• This Week's Torah Portion

Although we have an entire book and a half of the Torah left, the Israelites have already arrived at the border of the Promised Land as we start this week’s portion, Sh’lach L’cha. Though they’re at the finish line, the Israelites will wander another 40 years before they actually settle in the Promised Land. Contained within the explanation for their four-decade delay is a lesson about the power of fear to keep us from realizing our dreams, a particularly important lesson once we reach middle age. So, what on Earth happened? Ego happened. I’m not using the word “ego” to mean arrogance or narcissism. In this context, “ego” refers to the part of our soul that tries to avoid shame, blames others, and recognizes only its own existence. The ego is a lone actor in an empty universe. It’s the protective shell we build around ourselves to keep us safe and protect us from failure. Moses sends out 12 scouts to march up the length of Canaan and return with a report and physical evidence of the land’s wealth: whatever fruit happens to be in season. After 40 days – the time symbolizing a completed task – they return and immediately come before the whole community to tell them what they found: the land is indeed great, but they’ll never see it. “We came to the land you sent us to; it does indeed flow with milk and honey, and this is its fruit. However, the people who inhabit the country are powerful, and the cities are fortified and very large” (Numbers 13:27-28). The Israelites immediately panic. Despite some voices calling for faith in God’s power, the scouts continue giving terrifying descriptions of the locals. This alarming description is only the truth as 10 of the scouts understand it. Two scouts, Joshua and Caleb, believe that with God’s help they, “shall gain possession of [the land], for we shall surely overcome it” (Numbers 13:30). Joshua and Caleb try to calm the people and reassure them, but ego is sneaky. The Israelites’ fear of destruction, that self-protective instinct in their souls, whispers to them: “I bet the residents of Canaan are stronger than us, more vicious than us. They will kill us if we try to fight them.” In the face of the mere possibility of failure, resolve dissolves into wailing and weeping. “Let us head back for Egypt,” they say. “Why is the Eternal taking us to that land to fall by the sword?” they shout (Numbers 14:3-4). God doesn’t kill the Israelites for their faithlessness – though the threat is there – but there are consequences:

As I live and as [My] Presence fills the whole world, none of the adults who have seen My Presence and the signs that I have performed in Egypt and in the wilderness, and who have tried Me these many times and have disobeyed Me, shall see the land that I promised on oath to their fathers; none of those who spurn Me shall see it. (Numbers 14:21-23)

For 40 years, they will wander in the wilderness – again that symbolic number – so that the current generation of adults dies and only their children and grandchildren enter the Promised Land. The Israelites came so close to their goal, but let their collective ego hold them back. As children, we all develop habits and strategies for protecting ourselves, armor that we build from a young age to protect us from failure. That’s our ego at work. But when we get to middle age, we suddenly find that those habits no longer provide the protection they once did. Sociologist and author Brené Brown describes midlife as an “unraveling,” one in which the protective mechanisms we crafted as children become too onerous to keep up. In her much-read 2018 essay, “The Midlife Unraveling,” she imagines a personified universe telling every middle-aged person:

Your armor is preventing you from growing into your gifts […] I understand that you needed these protections when you were small. I understand that you believed your armor could help you secure all of the things you needed to feel worthy and lovable, but you’re still searching and you’re more lost than ever. Time is growing short.

That’s the source of the classic “midlife crisis:” the conflict between our soul’s calling, our looming sense of mortality, and the emotional armor we’ve built up to protect us from failure. For the Israelites, their time as slaves in Egypt was that armor – it was protective in some sense, comfortable in its familiarity (though not in their treatment). The situation was navigable and understandable; the burdens of responsibility, choice, and consequence were given to their overseers. Childhood isn’t always great, but there is a certain freedom in knowing that others are there to take responsibility for you. The choice offered to the Israelites is the same one that everyone faces in their middle age: enter the Promised Land and face the challenges you find there or die. But this kind of death is not an instantaneous smiting by the Eternal, rather, it is one brought on by the failure to reckon with one’s soul. Author Steven Pressfield, in his 2002 book “The War of Art” calls the soul, “the unique and priceless gift we were put on earth to give that no one else has but us.” Each of us has our own “Promised Land,” a dream that only we can identify within ourselves. Whether you find your way there or let fear block your path is up to you. The Israelites stand on the precipice of a new life, one promised to them and for which they have fought, trusted in miracles, and prayed. They don’t know that failure is certain, but they would rather go back to slavery than face the unknown. If this week’s portion teaches us anything, it’s that when we let fear keep us out of the Promised Land, we risk consigning ourselves to aimless wandering.