14 Jan PARASHAT SHEMOT: CREATING A “DESERT” IN OUR HOMES

Parashat Shemot
tells of the first time
Hashem spoke to Moshe
Rabbenu. He appeared
to Moshe in the sneh,
the burning bush,
appointing him Beneh
Yisrael’s prophet and leader, who would bring
them out of Egypt.
The Torah writes that Moshe saw the burning
bush and received this prophecy when he was
working as a shepherd for his father-in-law,
Yitro, and, specifically, when he brought the
sheep out into the desert: “Vayinhag et hatzon
achar hamidbar” (3:1).
The Midrash Tanhuma comments that this
pasuk has a deep symbolic meaning. The
Torah is telling us that Moshe was drawn to the
midbar, to the desert, because he foresaw great
things happening in the desert. It was in the
desert that Beneh Yisrael received the Torah,
and were given mitzvot to observe. It was
in the desert that Beneh Yisrael constructed
the Mishkan, where the Shechinah rested. It
was in the desert that Beneh Yisrael received
miraculous sustenance, with manna falling
from the heavens each morning, and a well
of water that traveled with them. Moshe was
drawn to the desert because he was drawn to
greatness, and he sensed that greatness would

be attained specifically there in the desert.
The Malbim, one of the famous later
commentators, develops this symbolism
further. He explains that a desert, a region
that is desolate and uninhabitable, represents
the absence of physicality. It is a place where
one’s physical needs can barely be provided,
where one can, at best, survive in the most
minimal way. The midbar thus symbolizes
complete spirituality, divesting oneself of all
physical activities. The Malbim explains that
Moshe sought kedushah. He wanted to live a
life of pristine holiness, without any physical
qualities whatsoever. This is the meaning
of Vayinhag et hatzon achar hamidbar. He
wanted to go out into the desert, to leave the
normal, physical world, and live an entirely
spiritual existence.
When Moshe first saw the burning bush, and
started going towards it, Hashem commanded,
“Do not come close” (3:5). The Malbim
explains that Hashem was telling him that
he cannot divest himself completely of all
physicality. After all, all human beings – even
Moshe Rabbenu – have a body, and so we all
have physical needs to tend to. We are urged
to go out into the midbar, to leave our physical
existence, while recognizing that we are not
able to remove our physicality altogether.
The Malbim here teaches us that in order to

live lives of kedushah, we need to go into
the “desert,” meaning, we need to eliminate
certain things from our lives. In contemporary
terms, this means we need to “leave” our
society’s culture. Of course, living here in the
Diaspora, among non-Jews, in a non-Jewish
environment, we cannot isolate ourselves
completely. Nevertheless, it is imperative that
we create some sort of “desert” in our homes,
that we carefully discern what we allow inside.
To some extent, we need to withdraw from
society and create for ourselves a “desert,” a
place that is free of outside influences.
Imagine if we traveled to a poverty-stricken
society in a Third World country, where people
live without electricity, without running water,
and without the sanitary conditions that we
are all accustomed to. We see them living on
dirt floors, with insects and flies in their bowls
and plates, and sleeping on run-down beds.
Now imagine we invite the people to come
live in our society, with all the comforts and
with the standards of hygiene and cleanliness
that we enjoy. We describe to them how we
live, and we ask if they would want to live
with us, rather than living in the dirt and with
the insects and flies. We would find it very
strange if they refuse, if they would say, “No
thank you, this is the way we live, and we’re
happy with it.”

Sadly, however, this is how many people feel
when it comes to spiritual “dirt.” We expose
ourselves and our children to material that
none of us should be exposed to, figuring
that this is just the way it is, this is how we
live in our society. But the truth is that we
do not have to live this way. We do not – and
should not – have to live with filth. Of course,
I’m not saying that we should actually go
into a “desert,” that we should abandon all
of modern life. We do, however, need to set
limits, and use discretion. If we are going to
live meaningful religious lives, we are going
to have to withdraw from much of what the
surrounding society consumes and indulges
in. We cannot allow into our homes and into
our lives everything that the surrounding
society deems acceptable.
Moshe Rabbenu, the greatest prophet who
ever lived, showed us that we are chosen
to pursue greatness, and in order to attain
greatness, we need to go out into the “desert,”
setting limits on what we consume and what
we bring into our world.