In this week’s parsha, God and Moshe have different ideas about how to go about extracting water from a rock. God’s vision is – speak to the rock venatan meimav, and it, the rock will give its waters. Moshe’s process, on the other hand, is to lift up his arm and hit the rock with his staff twice, in quick succession, and mayim rabim, many waters, come gushing out (Numbers 20:7-13).
God’s Vision
What’s the difference between these two processes? To start, God’s vision is much gentler towards the rock and more relational – speak to the rock, be in dialogue and relationship with it, treat it with respect, perhaps ask permission, consent – can we have some water please? Will you give it to us? Notice that word, venatan, “it will give”, the rock will give its waters, not – you will take. In God’s vision, the rock freely gives its waters. There is a respect and an honoring of even the rock’s agency, the rock’s choice to give of its own volition. One of the highest honors you can offer someone is to respect their ability to give as they see fit, not to force it to be a certain way or timeframe, but to allow the giving that flows naturally and to receive it with grace and gratitude.
And what emerges, when something is given in this free will way, is meimav, its waters. Not just any water, but this rock’s own waters, something of the rock’s very essence, as if the water has a signature mark or flavor, as each of our most freely given gifts does. There is here, in God’s vision, an acknowledging and honoring of ownership – that each creature in the universe owns its own bounty, and, when given freely, offers something unique, a piece of itself.
There is also great pleasure in gifts given in this way, without duress or pressure.. We actually want to give, were born to give our particular waters, and when allowed to do it freely, the gifts arise on their own and flow like water from a rock, given with ease and grace, with joy and affection. This is part of God’s confidence in being able to say – if you speak to the rock and get into relationship with it, it will give its waters on its own. That is how things work, God says. You can trust that. You don’t need to force it.
Moshe’s Force
But alas, we don’t trust that the flow will come if we are simply present and patient. We are more often like Moshe, controlling and forceful with the rocks in our lives. Moshe raises his arm high and hits the rock with a stick twice. The fact that he does it twice implies a sense of urgency and impatience. This has to happen now! Keep hitting till we beat this rock into submission and make it do what we need it to do. By force. And force does work sometimes – a lot of the time – and at times maybe is even necessary. But we should not fool ourselves into thinking that it produces the same effect, the same quality of water. In Moshe’s case, using force produces a plethora of water, mayim rabim, as if the hitting pierced the heart of the rock and created a wound – the deep wound of overriding a creature’s integrity and agency – and blood poured forth, unchecked. This was not the rock giving its own waters on its own terms, meimav, but a forced overproduction, beating every last ounce of energy out of it with no regard to the creature’s own limitations or natural inclination to give of itself. It is a process of extraction. What is produced in such a process may be plentiful, but it loses the magic and nourishment and flavor of this particular rock, some indefinable unique essence, what we might call the divine element. And, moreover, it inserts an air of aggression into the universe, breaking an invisible code of honor and integrity that God wove into all of creation.
Feeling Like The Rock in Moshe’s Version
I invite you to pause here and feel into the difference between these methods in your own body and soul. First the Moshe way: imagining yourself as that rock, feeling the aggression of someone hitting you with a stick, again and again, in order to make you do something, the non relational nature of that force, how it disrespects and denigrates you and takes away your autonomy and inherent sense of generosity and good will, shuts you down, reduces you. Even if you obey, it is not out of free will, and what you produce under that duress, though sometimes plentiful, is tinged with your sweat and exhaustion and despair. It is not the best of you, not truly your product in some way, just the fast food version, mass produced for the sake of survival, no joy or uniqueness in it. What’s left of the rock after all that hitting and overproduction? Feeling into its sadness and collapse and desolation. This is not what it was born to do, not what you were born to do.
Is this so far from how we sometimes treat ourselves and each other and how the world sometimes views us? In what ways do you participate in a forced labor mentality towards yourself internally? All those shoulds and obligations and expectations we lay on ourselves, forcing ourselves to be a certain way with the harshness of the internal critic’s stick. And the constant time pressure of needing to have done it yesterday, everything always so urgent. How all of that saps us of our natural vitality and originality and agency, wears us out by forcing us to give too much – give, give, give – so we are left like a dried out shell on the side of the road.
Tasting God’s Vision
This is not God’s vision for us or the world. God’s vision is – speak to the rock and let it give its waters. In its own time, at its own pace, in its own way, its own waters, its own truth, after you have developed a respectful relationship with it, honored it and loved it and spoken gently to it.
How can you feel this divine vision inside you? There is a whispering invitation into relationship. Someone bends down and says to one of your least respected young child parts, the one no one ever bothers to speak to – I know everyone else treats you like a rock, but I honor you. Come, let’s talk and be in dialogue. Can you feel that honoring in your body? That’s what God wants for us — what God wants us to offer ourselves and each other and the rocks and earth around us, deep respect.
Feeling also into the slow pace and patience of this divine process. There is no rush here, no urgent battering and grabbing. The gentle invitation is to give forth your waters, to shine forth your light, to manifest your essence, as a tree yields its fruit with grace and generosity, in its own time. As the first psalm says, when we are connected to God, we become like a tree asher piryo yiten be’ito, like a tree yielding its fruit in its time (Psalm 1:3), not on demand, not perpetually, not maximally, but as feels right, in the amount that is comfortable, when the time and the fruit is ripe. It is a pleasure to give in this way, to simply allow the flow when it wants to come, not to force or hurry. It is what we were born to do. Venatan meimav. To give of our waters.
Maybe slowing down inside, letting go of all those sticks of time pressure and expectation and productivity and criticism and perfectionism, the sheer force of all that aggression, letting go of all of that and listening instead to the gentle voice of God that speaks to you softly and respectfully, and that encourages you to speak to yourself and others – even the difficult rocks in your life – to speak to them all in this patient way and to await their gifts, to know that they have such gifts to share, to know that if they are not forced to give them, they will arise naturally on their own, these special treasures of our souls. Relaxing into this slow pace and gentleness and sense of allowing, allowing the process of your soul’s waters to arise.
Let the honor sink in, too, as if you are that dried up rock, given up on life, collapsed in the corner, all used up, and someone comes over and honors you by asking you to dance, seeing your special light and trusting it to unfold in its own time.
Not Through Our Effort
There is something magical here. Turning a rock into water is magical and mysterious. When we use force to make a mysterious process like that happen, we ruin the magic. It suddenly feels like it was our own effort that made the water drip, that we “made it happen” by pushing the rock hard enough.. But the truth is that turning rock into water is always a divine process – hahofkhi hatzur agam mayim (from Hallel, Psalm 114:8) – something only God can do. It is not a matter of human force or effort. And the same is true for our own internal transformation process, the softening of our hearts from stone to flesh – turning rock into water inside – the opening, the healing and the growth. Even this process we do sometimes approach with aggression and force, trying to make it happen, but there is a lie involved in such an approach, as if in the end of the day our effort alone could ever make stone turn to water, as if our effort alone could ever truly heal us, when it is always God’s gentle spirit in us, speaking to us, inviting us to soften, to open, to give of our waters.
Lo behayil velo bekoah ki im beruhi. Not by might and not by force, but by My spirit, says God (Zechariah 4:6). That’s how change happens. How do we turn rock into water inside us? How do we grow and soften? Not by might and not by force, but by God’s spirit inside us, loving us, honoring us, being in relationship with us, coaxing us into emerging, into manifesting our gifts, our fruit, our waters.
The Power of Warmth
Ice melts into water naturally by warmth. Maybe sensing yourself and your heart sometimes as such an icy rock and feeling the warmth of God’s honoring relational invitation – vedibartem el hasela – speak to the rock, don’t hit it, feeling that warmth and letting yourself begin to melt. Noticing how often you do employ the stick, some force or aggression inside, even in this business of transformation, honoring that, too, the aggression, and then returning to the divine invitation to gentleness in your process. You don’t have to get there quickly or produce a lot of water. Just be gentle with yourself. Offer yourself warmth and honor, and the rock will give forth its waters on its own, the healing will happen in its time.
The Sun and The Wind
A story is told about the sun and the wind. The sun and the wind were arguing one day about who has more power. They looked down and saw a man wearing a coat and they made a deal: whoever can get that man’s coat off is the more powerful force. The wind went first and blew and blew, desperately trying to pull the coat off the man by sheer force. The man, however, feeling chilled by the wind, only wrapped his coat even more tightly about himself. The sun took its turn next, shining brightly overhead. Within a few minutes, the man began to warm up and naturally, on his own, removed his coat. Which is stronger, the wind or the sun? We try to use force on ourselves and others, when warmth actually helps things happen on their own, melting ice into water.
What inside you have you been battering with winds and force and sticks? How might you turn towards them with honor and warmth and let them melt and give of their waters of their own accord? Maybe, as we close, feeling some of that warmth inside you right now, the patient warm expectant glow of God’s spirit gently whispering inside you, inviting you into growth and transformation and manifestation. Letting that warmth melt what hurts, what aches, the rock in your chest that’s holding you back. Letting it soften you from tightness into flow so that your waters can flow freely in their own way and time.
Image by Tim Hill from Pixabay
