and (his brother-in-law) R. Johanan was plunged into deep grief. Said the Rabbis, 'Who shall go to ease his mind?  (R.Eleazar b. Pedath went and quoted teachings in support of R. Johanan.)   'Are you Resh Lakish?' he complained: 'when I stated a law, Resh Lakish used to raise twenty-four objections, to which I gave twenty-four answers, which consequently led to a fuller comprehension of the law (while you always agree with me.)  R. Johanan rent his garments and wept, 'Where are you, O son of Lakish, where are you, O son of Lakish'” (Baba Metzia 84a).  He wept not simply because he lost his brother-in-law, but because he lost his partner in arguments.  

            Arguments were not simply part of Biblical nor Talmudic times.  There is a reason why we Jews say, “Two Jews, three opinions.”  We love to disagree.  And we admit that the give and take of a good argument sharpens our minds.  We did not receive the Torah as a complete package; the Torah has been settled and strengthened through the give and take of powerful arguments.

            Nonetheless, not every argument is in the name of heaven.  This week’s portion tells of the great rebellion by Moses’ cousin Korach against Moses and his Torah.  Korach sought an excuse to argue with Moses about his teachings.  Rashi brings one wonderful example of such an argument.  Moses had taught that the Israelites should wear fringes on their garments with threads of blue.  Korach came forward with a cloak made entirely of blue threads.  “Does this need a thread of blue?”   “Of course,” Moses replied.  Korach then mocked Moses, “Your laws are ridiculous.  One thread of blue makes it proper, but all threads of blue are not good.”  Korach started mocking Moses and began his revolt against Moses’ authority.

            The argument between Moses and Korach was not pure argument for the sake of a better understanding God’s word.  It was a power play.  The Talmud gives this as an example of an argument not for the sake of heaven.  (Avot 5:17)  Such arguments have no lasting significance.  The Talmud compares the argument between Moses and Korach to the disagreements between the school of Hillel and the school of Shamai.  The two schools argued, but with a deep respect for one another.   It was an argument for the sake of heaven.  Korach’s challenge to Moses was not for the sake of heaven.

            We all have arguments with the people in our lives.  The closer we are with others, the more frequently we may argue.  Every married couple, every parent and child, every brother and sister, knows the heat of argument.  Business partners, co-workers, neighbors, and friends all argue.  And certainly rabbis argue with congregants.

            In the heat of the argument it is vital to stop and ask a question.  What are my underlying motives?  Am I arguing because I truly disagree on some point?  Or is the argument like that of Korach against Moses, filled with underlying agendas and motivations?  We each need to ask, “Is this an argument for the sake of heaven?”  If not, perhaps we ought to stop arguing. 

 

 

PARSHAT KORACH

 (5764)

 

AFTER THE DISASTER

 

"The next day Moses entered the Tent of the Pact, and there the staff of Aaron of the house of Levi had sprouted; it had brought forth sprouts, produced blossoms, and borne almonds."

(Numbers 17:23)

 

Recently I saw Hollywood's latest disaster movie, The Day After Tomorrow.   The science, about a contemporary ice age caused by global warning, may be questionable.  But the disaster scenes were exciting.  It was chilling watching my home city of Los Angeles destroyed by tornadoes, and watching walls of water swallow Fifth Avenue in New York City.  I can deal with disasters in movies.  But how do we cope with disaster in real life?

Los Angeles does not need tornadoes.  It has more than its share of earthquakes, brush fires that destroy entire neighborhoods, and mud slides washing expensive homes into the sea.  This year the Midwest has been hit by a record number of tornadoes, many of them unusually destructive and deadly.  And of course, here in south Florida the memory of Hurricane Andrew still haunts us.

Sometimes I wonder where one can live in the United States to avoid all natural disasters; which state is farthest from the hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, earthquakes, and brush fires that seem to hit regularly.  Even if we were to live in such a state, other disasters might hit.  To be alive is to be subject what insurance companies call "acts of God,"  random disasters that hit because we live in the world.  There is no place of safety anywhere.  The goal is to learn to deal with disasters when they hit.

If producers were to make a disaster movie from the five books of Moses, they would probably pick this week's portions.  The portion begins with all the human conflicts of every disaster movie, a rebellion against Moses led by Korach and his cohorts.  However, fairly quickly Korach became the victim of a major earthquake.  The ground opened up, and he and his family were swallowed under the ground.  According to Rabbinic tradition, he went down alive and his voice can still be heard crying out, "Moses was right and I was wrong."  What a dramatic movie scene this would be.

The disasters were not yet over.  A fire consumed two hundred and fifty men who brought a false offering following Korach.  Finally, a terrible plague broke out amongst the Israelites.  Although the plague began amongst the rebels, it quickly spread to the Israelites who were not involved in the great revolt.  The innocent too often become the victims.  Aaron, the brother of Moses, became the hero of the story.   "Aaron took (the fire pan), as Moses had ordered, and ran to the midst of the congregation, where the plague had begun among the people.  He put on the incense and made expiation for the people.  He stood between the dead and the living until the plague was checked."  (Numbers 17:12-13)   One can picture a dramatic scene, with Aaron standing before the spreading plague praying that it stops.

The disasters were finally over.  But how would the people find healing?  Again, Aaron becomes the symbol.  In a dramatic test, Aaron=s staff broke out with an almond blossom.  Where there had been death, new life began to bloom.  One would not expect a flower to suddenly bloom on a wooden staff.  But the image of the almond blossom is symbolic of the new life that pushes forth out of the death, new hope that always blooms after a disaster.

I have many memories from my childhood of visiting areas devastated by the terrible brush fires of Southern California.  Everything was burnt; there seemed little hope that life would ever reappear.  However, within a very short time wild flowers covered the ground.  Within a year there was a new growth of trees.  In a few years you would not know that the fire had ever hit.  There is a life force at work in the universe that seems to overpower death.