So here we are, at the end of the journey. We’ve made it through the desert, and now it’s time for a backward glance o’er traveled roads (all rights reserved by Walt Whitman) So begins our parashah, Mas’ei, with a review of the 42 places at which Hashem directed us to pause our journey from Egypt to the Land of Israel. Some evoke brief comments, most are passed over with the formula of “and they traveled from X, and they camped at Y”. And after that cursory review, it’s time to divvy up the land. Chiefs of each tribe are appointed to receive their tribes portion. Then, the needs of the Levites, who are given no portion in the land, they themselves being Hashem’s portion in Israel, are addressed. The Levites are granted towns, each surrounded by a small belt of land for grazing and small farming, scattered throughout the holdings of the tribes. Of these 48 cities, six are to be designated as “cities of refuge”, and the parashah continues by elaborating on the function of these cities:
Should a man accidentally kill another man, he must (not may, but must) flee to one of these cities and there he will be safe from a relative of the dead man desiring to exact vengeance. He must remain there until the death of the serving High Priest, and if he ventures outside the city of refuge and the blood-avenger finds him and kills him, he has written his own fate.
The last passage of the parashah, and the entire chumash, relates the tribes’ concerns that the provision made for the daughters of Tzlofchad to receive their father’s land in the absence of any sons will lead to a violation of the integrity of each tribes portion when they marry into other tribes.
It is striking how, poised upon the edge of the land they’ve moved toward for so long, and about to enter it and leave wandering behind forever, the people are confronted with rootlessness. For the Levites have no actual title to the land – their cities are more on the order of a concession, an urban entity that is not truly of the land. And an attempt is made to tie down the daughters of Tzlofchad so that they don’t go wandering off to other tribes, taking their land with them. And, of course, there is the business of the accidental murderer.
The word used to describe the flight of the accidental murder is not flight, but exile. The term “ir miklat”, usually rendered “city of refuge”, would be more accurately translated “city of absorption” - a place which absorbs and takes in exiles. Because the truth is that accidental murder is still murder, at least in Hebrew. The Talmud clarifies that only certain cases of accidental murder would be subject to this law. Neither in cases of criminal negligence nor is cases of unavoidable consequences is the individual exiled. Only in cases where scrupulous attention to detail could well have avoided the unfortunate turn of events. Atonement is necessary for this sin of omission and it is achieved by exile.
The road has been our blessing and curse since Avraham Avinu. His relationship with Hashem is launched with his exile from his home and everything it carries with it. Rashi there tells us that the road tears down and wears down a person. That, however, is a “tearing down for the purpose of building” as Hashem promises Avraham He will bless him in each of the ways the exile has caused him to be torn and worn.
When we look carefully at the journeys of our people through the desert, they are really more like a series of exiles. Rashi here tells us that Hashem was being considerate of us – in the majority of cases we stayed for an average of two years. But is it considerate to allow people to settle in and feel at home only to command them to pick up and move on?
Yes, if you know that the transformations that can be had thereby are only accessible via the process of exile and resettlement: “And they traveled forth from, and they camped in”.
But what is to become of that tool of growth and transformation once we’ve settled the land? The answer: internal exile. Cities of exile for the one who murders the realization of potential by means of “oops”. Places chock full of Levites in permanent transit learning and teaching Torah – a place to become absorbed in ascent. A place where we can taste going beyond the world of accidents, where intentional living is the very air they breath, where the possibility of responsible action is synonymous with joyful living.
When we don’t settle for settling, we’re always on the road. It’s long and winding, but it leads to His door.
Should a man accidentally kill another man, he must (not may, but must) flee to one of these cities and there he will be safe from a relative of the dead man desiring to exact vengeance. He must remain there until the death of the serving High Priest, and if he ventures outside the city of refuge and the blood-avenger finds him and kills him, he has written his own fate.
The last passage of the parashah, and the entire chumash, relates the tribes’ concerns that the provision made for the daughters of Tzlofchad to receive their father’s land in the absence of any sons will lead to a violation of the integrity of each tribes portion when they marry into other tribes.
It is striking how, poised upon the edge of the land they’ve moved toward for so long, and about to enter it and leave wandering behind forever, the people are confronted with rootlessness. For the Levites have no actual title to the land – their cities are more on the order of a concession, an urban entity that is not truly of the land. And an attempt is made to tie down the daughters of Tzlofchad so that they don’t go wandering off to other tribes, taking their land with them. And, of course, there is the business of the accidental murderer.
The word used to describe the flight of the accidental murder is not flight, but exile. The term “ir miklat”, usually rendered “city of refuge”, would be more accurately translated “city of absorption” - a place which absorbs and takes in exiles. Because the truth is that accidental murder is still murder, at least in Hebrew. The Talmud clarifies that only certain cases of accidental murder would be subject to this law. Neither in cases of criminal negligence nor is cases of unavoidable consequences is the individual exiled. Only in cases where scrupulous attention to detail could well have avoided the unfortunate turn of events. Atonement is necessary for this sin of omission and it is achieved by exile.
The road has been our blessing and curse since Avraham Avinu. His relationship with Hashem is launched with his exile from his home and everything it carries with it. Rashi there tells us that the road tears down and wears down a person. That, however, is a “tearing down for the purpose of building” as Hashem promises Avraham He will bless him in each of the ways the exile has caused him to be torn and worn.
When we look carefully at the journeys of our people through the desert, they are really more like a series of exiles. Rashi here tells us that Hashem was being considerate of us – in the majority of cases we stayed for an average of two years. But is it considerate to allow people to settle in and feel at home only to command them to pick up and move on?
Yes, if you know that the transformations that can be had thereby are only accessible via the process of exile and resettlement: “And they traveled forth from, and they camped in”.
But what is to become of that tool of growth and transformation once we’ve settled the land? The answer: internal exile. Cities of exile for the one who murders the realization of potential by means of “oops”. Places chock full of Levites in permanent transit learning and teaching Torah – a place to become absorbed in ascent. A place where we can taste going beyond the world of accidents, where intentional living is the very air they breath, where the possibility of responsible action is synonymous with joyful living.
When we don’t settle for settling, we’re always on the road. It’s long and winding, but it leads to His door.
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