Welcome to the Wilderness. Today we begin book #4 of Torah - onwards on the ‘Below the Bible Belt’ journey, exploring all 929 chapters of the Hebrew Bible for what’s below the surface, one daily chapter at a time. 812 chapters to go.
This book is known in Hebrew as Ba’Midbar - The Book of the Wilderness. The name comes from the first verse of this book that details the wanderings and wild events experienced by the Hebrews in the Sinai desert over the course of 38 years, on their journey to the promised land. The English title for the book is “Numbers”, based on the Latin translation, alluding to the census that takes place in the first chapters, intended to count the people, account for who’s who, and who matters more. The census lists the leaders of the 12 tribes (surprise! all males) and is focused on 603, 250 soldiers - men 20 and older - meet Moses’ militia:
“On the first day of the second month they gathered the whole community, all those registered by the clans of their ancestral legacies, numbered, and named - all those aged twenty years and older, listed, per head.” (Ba 1:18)
The census seems to designate data that defines society in very specific, patriarchal terms: Male leaders, military service. But the difference between the Hebrew and English titles of this book actually point at the tensions already found in the text itself, and in our enduring human experience: How do we count what matters when so much in life, like wild flowers, isn’t clearly countable, quantified, prioritzed or known? What account of our journeys will eventually matter; who will be remembered, and how? Is it about the numbers, bottom line, such as how many miles traveled, dollars spent, soldiers sacrified and presidents serving that we will tell history? What about the other narratives of non-males and non-humans? Or the lesser known moments, events and narratives lived by people, each day, every person, step by step into our respective promised lands, elusive like desert sand?
In her commentary on the Torah, published as part of The Torah: A Women's Commentary (recommended companion book for those of you joining me on this journey) Rachel Haverlock, a contemporary scholar, reflects: “The contrast between the two titles reflects a tension between order and chaos, culture and nature, obedience and rebellion that characterizes the book and drives its plot...the underlying idea is that the ordering of the community—and by extension, one's life—creates the space for encounters with the Divine.”
Between the counted rows of men and the vast wilderness spaces is where we get to get lost, and found. This book perhaps offers roadmaps for inner journeys, maybe on the wilder side. Where in your life is the dance between order and chaos, sacred center and fluid fringes, detailed lists and dusty desert roads, on some wild ride leading inwards, going home?
Want to learn more, discuss your thoughts and feelings about this entry and Below the Bible Belt? Join me on Monday July 25th 2022, 1pm ET for our first hour long Zoom Study Session. Link here:
This line from your teaching struck me..."What account of our journeys will eventually matter; who will be remembered, and how? Is it about the numbers, bottom line, such as how many miles traveled, dollars spent, soldiers sacrified and presidents serving that we will tell history?" I have been thinking about numbers of photos lately, as I go through boxes (upon boxes and boxes) of old family photos that have come into my possession. How many photos are necessary as a way to remember? It feels overwhelming when a box full of photos is a physical representation of a loved ones "detailed lists and dusty desert roads"...the travels, the love, the family, the moments, the homes. It's chaos in a way, and as you mention here, I am trying to bring some sense of order to preserve the memory. Not sure yet what the path forward is, though I think it's somewhere within me.
Apryl and Peter- your writing was meaningful and provocative. I am in Bethlehem PA now on this hottest day ever recorded in some parts of the globe. The empty, rusted steel stacks tower above me. The factories are eerily empty. So many lives were spent here producing steel for wars, skyscrapers, bridges. Repetitive, ordered hot work. Were their lives elusive, were they counted. Were their names written on the water?
Our hope for a just senate relies on one life of one man who grew up in a similar Pennsylvania steel town.
This line from your teaching struck me..."What account of our journeys will eventually matter; who will be remembered, and how? Is it about the numbers, bottom line, such as how many miles traveled, dollars spent, soldiers sacrified and presidents serving that we will tell history?" I have been thinking about numbers of photos lately, as I go through boxes (upon boxes and boxes) of old family photos that have come into my possession. How many photos are necessary as a way to remember? It feels overwhelming when a box full of photos is a physical representation of a loved ones "detailed lists and dusty desert roads"...the travels, the love, the family, the moments, the homes. It's chaos in a way, and as you mention here, I am trying to bring some sense of order to preserve the memory. Not sure yet what the path forward is, though I think it's somewhere within me.
Apryl and Peter- your writing was meaningful and provocative. I am in Bethlehem PA now on this hottest day ever recorded in some parts of the globe. The empty, rusted steel stacks tower above me. The factories are eerily empty. So many lives were spent here producing steel for wars, skyscrapers, bridges. Repetitive, ordered hot work. Were their lives elusive, were they counted. Were their names written on the water?
Our hope for a just senate relies on one life of one man who grew up in a similar Pennsylvania steel town.