Bamidbar: The Joy of the Wilderness

The Strong Man and the Crumbling Town

  

There was once a man of extraordinary strength. He was the kind who could walk into a city, stretch out his arms, and the whole place would tremble.

He would visit cities with towering walls and mighty defenses, where the local mayor—puffed up with civic pride—would invite him to showcase his strength. The strong man would stand beside a great wall, lean on it, and—boom—it would come crashing down. Then, he’d take a deep breath and huff, blowing out every window in sight.

The residents, jaws dropped, would gape at him in awe, whispering, “Who is this mighty titan?”

One day, the strong man wandered into a small, rundown village. The homes were little more than a haphazard collection of sagging shacks, their foundations sinking into the earth like forgotten memories. The people, weary and poor, had long given up trying to repair them. Too busy scraping together a livelihood to worry about their crumbling walls.

Seeing their plight, the strong man decided to help. With a grunt, he hoisted the houses onto his shoulders, one by one, setting them upright on solid ground.

The villagers, amazed by his strength, gathered around in astonishment. But unlike the wealthy citizens of the big city, who’d scowled at his wrecking-ball antics, the poor villagers cheered. "Not only has he shown us his strength," they said, “but he’s fixed our homes!” They weren’t just in awe—they were genuinely grateful.

The Joy of the Wilderness

The Midrash expresses a deep longing for the unique relationship between God and the Jewish people during their forty years in the wilderness. It voices this yearning in God's own words:

If only I were in the wilderness! Now, where are all of those miracles that I performed for you? As it says, "Who will place Me in the wilderness?" (Jer. 9:1), where I was exalted.

What is this like? A prince who once entered a city. The townspeople saw him and fled. He entered a second city, and they also ran away. Then the prince arrived at a desolate town. This time the people greeted him and sang his praises. The prince announced, "This town is the best. Here I will built a fine palace, and here I shall live." 

So it was with the Holy One. He approached the sea, and the waters fled before Him—"The sea saw and fled" (Psalms 114:3). The mountains, too, "skipped like deer." But when He came to the wilderness, it welcomed and praised Him. God announced: This is the best place. Here I will build My palace [the Tabernacle] and here I will dwell.

This Midrash is difficult to understand. What was so special about the wilderness? Why did it deserve to host the Tabernacle?  

Making the Desert Bloom

When God arrived in Egypt, a land of immense wealth and grandeur, He brought devastation, sending ten plagues, each more devastating than the last. The Red Sea also became a place of ruin. 

Yet, as the Midrash tells us, God takes no pleasure in destroying His world. When the angels sang as the Egyptians drowned, God rebuked them: "How can you sing," He said, "when My creations are perishing in the sea?"

But when God led the Israelites into the barren wilderness of Sinai, something extraordinary happened.

The desert—empty, dry, lifeless—began to bloom. Manna fell from the sky to feed the hungry. Fresh water flowed from Miriam’s well. The clouds of God’s glory shielded the people from the scorching sun, drove away snakes and scorpions, and straightened their path.

The Israelites, once slaves in a land of affliction, now found themselves free in a place of Divine providence.

Much like the poor village in the parable, the wilderness was transformed. No longer a place of desolation, it became a sanctuary of life and sustenance. Even the wilderness itself rejoiced, as Isaiah said, "The wilderness and the wasteland will rejoice over them; the desert will jubilate and blossom like a rose" (Isaiah 35:1).

(Adapted from Mishlei Yaakov, pp. 309-310)