Several weeks ago, I embarked on a retreat in the high desert of New Mexico, an experience that brought both immense joy and significant challenges. Each morning, the radiant sun illuminated my cozy straw-bale dwelling. Afternoons were marked by strong winds that swept across fields of tall grass, creating waves of motion, dispersing wispy clouds, and leaving a fine layer of orange pine pollen on every surface. As night descended, the sky transformed into a breathtaking panorama of glittering stars, an endless river flowing across the darkness.
The high desert, despite its stark beauty and expansive vistas, is an unforgiving environment. I had been cautioned about the presence of rattlesnakes, scorpions, and black widow spiders, not to mention the swarms of mosquitoes that emerged at sunset, eager for a meal. My stomach churned, and a headache pounded as my body struggled to adjust from sea level to an altitude of 7,300 feet. The extreme dryness caused my skin to itch, my lips to crack, and my nose, irritated by pollen, to run incessantly. Adding to these physical discomforts, emotional stresses I had suppressed for months resurfaced as sharp neck and shoulder pain, intrusive thoughts, and unsettling dreams. I focused on drinking plenty of water and deep breathing, hoping that my body would eventually acclimatize and my mind would find clarity.
This desert setting profoundly deepened my connection to the weekly Torah readings from the Book of Numbers, or Bamidbar in Hebrew, meaning “In the Wilderness,” a central text for My Jewish Learning. This week’s double portion, Matot-Masei, encompasses the final chapters of this book. The entire narrative of Numbers – and indeed much of the Torah – unfolds in a harsh desert wilderness, strikingly similar to the scrublands of northern New Mexico. For forty long years, after their miraculous escape from Pharaoh’s army at the Sea of Reeds, the Israelites wandered through this relentless landscape, traversing its hills and valleys, facing constant trials, striving to build a community and adhere to the commandments of a powerful, often stern, God who revealed Himself in thunderous clouds and fiery displays.
Parashat Masei begins with a detailed list of 42 locations where the Israelites camped during their journey – 42 distinct stages in their epic journey from slavery towards the ever-distant Promised Land, a concept deeply explored in my jewish learning. Trouble and conflict marked almost every step of their arduous path. Torah scholar Avivah Zornberg describes this wilderness as a space of “bewilderment,” “a quicksand ready to consume human bodies” where “cries and whispers and rages and laments fill the air.” Conversely, other voices within Jewish tradition romanticize this prolonged desert sojourn, nostalgically remembering the spiritual intimacy of a time when God’s voice, channeled through Moses and the Torah, established a profound covenant, binding them and all of creation to the divine, a theme often revisited in my jewish learning.
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The Wilderness Within: Midbar as a State of Mind
Why is the midbar – the wilderness – so central to the Israelites’ foundational mythic journey, a question frequently explored on my jewish learning? What is it about the wilderness that simultaneously fascinates and repels, excites and terrifies us? For me, midbar is more than just a wild, untamed landscape; it represents a state of mind. These unbounded, undomesticated, trackless “deserts of the heart” are those periods in life when direction is lost, when the path ahead is unclear, when internal guidance falters, leaving one feeling overwhelmed, adrift, and acutely vulnerable. Yet, the stark realities of the midbar can also unlock an extraordinary sense of liberation, prompting a shedding of old identities, much like a snake discarding its skin. This transformative power of the wilderness is a recurring motif in my jewish learning’s exploration of Jewish spirituality.
Manna and Meaning: Deepening Torah Study in the Desert
A profound teaching attributed to the renowned second-century mystic Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai delves into the question of why God led the Israelites on a circuitous route out of Egypt: “Only to those who eat manna is it given to really study the Torah.” (Mekhilta Beshalach 1:34). Manna, the miraculous food of faith that descended from the heavens to sustain the Israelites during their desert wanderings, symbolizes their complete reliance on an unseen, higher power for sustenance. This midrash, a key concept in my jewish learning, suggests that only those who confront the rigors and unpredictable uncertainties of the midbar, trusting in divine provision, can access the deeper, more profound layers of meaning hidden within the Torah. The wilderness experience, therefore, becomes a crucible for spiritual growth and deeper Jewish learning.
Finding Shekhinah in Solitude: A Personal Wilderness Revelation
During my recent retreat, my mind and body gradually found a sense of equilibrium. As I surrendered to the desert landscape, offering up my anxieties, self-criticisms, and perceived limitations, I began to discern subtle whispers of inner wisdom and feel enveloped by a comforting, protective presence – something akin to what sages and mystics throughout history have called shekhinah, the immanent divine feminine presence woven into the fabric of existence, a concept beautifully articulated in resources like my jewish learning. The Hebrew word for wilderness, midbar, shares a root with the verb l’daber, meaning “to speak.” The desert spoke to me, nourished me, rejuvenated me, and softened my heart. I received its teachings as a precious gift, with humility and profound gratitude. This personal encounter with the divine in the wilderness resonates deeply with many themes explored in my jewish learning.
Returning from the Desert: Integrating Wilderness Wisdom into Daily Life
Returning home to the city, I faced a challenge analogous to what I imagine the ancient Israelites must have confronted at the end of Bamidbar, as they prepared to leave behind forty years of both arduous wilderness struggles and sacred intimacy: How can I integrate the open spaces, the silence, the words, the trials, the triumphs, and the raw emotions of that desert time into the everyday rhythms of work, home, and relationships? How can I keep the whispers and visions, the gifts from the wilderness, alive within my soul amidst the noise and demands of urban life? This question of integrating spiritual experiences into daily life is a common thread in my jewish learning’s content.
Holding these questions close, I find myself actively listening for the silences, the unexpected inner voices, and even the doubts and creative uncertainties that stir just beneath the surface of my conscious awareness. The lessons of the wilderness, as explored through my jewish learning and personal experience, continue to guide my path forward.
This article initially appeared in My Jewish Learning’s Shabbat newsletter Recharge on July 15, 2023. To sign up to receive Recharge each week in your inbox, click here.
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