The law of the red heifer serves as the break between two separate but similar narratives: those relating to the generation that left Egypt, and those relating to the generation that was about to enter the land of Israel.
A cursory read of the Torah can easily lead one to think that we are reading not two different stories, but the same story told over again, akin to the narratives in Sefer Devarim.
Immediately after the death of Miriam, we read about a familiar problem; the Jews are complaining about the lack of water in the desert. Soon after the Exodus, the Jews registered a similar grievance. One might think that this is the same complaint! In Parshat Beshalach, the Jews named the place Masah Umereevah; and here, the Torah refers to the mei merivah. In both instances, Moshe hits the rock; though in the first story, that seemed quite appropriate. Striking the rock was a bad idea in this case, for some undefined reason.
Interestingly, in neither instance was G-d angry with the Jewish people because of their cries for water; being upset about the lack of water in a desert is a normal, even instinctive response.
Parshat Beshalach is best known for the song the Jewish people sing upon crossing the sea; and here, too, tucked away at the end of the parsha, we hear the words "Az yashir Yisroel, rise, O well" (21:17), the song of the Jewish people in appreciation of water. The battle with (and defeat of) Amalek follows in Parshat Beshalach, whereas in our parsha, it is the nation of Edom that does not allow us to pass by their territory, and the Canaanites who attack the Jewish people. The Jews defeat the Canaanites, calling their place of victory Chormah. Interestingly, we read of Chormah in the aftermath of the story of the meraglim. Those who defied Moshe and the divine decree-attempting to go to Israel despite the ban-were defeated by the same Canaanites who "pursued them with crushing force to Chormah" (14:45).
This generation, like their parents, is unable to appreciate that G-d will protect them in the desert, and they complain one time too many. Echoing their parents, they lament (for the second time within weeks), "Why did you take us out of Egypt to die in the desert? There is no bread and no water, and we are disgusted by the spoiled bread" (21:5). Of course, as they themselves admit, there was bread; they just did not like it, much like their parents complaining about the manna bread.
This was too much. G-d unleashed the "poisonous snakes" so that "many from the nation died" (21:6), in fulfillment of the curse of Gan Eden that, "I will plant hatred between you [the snake] and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring" (Breisheet 3:15). Once again, the snake is responsible for human death.
Yet the snake is not the only animal to make its reappearance in Parshat Chukat. "And take to you a completely red cow that has no blemish" (19:2). Previously, the Jewish people used the image of a young cow to build a golden calf, making it into an animal with many blemishes. In the biblical lexicon, idolatry is synonymous with impurity. The parah adumah--or mother cow--must, in the words of our sages, come and clean up the mess of the child, serving as the means for purification. Of course, such a grievous act 40 days after Sinai leaves much residue, and thus, the parah adumah itself causes minor impurity to others during the rite of purification.
The word chok derives from the word chakak, to engrave, signifying unchanging and fixed norms. From a mitzvah perspective, it signifies our unflinching obedience in carrying out the Divine Will even when the mitzvoth may be beyond human comprehension. But there are fixed norms in all aspects of life. This is most noticeable in the unchanging flow of nature, yet equally true (even if less apparent) in the march of history, where historical rules are broken at our own peril.
Parshat Chukat is about second chances. Besides the names, dates, and places, little else has changed (and even the names and places are not so different). Just as we are often tragically unaware of our second chances-causing people and societies to often make the same mistakes over and over again-so, too, the Torah does not even mention that we are dealing with a new generation 40 years later. It was to be hoped that the people themselves would recognize their opportunity to "rectify" the missteps of the past. Unfortunately, they were only partially successful, at best.
We, who have the view of thousands of years of Jewish history, must not fall prey to the same disease. Complaining gets us little that is positive in return. Faith that G-d is watching over us, even as it may seem otherwise, is a good place to start.
Life is full of chukim, of the unexplainable, with so much beyond our control. What we can control is our reaction to life's challenges. May we merit being able to sing not just of our past glories, but the song of Az Yashir, the song of joy, as we march towards our intended destiny.
