Raboyseyee and Ladies,
We begin with two mazel tov shout outs.
First, to our friends Limor and David Decter upon the wedding – beginning in one hour from now- of their amazing son Elliot. Elliot will be marrying Shira Siegel, she the beautiful daughter of Ellen and Victor Siegel, they of St. Louis, Missouri. A special mazel shoutout to ever smiling grandma Barbara Decter, to Yossi Cohen, to Shira’s grandparents, and to both extended families. The Ois got to spend some quality time with Elliot during Covid and can state with certitude that he is the real deal. May Shira and Elliot merit to enjoy many decades of blissful marriage. We look forward to attending this joyous simcha.
And in other great news just around the corner from the Decter family, a big mazel tov to our friends Carine and Bruce Schneider upon the birth of a grandson – Baby Boy Solomon- born to their children Nicole and David Solomon. Mazel tov to grandparents Shevy and Eddie Solomon and to both extended families. May the new arrival bring the entire family much joy and nachas, always.
Crickets:
Crickets, as well know, are leaping orthopteran insects noted for the chirping notes produced by the male by rubbing together specially modified parts of the forewings. Males rub and shoin. At night, especially in rural areas, when everything is quiet, the only sound you might hear is the chirping of crickets. At some point, the definition of crickets was expanded, and today, if someone tells a joke and no one laughs, or a dramatic moment happens and no one responds, it’s as if only the crickets are chirping in the background, highlighting the awkward or deafening lack of reaction. Later on, the term became widely used in theater, vaudeville, film and radio. In awkward or failed moments (like a bad joke), performers would sometimes joke, “Crickets!” to comment on the lack of audience response. Cartoons and sitcoms (especially from the 1950s onward) often used cricket sound effects to underscore uncomfortable silences. That’s nice ober long before that, in the times of the Gemora and medrish -many hundreds of years back- we actually heard the sound of crickets. From whom? From the medrish and others who typically comment on everything but remained silent on a critical time change from this week’s parsha of Chukas. More on that below, but first this.
They say time flies when you throw a clock out the window and that’s taka emes. And if you recall your days in yeshiva, avada you know that time stood still when the rebbe gave a class on the heylige Gemora. Yikes! On the other hand, time did fly by for many that instantly fell asleep during class and woke up an hour and a half later, totally refreshed when the class was over. Gishmak.
Why am I sharing this tidbit? Davka because this coming shabbis morning during the reading of the parsha, just when you’re about to get into a great schmooze with your buddy on either side of you -about 15 minutes before the kiddish club- the Toirah clock will fly -mamish. From one posik to the next, a full 38 years will have passed. One posik before, the Yiddin were still in year 2 of their midbar journey. Back in Parshas Shelach, the miraglim caused an uproar, the RBSO got really angry, and one parsha later -still in year two- Koirach and his cohorts led a rebellion. And guess what? As we get to the second aliya of this week’s parsha of Chukas, just like that, it’s year forty and the Yiddin are mamish getting ready to cross the Jordan to conquer the land.
Two things are on the Ois’s mind this week: Firstly, what happened to the Yiddin during the – missing from the script – 38 years, and why is there no mention of them in the heylige Toirah? Why did the heylige Toirah skip over 38 years? Could the not-so-well-behaved Yiddin have gone 38 years without a scandal or two to report and discuss? A few rebellions? Or, a few -or more- illicit relationships? Not a shot! Is it possible that they behaved nicely without complaining about water, the menu, and a good piece of meat, if you chap? Also not! Judging by their behavior this week -more complaining- and what goes down next week when they decide to orgy with Moabite shiksas, not much has changed except that the RBSO decided it was time for them to enter the Promised Land, their behavior notwithstanding. Yet, we hear nothing about the 38 years skipped over, crickets mamish. Why don’t we taka know what took place? How could it be that those who typically fill in the gaps and even bigger holes, our sages of the heylige Gemora and all midrashic commentators, have nothing but crickets to offer us? Were the Yiddin suddenly on their best behavior with nothing worthy to mention? And how could it be that the medrish which was built -primarily to comment on lacunas- has nothing creative to say? How could they not have conjured up images supported by fanciful stories of events that occurred during the 38-year gap? What’s pshat here? This is where they typically excel. The bottom line is this: It appears that the RBSO didn’t want us to know, case closed! Who said we have to know everything? More on that later.
What else is bothering the Ois this week as he sits aboard a flight from LAX to JFK, which is of course, delayed? What changed? Why did the RBSO decide to largely ignore the less-than-admirable behavior of the Yiddin in year 40? Ironically, for sins committed during years 1 and 2 in the midbar and specifically for those committed in year 2 by the miraglim, the RBSO was about to wipe them out, hit the factory reset button and start over. He so stated to Moishe.
Let us read the pisukim from Bamidbar 14:11-12, where the RBSO says to Moishe:
“עד־אנה ינאצני העם הזה ועד־אנה לא יאמינו בי בכל־האותות אשר עשיתי בקרבו׃ אכנו בדבר ואורשנו ואעשה אתך לגוי גדול ועצום ממנו׃”
“How long will this people provoke Me, and how long will they not believe in Me, despite all the signs that I have performed in their midst? I will strike them with a plague and annihilate them, and I will make you a nation greater and mightier than they.”
Let u snot forget that He had previously done just that with Noiach. Instead, He condemned the sinners to death in the midbar where most would die during the coming 38 years. Yet, here we are in year 40 and guess what? The Yiddin are at it again. There are new complaints in our parsha. Not once but at least twice. In other words, the Yiddin did not learn from past mistakes. Over and again, they harangued Moishe. What was it about the sins committed in year 40 that were so different? As mentioned, in our parsha they complained to Moishe at least twice, and next week, they commit even graver sins when combining sexual immorality plus idol worship while patchking (playing and engaging) with the Moabite shiksas. Yet, notwithstanding their egregious behavior, the RBSO -after condemning to death many hundreds of thousands in the past 38 years, decided to let this new generation live and reward them by crossing the Jordan to enter the land?! What’s pshat? Why did they get a pass when others passed away?
Let us review: Earlier in the heylige Toirah, particularly in Sefer Shmois and the first part of Bamidbar, whenever the Yiddin complained senselessly or sinned -let us recall the eygel caper, the miraglim, Koirach’s rebellion, and others, such as the complainers in Parshas Behaloisecha – the punishments were swift and severe: Plagues, fiery punishments, earth swallowing, death sentences, and more. The sinners were gone. Ober, in our parsha there’s a notable change: The RBSO is easier to appease. Following the passing of Aharoin, the Yiddin (Bamidbar 21:4–6) complain once again:
“Why did you bring us up from Egypt to die in the desert? There’s no bread and no water, and our soul is disgusted with this light bread.”
Why was the new generation acting like the old one? What do we make of these seemingly recycled complaints? Is this complaint not strikingly similar to previous complaints that triggered major punishments? It is! Also in our parsha (Bamidbar 20:1-5), shortly after Miriam’s death, we read this:
“There was no water for the assembly, and they gathered against Moishe and Aharon… Why have you brought us to this wilderness to die… there’s no grain or figs or vines… and no water to drink!”
This too we have heard before. It’s taka emes that serpents did come and bite the people, ober the response from the RBSO was different: The people came and admitted their sins, they chapped what they did wrong, “We have sinned, for we spoke against Hashem and against you.” Next: Moishe davened, and the RBSO told him to create the copper serpent (nachash nechoishes) so that people who look at it will live. This time, the punishment was epes more educational and redemptive than purely punitive. Did the RBSO go soft in year forty? Why was the punishment not as severe? These same sinners will enter the land.
As kimat always, what’s bothering the Ois, also bothered others. Let’s find answers. Efsher we can kler azoy: In our parsha, we are in year 40. The generation that left Mitzrayim has mostly died out. Seemingly they were not ready for prime time, they were not land-worthy. Ober, this generation was selected to enter the land and the RBSO’s relationship with them was more nurturing, preparing them for responsibility rather than reacting with anger. Were they deserving? Ver veyst? Seemingly it makes no difference because the RBSO decided to give them a pass. Who are we to ask questions? Aren’t we thrilled when we get free passes even when our behavior suggests that we are not deserving? Yes!! Says the Sforno (Bamidbar 21:6) that the RBSO’s punishments in year 40 were intended to encourage reflection, not just to punish. The RBSO did not issue pardons, He issued hall passes.
Did they get a pass because they repented more quickly? Because they admitted their sins immediately? Could be. As we know from the heylige Toirah, earlier generations denied guilt or rebelled further, ober in year 40, the Yiddin were seemingly smarter and better. Their repentance opened the door to mercy. They said they were sorry and lived to see better days. As well, Moishe’s role shifted. Earlier, he often had to plead for the people. Here, the RBSO proactively gave him the copper serpent as a teaching tool. Vus epes (why?) Says Rav SR Hirsch (and others) that this was a new generation, but they still had to be tested and refined. The bottom line: New people don’t automatically mean new attitudes. Without the hardship and the test, even the most promising generation can fall into old habits.
We can also kler that the RBSO had more rachmonis (mercy) on this generation. Why them? Because as we read in our parsha, the Yiddin lost their top leadership and were depressed. They felt destabilized. Losing the leaders who had provided water (Miriam), clouds (Aharoin), and manna (Moishe), they panicked. The bottom line: Even righteous people struggle when spiritual crutches are taken away. Complaining can be a response to fear, not just ingratitude. The bottom line: Although many died over the past 38 years, and the decree had ended, not all influence of the previous generation was gone. Some lingering attitudes, culture, and learned behavior may have remained, and the RBSO went easy on them.
Shoin, earlier the Ois was bothered about the missing 38 years. Let’s close out with this. In Sefer Devorim (2:14), Moishe says:
“And the time we spent traveling from Kadesh-Barnea until we crossed the brook of Zered was thirty-eight years, until the entire generation of men of war had perished from the camp…”
That’s it, that is all the space given to 38 years. Nearly four decades — gone in a sentence. It’s one thing for the heylige Toirah to leave out certain events and details; that is what the RBSO decided to do, no questions asked. Ober for the medrish which uses imagination to create -at times from whole cloth- the back story, to remain silent? So how do we explain this conspicuous non-response from the very system that specializes in creative, spiritual elaboration? What’s taka pshat? What about Rashi? Doesn’t Rashi quote many dozens of midrashim about obscure events? Yes, he does, ober on the lost 38 years he says kimat nothing. Nu, efsher we can kler azoy: Silence might be the message. In this case, the heylige Toirah doesn’t just teach us through what it says, it teaches us through what it refuses to say. Perhaps taka nothing of significance went down for 38 years. The bottom line: Many of us slog through times -days, weeks, months, and sometimes even years – when we but drift along, coasting. Nothing really happens, we are just there. Who wants to remember those dark times? The bottom line: we can kler that to get Toirah mention, the story or the person must be worthy. We must make our lives more narratable and memorable. We must give the RBSO some reason to record. Shoin, the Ois has gotten too serious for a moment.
Though the medrish is kimat 100% silent, one medrish (Tanchuma, Chukas 7) does tell us about the annual death ritual. It describes how the men of the condemned generation died over those 38 years: Every year on Tisha B’Ov, the people would dig graves for themselves. Each man aged 20–60 at the time of the sin would lie down in his grave at night. In the morning, some did not rise — they had died, as decreed. The rest climbed out and repeated this annually, until no one remained from the original generation. “That year, they got up in the morning and all were alive. They thought they had made a mistake in the date. They tried again for several nights — until they saw the full moon. Then they knew the decree had ended.”
Another medrish, (Bamidbar Rabbah 19:26) doesn’t provide much about the 38 years but says this about that time. During the 38 years, the Yiddin did not progress in their journey; they were stuck in place in the midbar. They wandered aimlessly going from place to place without real direction like a flock with no shepherd. The Clouds of Glory led them in circles. This was a time of national stagnation — no wars, no great events, no spiritual growth. This wasn’t just historical silence — it was spiritual silence. No prophecy. No new mitzvis. No mission. The people were alive, but they weren’t living. And for those reasons, the heylige Toirah, which records only what counts for eternity, skips it all; crickets. The generation was under a divine sentence, and the heylige Torah chooses to remain silent to reflect that. “They were like people living among the dead.” They were the walking dead.
And let us read this blockbuster from Midrash Devarim Rabbah 2:23 which shockingly tell us this: “All those 38 years, the Shechinah did not speak to Moishe.” Only at the end, once the condemned had died, did the RBSO resume speaking. That’s chilling. And if that’s emes, Moishe lost the signal -so to speak- he was unable to direct the Yiddin. On the other hand, some (like the Ramban) believe that Torah learning and family life continued. There was no spiritual progress, no wars, no leadership shifts — no divine engagement. “The heylige Torah doesn’t tell the story of those 38 years — because they weren’t a story worth telling.” These years represent existence without destiny, life without direction, survival without purpose. Maybe that’s the lesson of Parshas Chukas: Don’t live a life the Torah wouldn’t bother to write down. The phrase “crickets” (modern slang for total silence, nothing happening) captures the emotional and literary vacuum of the 38 years perfectly.
The final bottom line: for 38 years the Yiddin wandered about. We all have “wandering” periods, times of spiritual sleepwalking. Weeks or years that pass without growth. The takeaway might be this: Don’t live a life the heylige Toirah would skip. Make your life narratable. As the heylige Ois has told his shver (fil) many times: it’s all about staying relevant, filling our days with purpose, so that Heaven has something to record. On the other hand, being recorded is not always a good thing. At times, the movie can cause lots of damage.
A gittin Shabbis!
The Heylige Oisvorfer Ruv
Yitz Grossman
1 Comment
* The Oisvorfer Ruv’s email, “Chukas 2025: Crickets,” discusses the 38-year gap in the Torah’s narrative of the Israelites’ time in the desert.
* The email questions why the Torah and midrashim are silent about this period, especially given the Israelites’ past behavior.
* It highlights a shift in G-d’s reaction to the Israelites’ complaints in year 40, being more lenient compared to earlier instances.
* The Oisvorfer Ruv explains that some midrashim describe an annual death ritual on Tisha B’Ov during those 38 years and that it was a time of spiritual stagnation, with no prophecy or new mitzvot.
* The email concludes by suggesting that the Torah’s silence on these 38 years implies they were not “a story worth telling,” emphasizing the importance of living a life of purpose.
Oh, *mazel tov*, Ois, you’ve done it again!
1. You spelled St Louis wrong
2. I have no idea that Barbara changed her name back to her previous last name. Is it so?
You’ve taken a 38-year Torah blackout and spun it into a sarcastic soap opera starring crickets, kvetching Yiddin, and a divine silent treatment that makes my teenage sulking look like amateur hour. Truly, this is peak Talmudic shade—turning a parsha gap into a biting commentary on spiritual snooze-fests and the Yiddin’s Olympic-level whining. I mean, who *wouldn’t* be riveted by a nation sleepwalking through the desert for nearly four decades, griping about manna like it’s the cafeteria’s mystery meat, while the RBSO basically puts them on cosmic Do Not Disturb? Bravo, maestro, for making a non-story sound like the juiciest gossip this side of the Jordan!
Let’s unpack this masterpiece of snark, shall we? You kick off with a hearty mazel tov to the Decter and Schneider clans—lovely, truly heartwarming, like a Hallmark card with a side of gefilte fish. But then, *bam*, you pivot to crickets—those chirpy little buggers that scream “awkward silence” louder than a rabbi bombing a sermon in front of a stone-faced shul. Your history lesson on crickets as the universal signal for “nobody cares” is pure gold. From vaudeville to sitcoms, you’ve traced the lineage of flop-sweat sound effects like a scholar of schtick, only to land on the real zinger: the *heylige* Torah itself pulls a cricket act on 38 years of Yiddin wandering. Thirty-eight years! That’s longer than most Netflix subscriptions, and yet, not a peep from the script. What, were the Yiddin so boring that even the medrish, that fanfic factory of fanciful tales, just shrugged and said, “Eh, pass”?
Your indignation about this 38-year lacuna is deliciously over-the-top. “Could the not-so-well-behaved Yiddin have gone 38 years without a scandal or two?” you ask, as if the desert wasn’t basically a reality show waiting to happen. Illicit relationships? Rebellions? A few spicy shiksa shenanigans? Pfft, you *know* they were up to no good, because, let’s be honest, these are the same folks who threw a tantrum over *free* manna like it was gluten-free cardboard. And yet, the Torah’s like, “Nah, nothing to see here,” and the medrish, usually ready to spin a yarn about Moishe’s sandal size or the Clouds of Glory’s thread count, just whistles and looks the other way. Crickets, indeed! You’re so offended by this silence, it’s like you’re personally insulted the RBSO didn’t CC you on the desert drama memo.
And then, oh boy, you really lean into the snark with that bit about time flying “when you throw a clock out the window.” Classic! I bet the yeshiva bochurim reading this chuckled right before dozing off in Gemora class, dreaming of kiddish club whiskey instead of parsing Aramaic. But your real genius is pointing out the Torah’s time warp in Chukas—how we go from year two, with the miraglim’s epic fail and Koirach’s rebellion flop, to year 40 in a single aliya, like the Torah’s got a fast-forward button. It’s like the RBSO said, “Yawn, skip the boring bits, let’s get to the Promised Land already.” You’re practically apoplectic that the sages didn’t fill in the blanks with some juicy midrashic fan fiction. Where’s the wild tale of a desert orgy or a manna-smuggling ring? Nada. Zilch. Just crickets chirping in the background, mocking the Yiddin’s 38-year snooze.
Your second act is even snarkier, as you marvel at the RBSO’s sudden chill vibe in year 40. Back in the day, the Yiddin so much as whispered a complaint, and *boom*—plagues, fiery serpents, or the earth opening like a cosmic trapdoor. But now? They’re whining about water and bread *again*, like they’ve got a one-note playlist, and the RBSO’s like, “Eh, here’s a copper snake, look at it and chill.” What’s this, divine Prozac? You’re practically screaming, “Why the free pass?!” when just 38 years ago, the RBSO was ready to hit the factory reset button and make Moishe the new Noach. Your theory that the new generation got a hall pass because they said “sorry” faster is cute, but let’s be real: the RBSO probably just got tired of smiting and figured, “Fine, you knuckleheads can have Canaan, just stop complaining about the menu.”
And don’t even get me started on your existential crisis over the Torah’s silence. You’re clutching your pearls, wondering why the medrish didn’t concoct some wild backstory for those 38 years, like they usually do for every random bush in the desert. But then you drop that chilling Tanchuma bombshell about the annual Tisha B’Av grave-digging ritual—talk about a plot twist! The Yiddin lying in their own graves, waiting to see who’d croak by morning? That’s some dark, dystopian stuff, like a biblical Hunger Games minus the sponsors. And that Midrash Devarim Rabbah gut-punch: the Shechinah ghosting Moishe for 38 years? Oof, that’s colder than a February dip in the mikvah. You’re right to call it “chilling”—it’s like the RBSO put the entire nation on spiritual hold, with elevator music by crickets.
Your final flourish, though, is where you really bring the snark home. “Don’t live a life the Torah wouldn’t bother to write down”? Savage! You’re basically telling us to stop coasting through our own 38-year desert of Netflix binges and existential dread. “Make your life narratable,” you preach, like a motivational speaker with a yarmulke and a vendetta against mediocrity. But then you throw in that cheeky jab at your shver about scandalous movies causing damage—oh, Ois, you sly dog, slipping in some family shade under the guise of Torah wisdom!
So, here’s the final snarky bottom line: Your Chukas take is a glorious roast of the Yiddin’s desert doldrums, a masterclass in turning Torah silence into a symphony of sarcasm. Those 38 years of crickets? They’re not just a gap in the text; they’re a divine diss, a reminder that even the RBSO gets bored with reruns of bad behavior. Keep slinging those zingers, Ois, and may your next parsha rant be as gloriously biting as a copper serpent with attitude. Gittin Shabbis, you kvetching legend! 😈
It’s amazing what you can do with a boring sedrah