Parashat Shelach 5786
by Rabbi Shmuel Rabinowitz, Rabbi of the Western Wall and Holy Sites
The story of the people of Israel wandering in the desert for forty years on their journey to the Promised Land became a symbol and inspiration for many nations that aspired to independence. They drew strength from it and learned never to abandon the dream. Yet the truth is that this long journey was born from one of the Torah’s greatest human tragedies – the sin of the spies.
One year after the Exodus from Egypt and the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, the nation began moving toward the Land of Israel. It was meant to be a relatively short journey. But then fear began to seep into the hearts of the people. Reports about the powerful nations inhabiting Canaan aroused deep anxiety. As a result, the request arose to send spies who would secretly enter the land, examine the situation on the ground, and return with an accurate assessment.
For forty days the spies traveled throughout the Land of Israel. Ten of them returned with a spirit of despair and fear. They described a land impossible to conquer: enormous cities, giant people, a war doomed from the outset. The entire nation broke down and wept.
Only two men had a different perspective – Joshua son of Nun and Caleb son of Jephunneh. They saw exactly the same things, yet reached the exact opposite conclusion. They reminded the people of the Exodus from Egypt, the splitting of the Red Sea, and all the miracles they had witnessed with their own eyes, and argued simply: if God promised that we would enter the land – then we will enter it.
But the people chose to listen to the voices of fear.
That night, the terrible decree was issued: instead of a short journey of only a few days, the journey would become forty years in the wilderness – one year for each day the spies had explored the land. An entire generation that had witnessed the great miracles would die in the desert, and only the children born there – free from those fixed perceptions and inner fears – would merit entering the land.
Yet here a fundamental question arises, one that has occupied commentators throughout the generations: what was so terrible about the words of the spies? Seemingly, they did not lie. They reported what they saw with their own eyes. Indeed, there truly were large cities and powerful inhabitants. One might even argue that Joshua and Caleb were the ones painting reality in overly optimistic colors, while the spies were merely describing facts.
This question leads us to one of the most important issues of the modern world – the question of truth.
A common phrase today is: “Everyone has their own truth.” But such a statement creates a deep paradox. If every person has a different truth, how can truth itself be defined? Is truth merely a personal feeling? Furthermore, is it enough for a person simply not to lie explicitly, or is there a difference between “not lying” and “speaking the truth”?
A well-known politician once expressed this with a sentence that became symbolic: “I made a promise, but I never promised to fulfill it.” Technically speaking, perhaps he did not lie. But is that truth?
People tend to underestimate the importance of truth as the foundation upon which the proper existence of the world depends. “What difference does it make if we alter things slightly?” “One does not always have to say the whole truth.” Indeed, our sages teach that at times one may alter the truth for the sake of peace, in order to avoid hurting another person. Yet at the same time, the Torah sees the habit of not speaking truth as a profound danger not only to the individual, but to society as a whole. For falsehood, even a “white lie” that initially appears small and insignificant, gradually changes a person’s character, dulls the conscience, and ultimately leads both the individual and the world to low and degraded places.
Let us examine this through the spies themselves. The Torah tells us that when the spies returned, they began with truthful words:
“And they told him: ‘We came to the land to which you sent us, and indeed it flows with milk and honey, and this is its fruit.’”
(Numbers 13:27)
Rashi comments there with a fundamental observation:
“Any falsehood that does not begin with some truth will not endure in the end.”
The spies used truth – but not the whole truth – in order to lead people toward a distorted conclusion. They did not lie about the facts; rather, they presented the facts with an intended implication. Falsehood is not necessarily the invention of reality, but the misleading presentation of it. Even a change in wording, the omission of a detail, or a shift in tone can lead to an incorrect conclusion.
Truth is not merely a correct fact, but a complete picture. For this reason, the Maharal of Prague explains that the Hebrew word emet (“truth”) contains the beginning, middle, and end of the Hebrew alphabet, because truth must remain true in every circumstance and at every moment. As the writer Mark Twain famously said: “If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.”
It is told of a famous thief who came to a rabbi and asked to undertake one good practice. The rabbi told him: “Take upon yourself never to lie.” After some time, the thief returned and said he could no longer steal. Every time he considered committing theft, he realized that if he were caught, he would not be able to lie. As a result, he refrained from the sin altogether.
This story illustrates that ultimately all the values of the world rest upon the ability to remain faithful to the truth from beginning to end. Regarding this, Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol said: “Truth is heavy, and few are those who carry it.” Yet those who choose to bear it are the truly great people.
