My beloved Grandma Roz died in December of 2013, shortly after Jacob was born. Today would have been her 100th birthday, and I dedicate this morning’s kavannah to her.
Without airing too much dirty laundry, let me begin by saying that I have in my possession a recipe written in my grandmother’s handwriting for a dish that is very not-kosher. Perhaps you will gasp to know that I can remember, in my childhood, enjoying this very dish. However, from the moment I began keeping kosher until almost the day she died, my grandmother insisted that she had never made this dish; she claimed that she would NEVER make a dish that was so not-kosher. It is, to this day, something I laugh about with my mother and my aunts. And, it also says so much about memory— the way that we shape it and the way that it shapes us.
I was lucky enough to study Bible with Professor Adriane Leveen in my early days at Hebrew Union College. She was a remarkable teacher in many ways, and she inspired my love of the Book of Numbers. During my study with her, she was in the process of finishing and publishing her book on the Book of Numbers, entitled Memory and Tradition in the Book of Numbers, and that research deeply influenced the way she taught our Bible and Biblical History course. In turn, her teaching deeply influenced the way I read the Book of Numbers to this day. Her argument, as stated in her abstract, is that:
Numbers makes memory, its reliability and limitations, a predominant focus of concern. Two competing views emerge. Biblical memory is a stabilizing force, unifying the people in a harmonious relationship with God under priestly leadership. Yet memory’s elusiveness is also recognized as a serious threat to the ongoing life of the nation…The book examines the ways in which the editors of Numbers created a narrative of the forty-year journey through the wilderness to control understanding of the past and influence attitudes in the future.
Dr. Leveen focuses on two particular chapters of the Book of Numbers—10 and 11. But I want to bring two verses today, one from last week’s portion and one from this week’s, to talk not only about memory, but also about nostalgia— or maybe mythic memory. Last week, we read this (in)famous verse:
זָכַ֙רְנוּ֙ אֶת־הַדָּגָ֔ה אֲשֶׁר־נֹאכַ֥ל בְּמִצְרַ֖יִם חִנָּ֑ם אֵ֣ת הַקִּשֻּׁאִ֗ים וְאֵת֙ הָֽאֲבַטִּחִ֔ים וְאֶת־הֶחָצִ֥יר וְאֶת־הַבְּצָלִ֖ים וְאֶת־הַשּׁוּמִֽים׃ וְעַתָּ֛ה נַפְשֵׁ֥נוּ יְבֵשָׁ֖ה אֵ֣ין כֹּ֑ל בִּלְתִּ֖י אֶל־הַמָּ֥ן עֵינֵֽינוּ׃
We remember the fish that we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. Now our gullets are shriveled. There is nothing at all! Nothing but this manna to look to!
And this week, upon hearing the negative report of the ten spies:
וַיִּלֹּ֙נוּ֙ עַל־מֹשֶׁ֣ה וְעַֽל־אַהֲרֹ֔ן כֹּ֖ל בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וַֽיֹּאמְר֨וּ אֲלֵהֶ֜ם כׇּל־הָעֵדָ֗ה לוּ־מַ֙תְנוּ֙ בְּאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרַ֔יִם א֛וֹ בַּמִּדְבָּ֥ר הַזֶּ֖ה לוּ־מָֽתְנוּ׃ וְלָמָ֣ה יְ֠הֹוָ֠ה מֵבִ֨יא אֹתָ֜נוּ אֶל־הָאָ֤רֶץ הַזֹּאת֙ לִנְפֹּ֣ל בַּחֶ֔רֶב נָשֵׁ֥ינוּ וְטַפֵּ֖נוּ יִהְי֣וּ לָבַ֑ז הֲל֧וֹא ט֦וֹב לָ֖נוּ שׁ֥וּב מִצְרָֽיְמָה׃
All the Israelites railed against Moses and Aaron. “If only we had died in the land of Egypt,” the whole community shouted at them, “or if only we might die in this wilderness!” “Why is יהוה taking us to that land to fall by the sword?” “Our wives and children will be carried off!” “It would be better for us to go back to Egypt!”
I find these, year after year, to be among the most poignant moments in the wilderness. The fear and frustration have hit a boiling point, perhaps literally, in the heat of the desert. The wandering and the wondering have taken their toll, and with the Promised Land a hazy dream rather than clear certainty, there is a turning back to a past that never was.
Suddenly Egypt, the land of our bondage, transforms to a safe space; it is now a land of plenty, a preferred alternative to the wilderness. As she notes the generational shifts occurring in these moments, Professor Leveen talks about “the necessary and profound interrogation of memory that accompanies the death of the old and the birth of the new in the wilderness period.” I am, time and again, fascinated by this shift and what it says about the ways we shape memory.
There is so much to be said about this—yet another long piece I yearn to write. But for now, I’ll say that if you have not already seen it, I recommend Inside Out 2. Like its predecessor, there is much to be learned from Pixar’s movie about memory and the ways we can—and cannot—shape it. And perhaps especially in these summer days, I think about what my children will remember—how they will write and rewrite memories. Which proverbial recipes, in my handwriting or theirs, will they carry, and which will I?
– Rabbi Sari Laufer