And He Who Studies The Past
Feb 1st, 2011 | By admin | Category: 2005-6, Archivesby Rabbi Yisrael Rutman
He who does not study the past is condemned to repeat it, said Santayana. And he who does study it, we might add, are condemned to regret it. Recent studies of the real Columbus behind the myth have exposed the brave voyager as a wayward navigator, an indefatigable opportunist, and a brute who brought unspeakable suffering to the inhabitants of the New World. The Founding Fathers, for all their revolutionary genius, were slaveholders; their successors perpetrated genocide on the American Indians to build an empire. And so on.
As the generation that inherited the Land of Israel looked back upon their parents and grandparents, they too might have perceived their forebears as less than inspiring figures. As slaves in Egypt many succumbed to the enticements of the host culture; they sank into the immorality of the fleshpots and temples of idol worship. In the 40 years wandering in the wilderness, they were hardly models of faith. They sinned with the Golden Calf; rebelled against the leadership of Moses and Aharon; complained about how much better life had been back in Egypt. The new generation about to enter the Promised Land might have preferred to leave the study of the past to the archeologists of the future.
There was, however, a unique feature to the inheritance which would ensure that the parents of the founders would not be forgotten at the moment of fulfillment. As Rashi explains, whereas normally it is the living who inherit the dead, here the dead inherit the living. How so? The Torah says, referring to the twelve tribes about to inherit the Land, To these shall the land be divided…(Bamidbar 26:53). And yet two verses later it also says: according to the names of their fathers’ tribes shall they inherit. This, says Rashi, refers to the “fathers” who left Egypt. The Torah means to provide for a role for their fathers in the inheritance. But how?
It goes like this: Let us say there were two brothers who left Egypt and who had sons among those who entered the Land; this one had one son, this one had three. Under normal circumstances, the one son would take one portion, the three sons would take three, one for each of them. But the process did not stop there. Instead, the four-share inheritance reverted in its entirety to their grandfather. He, in a sense, inherited it. He then passed it back down to his two sons equally, who each received two portions. They, in turn, bequeathed two portions to the one son, the other two portions to the three sons. Thus do the dead inherit the living.
Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explains the purpose of such a peculiar transaction, the likes of which exists nowhere else in the Torah. It is two-fold: first, it teaches that God’s promise is such a certainty that it is as if it has been fulfilled even before it is actually carried out. The Jews living under the Egyptian yoke where considered as already legally in possession of the Land; they were the initial inheritors.
Secondly, that those who suffered the enslavement and those who sinned in the wilderness, were, in spite of their shortcomings, a very great people, whom the Sages dubbed the Dor Deah, generation of knowledge. They merited to witness the Ten Plagues, the revelation at Sinai, the manna, they lived with the pillar of fire by night and the pillar of cloud by day. They were imbued with a knowledge of the Creator of the universe that was unparalleled. And they passed it on to their children. So that those who stood ready to enter the Land of Israel with Joshua did so as inheritors of the spiritual legacy of their parents.
All too often, those who study the past come to regret it. But that’s only if they focus exclusively on the flawed personalities and failed projects of their forebears. If, however, they consider also the gifts they have bestowed upon their children—the noble ideals, the courageous spirit—then they will have reason to be grateful, as well.
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