Parashat Matot-Masei: The art of listening

The two-and-a-half tribes who ask for their land to be outside the stated borders of the land of Israel serve as a subtle but beautiful example of what it is to ask, and what it means to listen.

THE WRITER warns that historical incoming water flow is drying out, as the Jordan River (pictured) has almost completely dried out and Lake Kinneret water levels have never been lower. (photo credit: NOAM BEDEIN)
THE WRITER warns that historical incoming water flow is drying out, as the Jordan River (pictured) has almost completely dried out and Lake Kinneret water levels have never been lower.
(photo credit: NOAM BEDEIN)
At the end of Moses’s leadership of the Israelites, the final campaign is against the Midianites east of the Jordan River. After the Israelites conquer the territory – known as Jazer and Gilead – the people are ready to advance into Israel and enter the Promised Land.
But there are two, eventually two-and-a-half, tribes that want to stay in the land they have recently conquered. Of course, they understand that this is a delicate question. After all, Israel is the Promised Land and they are willingly absenting themselves. What follows is a subtle but beautiful example of what it is to ask, and what it means to listen.
The Gadites and Reubenites approach Moses, Eliezer the priest and the chieftains of the community (Numbers 32:2). We are told, “and they said.” This is followed by a recounting of the names of the lands they have conquered and the information that this land is “cattle country and your servants have cattle.”
The next word (ibid. 32:5) is “Vayomru” – and they said. The text continues, “It would be a favor to us if this land were given to us....” Why is “and they said” repeated twice in the same speech?
Ibn Ezra, searching for the plainest explanation, comments that since it is a long speech, “and they said” is a repetition to alert the reader that it is still the same speech. But this is open to obvious objections: it is not that much longer than other speeches in the Torah that do not repeat “and they said.” Moreover, it fails to explain a significant feature of the text – the letter samech in the Hebrew text that separates the two phrases. A samech marks a break, so why should there be a break here in the middle of a speech?
The Or Hahayim offers the suggestion that the first part of the speech was a statement and the second a question. But Abravanel, who as a government official was doubtless involved in many negotiations, demonstrates a very deep understanding in his explanation of the dynamics, and in the process teaches an important lesson.
Abravanel notes that the opening of the Reubenite and Gadite speech is a sort of veiled request. They are saying – you know, we have a lot of cattle, and this land is perfect cattle land. Then they fall silent. The tribes are hoping that Moses will himself come up with the idea – why, then you should just stay here! They are trying to escape the responsibility of their own decision.
The samech, says Abravanel, represents Moses’s silence. You can imagine the scene: he stands there looking at them, indicating that the fact they have just shared with him requires no response. You have cattle, and this is good cattle land. So?
That is why “And they said” is added again. After the silence they resume speaking and this time make the request explicit.
Moses reminds the tribes of the trials it took to get to that moment. He tells them that if they abandon God once again, they will bring calamity on the people. And then the third verb enters – “they approached.” Now they step gingerly up to where Moses is, taking full responsibility for their position, and promise to fight until all of Israel is in possession of its holdings before they return across the Jordan. Under those conditions, they are allowed to keep the land.
There are at least three lessons to learn from this simple exchange.
The first is the lesson of listening. Moses had the patience to wait until the tribes said what they really wanted.
The second is a lesson in asking, having the courage to be explicit about what you want.
And the third is in the responsibility of those who remain outside the land to ensure that those in the land are secure.
All three lessons are as relevant today as they were when first taught on the plains of Midian more than three thousand years ago. ■
The writer is Max Webb senior rabbi of Sinai Temple in Los Angeles and the author of David the Divided Heart. On Twitter: @rabbiwolpe