In this week's Torah portion, Shelach, we encounter one of the most tragic episodes in Jewish history, not because of external persecution, but because of our own self-sabotage. The story of the spies sent to scout the Promised Land offers a timeless lesson about what happens when we allow fear to eclipse opportunity.
Gd commands Moses to send representatives to explore the land of Canaan, a land “flowing with milk and honey.” These were not ordinary scouts, they were princes of their tribes, chosen for their wisdom and leadership. Their mission was clear: witness the abundance that awaited them and return with evidence of Gd's promise fulfilled.
When they returned from their journey, ten of the twelve spies delivered a report that transformed hope into terror. Yes, they acknowledged that the land was indeed bountiful, bringing back clusters of grapes so large it took two men to carry them. Yet rather than focusing on the opportunity, these doubters amplified the challenges. They identified the people of the land as mighty, the cities as fortified, and they described themselves as “grasshoppers” compared in size to the giants who lived there (Numbers 13:31-33).
But what drove this devastating report? The spies weren't lying about the obstacles, what they were choosing, however, was to emphasize fear over faith. Perhaps they feared losing their direct and miraculous relationship with Gd, the daily manna, the pillar of cloud and fire, the certainty of divine provision. The Promised Land would require them to work the soil, plant and harvest, take responsibility for their own sustenance. It meant transitioning from passive recipients of divine care to active partners in their destiny.
Sadly, their fear was contagious. The entire nation wept that night, crying, “If only we had died in Egypt!” (Numbers 14:1-2). They sought the familiar chains of slavery over the uncertain freedom of responsibility.
This ancient pattern echoes powerfully in our modern Jewish experience. Today, we face our own “Promised Land,” the opportunity to fully embrace our Jewish identity and build vibrant communities. We have unprecedented freedom to practice our traditions, study our texts, and connect with fellow Jews across the globe. The “milk and honey” of Jewish life surrounds us: rich traditions, profound wisdom, and communities ready to welcome us.
Yet how often do we, like those ancient spies, focus on the perceived obstacles rather than the opportunities? “I'm not religious enough,” we tell ourselves. “I don't know Hebrew.” “I didn't grow up observant.” “I don't belong.” We sabotage our own spiritual growth by amplifying our inadequacies instead of embracing our potential.
The truth is that Jewish community doesn't require perfection, it requires presence. Our synagogues, temples, community centers, and Jewish organizations aren't looking for fully formed Jewish scholars; they're looking for Jewish souls ready to grow alongside others on the journey.
Like the Israelites who could have immediately entered their inheritance, we too stand at the threshold of opportunity. We can choose to see the “giants” of unfamiliarity and inadequacy, or we can focus on the abundant fruit of Jewish connection and meaning.
The call of our generation is clear: we must not let fear break the chain of 5,000 years of Jewish continuity. Whether through joining a synagogue, volunteering at a Jewish organization, attending a program, mentoring a young person, or simply reaching out to create community in whatever way makes sense to you, the choice is ours.
In this week’s Torah reading we learn that our ancestors wandered for forty years in the wilderness because they feared to claim their destiny. We need not repeat their mistake. The time to embrace our Jewish responsibility is now, not just for ourselves, but for all the generations yet unborn who depend on our courage to keep the eternal flame burning bright.
Nammie Ichilov
President & CEO
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