Remember Miriam

The biblical Miriam, one of the great heroines of Jewish history, is ironically associated in a formal way with one regrettable episode of her noble and distinguished life. Speaking to her brother Aaron, she said something regarding their brother Moses and his relationship with his wife, although the Torah does not explicitly say what it was; there is much discussion as to how Miriam's comments constituted lashon hara, especially as they are considered a cautionary model for all of us. Many maintain that her offense was an assessment of Moses as comparable to others, without regard for his unique status, while others note that Miriam failed to extend the benefit of the doubt to Moses, and that is an aspect of lashon hara (see Netiv Chaim 8:2, Chafetz Chaim, Hil. Lashon Hara Klal 8, BMC 1, and Pachad Yitzchak, Shavuot, #3). Following this act, she was afflicted with tzara'at, and healed after Moses prayed on her behalf.

The incident with Miriam is central to an unusual commandment in the Torah. The verse (Deut. 24:9) states "Remember what the Lord your God did to Miriam on the way when you were leaving Egypt." Nachmanides, differing from Maimonides, argues this should be included in the list of 613 commandments (see Nachmanides, Deut. 25:17 and glosses to Sefer HaMitzvot, essin 7). The commentaries attribute a straightforward purpose to the imperative, to stem the inclination to lashon hara.

(One may consider it ironic that the Torah highlights the dangers of lashon hara by appearing to disparage and to perpetuate the memory of the discrediting of Miriam, especially considering her great stature.  See Nachmanides, Deut. 25:17, and also R. Aharon Kotler, Mishnat Rabbi Aharon al haTorah, pp. 343-344, and Chiddushei Torah of the  Satmar Rebbe, Deut. p. 10, as well as Chokhmah UMussar II, 340 , and Daliyut Yechezkel and LiMa’an Achai ViReai, both cited in Chakhmat HaMatzpun, Deut. (vol II) pp. 191-193 and Iyyunim BaParshah, Lev. pp 91-92. See also the discussion of this and related topics in VaYita Eishel to Arakhin, 96.See also R. Nissim Dayan, Peirot Genosar, p. 53, regarding the question of why Miriam was punished more severely than Moses himself was for a similar offense (Ex.4:1-7).)

 

However, this motive would seem to be insufficient basis for a dedicated commandment. There are hundreds of prohibitions in the Torah, and on the whole they exist without need for either cautionary tales or special commandments to remember those tales. The singling out of lashon hara for this type of support begs explanation.

R. Yitzchak Isaac Sher, the spiritual guide of the Slabodka Yeshiva, in his ethical discourses (Leket Sichot Musar, I, pp. 394-395), addresses this question by making reference to broad categories included in the rubric lashon hara under the title of avak lashon hara. This category includes not only the intentional disparagement of one's fellow, but even positive statements that unwittingly yield negative interpretations (Mishneh Torah, Hil. Deiot 7:4). One might question the fairness of such an inclusion. By definition, the speaker has benevolent intentions. To assume a prohibition in such a case would seem to pose a near impossible burden. It is possible, if difficult, to refrain from malicious commenting about others. However, if the speaker is unaware of the negative impact of his statements, how can he avoid the offense? Indeed, the Talmud (Bava Batra 164b-165a) states that all are guilty of at least avak lashon hara.

It is here that the unique risks inherent in lashon haraare in evidence, and justify the exceptional focus afforded by additional commandments and cautionary tales. Lashon hara is not a transgression one can avoid by simply deciding to refrain. It is the expression of a mindset, sometimes an active negativity and distortion of judgment, and sometimes a simple insensitivity and lack of appreciation. It may emerge from insufficient awareness of the unique nature of the other individual; of their particular sensitivities and frailties; of the impact of speech and the differences between the speaker and the listener; or of the cognitive biases and tendencies that transform words into weapons by the time they have reached their target.

All of this is not offset by a simple commitment. It requires forethought, internal reconditioning, training, and practice. There can be no greater reminder of this than the story of Miriam. Miriam, a woman of towering stature, with the best and purest of intentions, found herself inadvertently in violation of the value of lashon hara. Surely, others are no better equipped to avoid this transgression. The advantage available is the benefit of the story of Miriam, and all of the Torah literature that surrounds it: a cautionary message that this area of human interaction requires "remembrance," in the sense of extensive advance preparation (R. Reuven Schwartz, in the introduction to his Emek HaLashon, notes that while other commandments of "remembering" in the Torah demand discrete acts of recitation or the like, the commandment to remember Miriam appears to be a constant imperative of awareness, correlating to the ongoing challenge of lashon hara).

This reality may contribute to an understanding of a comment of the Rabbis (Yalkut Shimoni, Isaiah, remez 459, quoted by Rashi in his commentary to the Torah). In the Torah, the story of Miriam and her punishment is immediately followed by the episode of the spies who spoke negatively of the land of Israel. The Rabbis comment on the juxtaposition by noting that in their behavior, the spies failed to learn the lesson of Miriam.

The comment is difficult, because it seems to imply there was a message a fortiori; what Miriam did was bad, what the spies did was worse. However, instinct would point in the other direction; Miriam spoke about a human being, with feelings and emotions, while the spies sinned against land. In fact, the Talmud itself adopts this perspective, stating that the story of the spies instructs on the severity of lashon hara, as their punishment was for disparaging the land, and surely to speak badly of humans must therefore be far worse (Arakhin 15a).

It would seem, rather, that the Rabbis are making a different point. Miriam's transgression was indeed, in terms of the victim, worse than that of the spies. The lesson the spies should have learned was not that their disparagement of the land constituted an even more severe violation. The lesson actually had to do with the extreme complexity and challenges involved in addressing negativity through speech and thought. If Miriam, with her personal greatness and noble intentions, could still run afoul of this value, clearly a program of mental reorientation and proactive attitude adjustment is necessary.

An instructive comparison may come, perhaps unexpectedly, from the laws of kiddush on Friday night. When this ritual is performed over wine, the practice is to cover the challah breads. The Talmud and commentators (Talmud Yerushalmi, cited in Tur, O.C. 271, and see Ohr Zarua, Hil. Shabbat II, 22) offer a number of possible explanations, one of which is striking. By law, kiddush could have been recited over the challah; in this case, the kiddush is being recited on the wine. Accordingly, the challah breads are covered so they not "witness" their losing this honor to the wine and thus be "embarrassed."

This attribution of human feelings to pastry is difficult to understand. Is there truly concern that inanimate objects will experience humiliation? It seems, rather, that the concern is to the complexity of human emotion. Determining what will or will not have hurtful consequences to another is a highly involved enterprise, one that does not come easily to the untrained intuition. To assume that undeveloped instinct will rise to the challenge of the moment is dangerous; offense can occur even unintentionally, when the speaker is unpracticed in the nuances of human sensitivity. Thus, even interactions with inanimate objects are viewed as opportunities to hone the awareness necessary to deal with actual people. Being cognizant of a "slight" to challah will, it is hoped, ensure awareness of the risk involved when a human is in such a situation.

The obligation to remember Miriam, then, is to train oneself in sensitivity in advance, so that when a situation presents itself, there is a hope that the challenge will be negotiated successfully. This, then, is the lesson that the spies failed to learn. Immediately after Miriam's punishment, to indulge a biased negativity in evaluating the land of Israel was a complete rejection of the moral message.

An analysis of the prohibition of lashon hara reveals two components, the practice of harmful speech, and the corresponding malevolence of spirit. These two elements possess a sort of negative synergy; the character trait makes the harmful effect more likely, and practicing the offense nurtures the malicious nature. While one or the other may dominate as the focus of the prohibition, it is difficult to escape from the interconnectedness of the two.

The commandment to remember Miriam is a reminder of this negative loop. It is impossible to extricate oneself from the behavior of lashon hara without addressing its accompanying mentality. The mentality, in turn, is developed and fed by the behavior. Maimonides, who declined to list this precept as an actual commandment, nonetheless does appear to understand it that way, when he details, in the laws of the impurity conferred by tzara'at (Hil. Tumat Tzara'at 16:10), the nature of lashon hara as an escalating pattern, in which one who expresses negativity towards others builds on this tendency until ultimately he disparages God himself.

The authoritative commentary to the code of Jewish law known as the Magen Avraham (Orach Chaim 60:2) quotes a suggestion that the blessing recited prior to the daily recitation of the shma prayer contains allusions to various commandments in the Torah directed at remembering. The commandment to remember Miriam, according to this, is hinted at in the words "to offer praiseful thanks to you" (lihodot likha). The explanation provided is that the mouth was created to give praise to God, not to speak lashon hara. Another interpretation, though, may be suggested. One who indulges in negative attitudes will, as Maimonides warns, grow increasingly cynical, and ultimately lose the instinct to be thankful to God.

It is noteworthy that one interpretation in the Midrash(Sifra, Lev. 26:3; see also Nachmanides, Deut. 24:9) of the commitment to remember Miriam and how it is to be implemented practically is that it constitutes an imperative to study the relevant laws. While the notion of study as a form of remembrance is a recurring theme in the Torah, in this instance it seems to have particular significance. When the Talmud identifies Torah study as the only true corrective, on a personal level, to lashon hara, it seems that it is not referring to the general purifying aspects of Torah study that are discussed elsewhere.

Rather, the intent here is to recognize that lashon harais addressed on both a behavioral level and an attitudinal level. To be successful in this realm, one must work to understand and internalize the principles involved in lashon hara and its related precepts. There were and are Torah scholars who nonetheless stumble in the area of lashon hara, despite their great learning. This phenomenon was addressed by some of the authorities who gave written approbations to the volume Chafetz Chaim. They asserted that it is not general Torah study that is effective in this role, but specifically the focus on the laws of lashon hara, its underlying principles and concepts, coupled with personal commitment, that can bring about the shift in personality that is required (see the approbation of the rabbinic court judges of Vilna, R. Yosef and R. Betzalel HaKohen, to Chafetz Chaim, and R. Yisrael Salanter, Iggeret HaMussar, s.v. hanisgav).

The Rabbis (Midrash Rabbah, Parashat Metzora 16:2, and in Yalkut Shimoni, Psalms ch. 52 (remez 767), and a different version, involving R. Alexandri, can be found in the Babylonian Talmud, Avodah Zarah 19b) tell a story about a peddler who would travel through the towns near Tzippori, calling out, "Who wants to buy the elixir of life?" When a crowd gathered, he would open the book of Psalms and read to them the verses of King David: "Who is the person who desires life, who loves days, to see good? Guard your tongue from evil, and your lips from speaking deceit. Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it" (Tehillim 34:13-15). Rabbi Yosef Zvi Dushinsky (Torat Maharitz to Lev.) explained the usage here of the word "deceit." One will only see the promise of that verse if one is able to bring the mind, the heart, and the mouth into sync with each other. A disconnect between them, a mind that is "deceitfully" judging one's fellow negatively while outwardly praising him, will ultimately express its disparaging sentiment outwardly, even if it is initially concealed.

Thus, this prototypical "Jewish" mitzvah is, perhaps also typically, a fusion of personality and practice, one that by its very nature demands an integration of mind, manner, and message. Thus, it is understandable that study has taken such a central role in the realization of this religious precept. Fully manifesting the Torah's vision of a just, responsible and compassionate citizen demands a lifetime commitment to learning, understanding, and growing.

Furthermore, the unique demands and balances of lashon hara require even greater awareness and sensitivity. Making appropriate decisions in this area involves a constant recognition of the competing and sometimes conflicting needs of avoiding malicious speech on the one hand and protecting the innocent and the positive functioning and development of society on the other. More often than not, there is no clear-cut, easily provided answer to the quandaries that arise in this area, no simple guideline or slogan that will reduce the complexity of the issue. A refined appreciation for all of the relevant values and a sophisticated knowledge and understanding of the applicable principles and precepts is a necessary foundation to approach these areas responsibly.

Much harm is done if those who could protect the innocent fail to do so because of misguided conceptions of lashon hara; similarly, much devastation can be inflicted by those who would speak with malice or insensitivity, cloaked in either a false or mistaken veneer of purpose and necessity. The fact that either mistake can be defended by pointing to either value is irrelevant. In this as with all areas of life, the person is responsible for the quality of his judgment calls. This means, in turn, that the person is responsible for the substance of that judgment; to ensure that it is built upon solid knowledge, sensitivity, perspective, wisdom, and maturity. To some, this was actually the main lesson of the peddler; the life that is desired by he who "loves days" is obtained not through simple abstinence, but through the awareness born of constant study. This requires a lifetime of living and learning and is a mission that is never complete.

When the Torah included the prohibition of talebearing in the same verse as the mandate to protect the victimized (Lev. 19:16: "Do not go as a talebearer among your people; do not stand idly by the blood of your fellow; I am God"), it closed the verse with the words "I am God." Rabbinic tradition teaches that there are specific moments when the Torah finds it necessary to remind us of God's presence. It is at those times when nobility of behavior and righteousness of deed is concealed from outside observers, when either poor judgment or maliciousness of intent can be hidden behind a credible excuse, that the actor is told to remember that God is watching. Yes, the verse contains two competing mandates that demand balance and judgment; however, this does not mean that all decisions are equally valid, but rather that the burden is on the actor to ensure that God's wisdom and command is deeply infused into the discretionary process (see Pitchei Teshuvah, Orach Chaim 156).

The 16th century rabbinic authority Rabbi Shlomo Luria, known as the Maharshal, described his daily ritual in his work of responsa (Responsa Maharshal 64). He noted that every day, after reciting the blessing on learning Torah, he immediately followed with a representative selection of Torah content. To represent scripture, he recited a passage of three consecutive verses, which he considered "equal to the entire Torah." This set was comprised of the verses beginning with "love your neighbor" and ending with the verse prohibiting talebearing, the verse of the peddler.

Perhaps, one can understand how even this verse alone may contain principles representative of the entire Torah. The Talmud teaches that the defining values of the Torah are summarized in one verse from the book of Micah (Micah 6:8): "It has been told to you, O Man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: only to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk modestly with your God." The mandate not to travel "as a talebearer" has given directives including all of these principles. It has taught respect for privacy, the essence of modesty; it has taught true empathy and identification with the needs of others, their uniqueness, and their sensitivities, the essence of compassion; and it has taught the need to genuinely weigh all relevant factors, realities, and variables in judgment of others, and to balance them against the basic needs of the innocent and of society in general, the essence of justice.

The focus that has emerged in recent years on the study of the laws of lashon hara is a profound gift. A life devoted to understanding and refining commitment to these principles is a life of ever expanding sensitivity, of ever growing awareness, of ever increasing appreciation of the complexity of humanity. It is a constant attention to the most fundamental needs of others, in all of their diversity and nuance. It is a lifelong course in the finest points of interpersonal interaction. It is a mindset that forces the trivialities of life to recede and to fade, while directing attention towards the genuine priorities of life, whatever they may be. It is a recognition of the endless capacity to grow, to improve, and to transcend a history of mistakes or misjudgments. It is an affirmation that humans must not be painted by the brush of their worst moments, and that the full picture of an individual will always be so much more than any other person can grasp at any moment. It is, in essence, to derive infinite potential through perceiving that potential in others.

There is a tradition of texts and teachings that can guide in developing the personalities necessary to give expression to these values. One cannot guarantee that the answers will be the right ones, but one can commit to a process that is honest, informed, compassionate, and responsible. One can be the grateful beneficiary of the legacy that was commanded by the Torah and expressed by King David, the rabbinic literature, the Chafetz Chaim, and all who shared in their vision. As the peddler promised, if one truly desires a life of love and goodness, there is a path; the first step towards walking on it is to see it there, waiting.

 

The Spiritual Escape: When the Desert is a Comfort Zone

Every narrative in the Torah serves as an eternal blueprint for the soul. Yet the story of the spies presents a persistent historical paradox: How could a generation that witnessed the Ten Plagues, the splitting of the sea, and the daily descent of Manna be intimidated by a few fortified cities? These were people who lived in a literal "bubble" of Divine protection. Why did their confidence vanish at the border?

The "Spiritual Bypassing" of the Spies

Chassidic thought offers a radical re-interpretation. The spies weren't afraid of failing; they were afraid of succeeding.

In the desert, the Israelites lived a life of pure transcendence. Their food came from heaven, their water from a miraculous well, and their clothes grew with them. They were, in effect, in a perpetual "spiritual retreat." The spies knew that entering the Land meant the end of this miracle-state. It meant plowing, sowing, and engaging with the grit of the material world.

When they called Canaan "a land that devours its inhabitants," they were expressing a psychological fear of Assimilation of the Self. They feared that the "Land" (materiality) would "devour" their "Inhabitants" (their spiritual identity).

In psychology, this is known as Spiritual Bypassing—a term coined by psychologist John Welwood. It describes the tendency to use spiritual ideas and practices to evade facing complicated, unfinished, or "low-level" aspects of human life. The spies wanted to stay in the desert because it was a controlled environment. They preferred the "Manna" of pure meditation over the "Bread" of human labor.

The Fear of the Mundane

The spies viewed the miraculous and the mundane as two unrelated planes. They suffered from a form of Cognitive Compartmentalization. They believed God was the "Owner" of the world in the desert (the spiritual realm), but that He would "lose His articles" (His presence) once they entered the natural order of the Land.

They argued that if the Jews became subject to the laws of nature, they would inevitably be crushed by the "titans" of the material world. To them, spirituality was a fragile thing that could only survive in a vacuum.

Caleb and Joshua’s rebuttal was a lesson in Self-Efficacy and Integration. They argued: "They are our bread... God is with us." They understood that the world is not an obstacle to Godliness, but the very "bread" that sustains it. By "consuming" the material world—transforming it into a dwelling for the Divine—we don't lose our spirituality; we mature it.

Dialectical Truth: The Ark in the Holy of Holies

The ultimate goal of creation is what the Midrash calls Dirah BeTachtonim—making a "dwelling for God in the lower worlds." This requires what Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) calls "The Middle Path."

In DBT, developed by Marsha Linehan, health is found in the synthesis of opposites—Acceptance and Change, or in this case, Transcendence and Immanence.

The Chassidic masters point to the Ark in the Holy of Holies as the ultimate symbol of this synthesis. The Talmud notes a physical miracle: the Ark had specific dimensions, yet it took up no space in the room. Measurement (limitation) and Infinity (transcendence) occupied the same point. This is the "Ascent of Ascents" Caleb alluded to when he said, "Let us go up, let us surely go up" (Aleh Na’aleh). He was calling for a double ascent: rising above nature (the first ascent), and then rising above the need to be above nature (the second ascent).

The "Spies" of the 21st Century

This ancient drama plays out in our daily lives. We begin our day with prayer and study—our "personal desert." In those moments, it is easy to feel connected to God. But then comes the "descent" into the workplace, the marketplace, and social obligations.

The "Yetzer Hara" (the inner spy) whispers: "The world is a concealment (Olam/Helem). You cannot remain a spiritual person while dealing with finances, politics, or mundane chores. The land will devour you."

This is the psychological trap of Identity Threat. We fear that if we engage with the "lower" elements of society, we will become "low" ourselves. The Chassidic response is that the highest level of Godliness is found precisely in the "deed"—in the physical act of making the world a better, holier place.

From Thought to Deed: The Challenge of Outreach

Finally, the spies represent the ego’s preference for Internalization over Externalization. In Kabbalah, "Thought" is self-contained, while "Speech" and "Deed" involve an "Other."

The spies were willing to stay in the realm of Thought (spiritual self-perfection). They were even willing to speak to those on their level. But they recoiled from the "Deed"—the messy business of reaching out to those who seem spiritually "inanimate" or far removed.

Psychologically, we often hide behind our "purity" to avoid the vulnerability of Social Engagement. We tell ourselves we are protecting our standards, but we are often just protecting our Comfort Zone.

The lesson of Shelach is that true spiritual maturity is found in the "Inheritance" (Yerushah). Just as an heir receives the very essence of the father, we receive the essence of God only when we bring His light into the darkest, most material corners of the world.

The Life-Changing Idea:

Don't fear that the world will devour your spirit. If you act as an agent of the Divine, the world becomes your "bread"—the very fuel for your growth. The highest ascent is not found by escaping the world, but by transforming it.

The Long Road to Liberty: Time, Freedom, and the Spies

Whose idea was it to send the spies? On the surface, the Torah offers a classic contradiction. In this week’s sedra, the initiative appears to be Divine: "The Lord said to Moses, 'Send some men to explore the land of Canaan'" (Num. 13:1-2). Yet, when Moses recounts these events forty years later in Deuteronomy, he attributes the idea to the people: "Then all of you came to me and said, 'Let us send men ahead to spy out the land'" (Deut. 1:22).

Rashi reconciles these accounts by suggesting that God did not command the mission; He merely permitted it. "Where a person wants to go, that is where he is led" (Makkot 10b). This reflects a fundamental tenet of Jewish thought: God does not block us from a course of action we are intent upon, even when He knows it may end in tragedy. Such is the terrifying beauty of human freedom.

The Fear of Freedom

However, Maimonides, in The Guide for the Perplexed (III:32), offers a perspective that shifts the focus from a "sin and punishment" model to a "developmental" one. He notes that God led the Israelites through the desert specifically to avoid a shortcut through Philistine territory, fearing that immediate war would cause them to retreat to Egypt.

According to Maimonides, the forty years in the wilderness were not merely a sentence; they were a psychological necessity. It takes time to turn a population of slaves into a nation of free citizens. As the psychoanalyst Erich Fromm argued in his classic Escape from Freedom:

"Freedom, though it has brought him independence and rationality, has made him isolated and, thereby, anxious and powerless. This isolation is unbearable and the alternatives he is confronted with are either to escape from the burden of this freedom into new dependencies and submission, or to advance to the full realization of positive freedom."

The generation that left Egypt was still caught in the "anxiety of isolation." When faced with the challenge of the Land, they chose the "escape" of submission—wanting to return to the predictable, if painful, dependence of Egypt.

Scaffolding and Human Nature

Maimonides suggests that even God must work with the grain of human nature. He could have "re-programmed" the Israelites’ minds to be brave, but He chose not to. To do so would be to abolish the very freedom He wished them to exercise.

In modern educational psychology, this is known as Scaffolding, a concept developed by Jerome Bruner and based on the work of Lev Vygotsky. A teacher—or a parent—provides the support (the scaffold) for a learner to achieve a task, but they do not do the task for them. If the scaffold is removed too early, the structure collapses. The generation of the Exodus lacked the internal "psychological architecture" to stand without the scaffold of Moses’ constant miracles. They needed the desert to build their own "Executive Function"—the ability to plan, take risks, and delay gratification.

The Logical vs. The Chronological Imagination

This transition highlights the difference between what I call the logical imagination and the chronological imagination.

Logic is timeless. To the logical mind—the mind of the philosopher or the revolutionary—the current social order is either right or wrong. If it is wrong, it should be overthrown immediately. But the chronological imagination understands that human change is evolutionary, not revolutionary. It factors in the dimension of time.

This aligns with Erik Erikson’s theory of Generativity. Erikson argued that for a society to progress, one generation must "invest" in the next, accepting that they themselves may not see the completion of their work. The generation of the desert had to fulfill their role by being the "biological bridge" to a generation born in liberty, hardened by the desert, and untrammelled by the memory of the lash.

The Tragedy and the Consolation

We see the failure of the "logical imagination" in modern history. The wars in Afghanistan and Iraq were undertaken with the logical assumption that if you remove a tyrant, freedom will spontaneously flourish. But as the story of the spies teaches us, democracy is not merely a political arrangement; it is a psychological achievement. It requires education, the slow building of civil society, and the hard-won habit of responsibility.

As Emmanuel Levinas famously wrote, freedom is "difficult." It is a "difficult freedom" because it requires us to move from the "automatic thoughts" of the slave to the "deliberative choices" of the citizen.

The tragedy of the spies was that the generation that left Egypt could not make that leap. They looked at the giants of Canaan and saw their own internal smallness. But their consolation was their children. They handed on the tradition, the stories, and the unrealized ideals to a generation that would eventually cross the Jordan.

Conclusion

The lesson of the spies is one of "patient politics." We can hand on to our children not only our past but our dreams for a future we may never inhabit. A tradition can be evolutionary without being revolutionary. It recognizes that while we may be "slaves this year," we are training our children to be "free people next year."

God gave us the freedom to make mistakes so that we might eventually have the merit of our successes. The road to the Promised Land is long, but as long as we keep walking, our children will surely arrive.

The Architecture of Despair: CBT and the Spies

Aaron T. Beck is the father of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). While working at his depression research clinic at the University of Pennsylvania, Beck detected a recurring pattern among his patients. He noticed that their suffering was not merely a reaction to external events, but a result of the way they interpreted those events. They were trapped in a cycle of "automatic thoughts"—negative, fatalistic, and damaging to their self-esteem.

As Beck wrote in Cognitive Therapy and the Emotional Disorders:

"The way that individuals perceive and structure their experiences determines how they feel and behave."

This insight—that our feelings are the children of our thoughts—provides a revelatory lens through which to understand the story of the spies in this week’s parsha.

The Tragedy of Interpretation

Recall the narrative: Moses sends twelve leaders, princes of their tribes, to scout the Land of Canaan. Ten of them return with a report that is factually accurate in its description but psychologically catastrophic in its conclusion. They admit the land flows with milk and honey, but they immediately pivot: the people are giants, the cities are impregnable, and the mission is impossible.

The result was a national collapse of will. The people wept, saying, “Let us head back to Egypt.” Because they lost faith in their future, that entire generation was destined to spend forty years in the wilderness.

The tragedy is that the spies’ report was a masterpiece of cognitive distortion. As we learn later in the Book of Joshua, the Canaanites were not confident giants; they were trembling. Rahab tells Joshua’s men:

“As soon as we heard it, our hearts melted, and there was no courage left in any of us because of you.” (Josh. 2:11)

The spies were terrified of the Canaanites, entirely unaware that the Canaanites were terrified of them. How could men of such high standing make such a profound error? The answer lies in the specific "cognitive distortions" identified by Beck and his student, David Burns, in his seminal work Feeling Good.

The Seven Distortions of the Desert

1. All-or-Nothing Thinking

The spies viewed the conquest as a binary: total victory or total annihilation. There was no room for nuance, strategy, or gradual progress. Burns defines this as "dichotomous thinking," where "if your performance falls short of perfect, you see yourself as a total failure." To the ten spies, if the walls were high, the cause was lost.

2. Negative Filtering

They acknowledged the fruit of the land for a moment, only to let the "but" of the giants drown it out. In CBT, this is "Mental Filtering"—picking out a single negative detail and dwelling on it exclusively until your vision of reality becomes darkened.

3. Catastrophizing

The people cried, “Our wives and children will be taken as plunder!” They didn’t just fear battle; they jumped to the most horrific possible outcome. Beck noted that "the patient tends to perceive a situation as so terrible that it is unbearable," even before the situation has occurred.

4. Mind-Reading and Social Projection

The spies famously claimed: “We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and so we seemed to them.” This is a classic CBT error. As Beck observed:

"The individual assumes that others are reacting negatively to him when there is no definite evidence."

The spies had no way of knowing how they appeared to the Canaanites, but they projected their own internal feelings of insignificance onto the "other."

5. The Inability to Disconfirm

Despite Calev’s attempts to offer a different perspective, the ten spies were "impervious to evidence." In cognitive therapy, this is known as "disqualifying the positive." Once a negative belief system is fixed, any evidence to the contrary is dismissed as a fluke.

6. Emotional Reasoning

The spies saw the high walls and felt fear. They then used that fear as evidence that the walls were unscalable. They followed the logic of "I feel it, therefore it must be true." Beck argued that one of the great hurdles in therapy is helping a patient realize that "an intense emotion does not validate a thought."

7. Blame and Learned Helplessness

Finally, the people grumbled against Moses and Aaron. This is what Beck’s disciple, Martin Seligman, famously called "Learned Helplessness." By blaming their leaders, the Israelites cast themselves as passive victims. As Seligman notes in Learned Optimism:

"The defining characteristic of pessimists is that they tend to believe bad events will last a long time... and are someone else’s fault."

The Biblical Remedy: The Blue Thread

What is profoundly moving is the therapy the Torah prescribes at the end of the parsha: the commandment of Tzitzit.

The Torah links the spies to the Tzitzit through the word latour (to scout/spy) and the instruction "that you may see it and remember." Crucially, the Torah warns: "...and do not follow after your own heart and your own eyes" (Num. 15:39).

Ordinarily, the eye sees and the heart feels. But the Torah reverses the order—the heart, the seat of emotion, can "lead" the eye. Our fears dictate what we see.

The blue thread (techelet) in the Tzitzit serves as a cognitive "re-centering." The Talmud (Sotah 17a) says the blue reminds us of the sea, which reminds us of the sky, which reminds us of the Throne of Glory. This is a ladder of perspective. It takes a person out of their narrow, "grasshopper" subjectivity and connects them to the ultimate Objective Reality: the Presence of God.

The Life-Changing Idea

The story of the spies is a warning that our greatest enemies are often not the "giants" outside us, but the distortions within us. As Aaron Beck proved, we have the power to challenge our automatic thoughts.

The message of the Torah is the ultimate CBT: You are not a grasshopper; you are a child of the King. You are not a victim of your circumstances; you are the architect of your response. To see the world as it is—not as you are afraid it might be—let faith banish fear.

Many many new shiurim!!

 HERE!!

The Grasshopper and the Growth Mindset

The twelve men sent by Moses to explore the land of Israel returned with a report that was not merely pessimistic, but fundamentally misleading. They claimed:

“We cannot go up against those people, for they are stronger than us . . . The land which we have journeyed through and scouted is a land that consumes its inhabitants; and all the people we saw were tall and broad to a man.” (Num. 13:31-32)

History, however, tells a different story. As we discover later in the Book of Joshua, the inhabitants of Canaan were actually terrified of the Israelites. Rahab told Joshua’s spies: “A great fear of you has fallen on us... our hearts melted in fear and everyone’s courage failed because of you” (Josh. 2:9-11).

The spies should have anticipated this. They had already sung at the Red Sea: “The people of Canaan melted away; terror and dread fell upon them” (Ex. 15:15-16). Why, then, did they see giants where there were only trembling hearts?

The Trap of Social Projection

The spies were guilty of what psychologists call Social Projection—the cognitive bias where we attribute our own Dean, beliefs, and fears onto others. They famously said: “We were like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and so we were in their eyes” (Num. 13:33).

As the Kotzker Rebbe perceptively noted, they were entitled to the first claim, but not the second. They knew how they felt, but they had no way of knowing what the Canaanites saw. In psychology, this is often linked to the Spotlight Effect. As Thomas Gilovich notes, “We tend to believe that others are paying more attention to our flaws and anxieties than they actually are.” Because the spies felt small, they assumed the world viewed them as microscopic.

Fixed vs. Growth Mindsets

Why did ten spies fall into this trap, while Joshua and Caleb remained immune? To understand this, we can turn to the work of Stanford psychologist Carol Dweck. In her seminal work, Mindset, Dweck explores why some people fulfill their potential while others plateau.

Her research centers on two distinct frameworks. Those with a Fixed Mindset believe their abilities are innate and unalterable. For them, every challenge is a test of their "natural" worth. If they fail, it is not just a mistake; it is a definition of who they are. Conversely, those with a Growth Mindset believe that talent is merely a starting point. They view effort as the path to mastery and failure as "information"—a necessary step in the learning process.

Dweck writes:

“In a fixed mindset, challenges are a threat because they might reveal you are not as talented as you think. But in a growth mindset, the hand you’re dealt is just the starting point for development.”

Those with a fixed mindset play it safe. They avoid risks because their self-image is fragile. As Dweck observes, they thrive only “when things are safely within their grasp. If things get too challenging... they lose interest.”

The Burden of Status

The Torah identifies the spies as “leading men among the Israelites” (Num. 13:3). They were princes, men of renown with reputations to protect. In psychological terms, they were susceptible to Loss Aversion—the phenomenon where the pain of losing status is far more powerful than the motivation to gain something new.

Because they were "great men," they had everything to lose. If they attempted to conquer the land and failed, their legacy would be tarnished. A fixed mindset, coupled with high status, often results in a paralyzing fear of failure. They chose the safety of the desert over the risk of the Land because, to a fixed mindset, "not trying" is a safer defense for the ego than "trying and failing."

The Anatomy of Courage

Joshua and Caleb were the exceptions. Caleb descended from Judah, the first true ba’al teshuvah (penitent). Judah’s life was defined by a growth mindset; he transformed from the man who suggested selling Joseph into the man who offered his own life to save Benjamin. He proved that a human being is not a fixed entity, but a work in progress.

Joshua’s transformation was literally etched into his name. Moses changed his name from Hoshea to Yehoshua (Num. 13:16). In Jewish thought, a name change signifies a change in essence. As Maimonides writes, it is a way of saying, “I am another person and not the same one who did those deeds” (Mishneh Torah, Laws of Repentance 2:4).

Joshua and Caleb possessed what Albert Bandura called Self-Efficacy: the belief in one’s ability to execute the behaviors necessary to produce specific performance attainments. Bandura noted:

“In order to succeed, people need a sense of self-efficacy, to struggle together with resilience to meet the inevitable obstacles and inequities of life.”

The Paradox of Success

The ten spies failed because they were afraid to fail. They were so concerned with their image—as leaders and as "grasshoppers"—that they lost sight of the God who had split the sea. Joshua and Caleb, however, knew that the struggle was the point.

The message of the spies is a foundational principle of psychological resilience: God does not demand perfection; He demands the courage to move forward. He provides the "growth" as long as we provide the "mindset."

Ultimately, we are faced with a liberating, if paradoxical, truth: The fear of failure is the greatest predictor of failure. It is only the willingness to fail—to be a "grasshopper" that keeps on jumping—that allows us to eventually conquer the land.

Nourish Your Neshama

A religious Israeli Yemenite singer revealed on a podcast that he was continually molested as a child. The video has not been up for a day and already over 16k views. It will doubtless get 10's if not 100's of thousands.  

I did not and will not watch it [I just saw the title].

What is it with people that instead of being involved in good things [Torah, chesed etc.] they want to devote an hour of their lives listening to the nauseating details of pedophilia and lashon hara? Why do people willingly put their mind in the gutter of depravity???

PLEASE! Nourish your neshama with Kedusha and not the opposite.