The long-awaited future is finally here. An entire generation has passed and a new generation is finally poised to enter the Land of Israel, seize historical opportunity, and advance toward monarchy and the construction of a Temple. Their parents’ generation had initiated tragic rebellions and insurrections that ultimately condemned them to slowly perish in an endless desert. To be sure, this newer generation had suffered its fair share of catastrophes, but the heroism of Pinchas confirmed an important reality: this younger generation would march into Israel without further postponement or havoc. Without question, there is a heavy price for their own disobedience: Moshe, their leader, has been banned entry, and Parshat Pinchas launches the very trying and even agonizing process of Moshe’s succession. The process, though, can only commence after the details for allocating land in Israel are delivered. The land will be apportioned through the various tribal leaders acting as proxies for their respective constituencies and randomly selecting “lottery” coupons. The land was distributed based on Divine assignment and the lottery or goral insured against jealousy or claims of corruption.
When describing the lottery process the Torah asserts that the land was divided “lishmot matot avotam,” based upon the names of the parents of the current generation—parents who had long since passed. Presumably, this association with the previous generation merely underscores that the land was distributed based upon the ancestral shevatim, or tribes. Yet, one opinion in the Talmud in Bava Batra (107a) asserts that this phrase ascribing the allocation to the previous generation actually altered the mechanics of dividing land in Israel. Each member of the previous generation who had departed Egypt was posthumously assigned a parcel of land that subsequently trickled down to their current living descendants. This scheme would dramatically affect the parceling of land. For example, a sibling of a large family entering Israel would only receive a fraction of his father’s portion rather than an entirely “independent” parcel designated solely to him. Alternatively, a lone child entering Israel would receive a proportionately larger portion of land; his deceased father would posthumously receive a relatively larger parcel, which the lone child would fully inherit. Though this minority opinion of Rebbi Yoshia is very extreme and isn’t commonly accepted, even mainstream opinions acknowledge some role for the original deceased generation in the allocation of land parcels. Though the previous generation had long passed, they deeply impacted the distribution of land in Israel. Long forgotten, the population that had journeyed from Egypt through a prolonged desert odyssey were now intimately involved in the allocation of Israel.
The founding “Egyptian” generation is included in the allocation of land in Israel for two reasons. From a moral perspective, their suffering in Egypt and their struggles in the desert must be acknowledged. Our national identity was forged in the furnace of Egypt, and the pioneering efforts of those who lived that nightmare mustn’t be ignored now that a new generation enjoys the successes of life in Israel. The suffering in Egypt wasn’t random—although even if it were it would be morally compelling enough to warrant the inclusion of that generation. At the birth of Jewish history God conditions receipt of the Land of Israel upon the willingness to be a “stranger in a foreign land.” We are tasked with representing the Divine presence and that mission elicits hatred and hostility from those who aren’t yet appreciative of our message. As the title to Israel is dependent upon this historical “sentence,” it is obvious that the generation that bore the brunt of this mission should be associated with the distribution of the land.
More than just the suffering they endured, the original generation also solidified the historical Covenant at Sinai. Hundreds of years earlier, our ancestors had enlisted in this historical covenant pivoted upon the Land of Israel. However, a “family” can’t craft a historical legacy. Only a fully formed “nation” can implement the Covenant. At Sinai, the original Egyptian Jews reaffirmed our historical mission; the Land of Israel belongs to that generation at least as much as it does to the living descendants who actually entered the land. The fortunate younger generation are the beneficiaries of the moral courage and historical vision of their ancestors.
This allocation strategy forms a blueprint that should shape our own contemporary “pioneering consciousness” as we rebuild the modern state. We have been selected to be the fortunate recipients of a reconstituted state and of restored national pride. However, this process is a culmination of the suffering and stamina of dozens of previous generations whose conviction and faith enabled our return. For some, the “weak” Jew of the Diaspora is seen as a pathetic victim, enfeebled and a source of shame. Only by replacing this “weak” Jew with a proud and strong Jew could the land be resettled. This lopsided and historically myopic view is morally troubling, inaccurate and insensitive to the flow of Jewish history and the immense heroism of generations who would never walk this land but whose heroism paved the route of our return. Our generation returns as delegates of previous generations and as stewards upon a land that previous generations dreamed of and struggled for. This custodial function must influence our day-to-day attitudes in Israel just as it must frame the complex decisions we render about our land. Decisions can’t be based purely upon political or military considerations—though they must be primarily pivoted upon these factors. We are entrusted with a land that our predecessors dreamed of and within which our descendants will reside. Our decisions must incorporate this historical vision alongside contemporary practical considerations.
We have been gifted with a period of unprecedented miracles—our flourishing success in our homeland. These benefits are the product of thousands of years of faith, vision and defiance to historical pressure. Those who preceded us were not weak or incompetent but struggled with the long odyssey of Jewish history facing seemingly indomitable pressures. That they persisted and triumphed permitted and facilitated our return. We are the beneficiaries of their heroism and the caretakers of the land of their “dreams,” even if it never became the land they would physically stride upon. The land of history must be viewed through the lenses of history and with deep gratitude to the heroes of history.
By Moshe Taragin
Rabbi Moshe Taragin is a rebbe at Yeshivat Har Etzion located in Gush Etzion, where he resides.
