A Land of Promise and Peril: Reflections on Parshat Shelach

The Spies and War on Iran AI Generated Image

This week has presented us with a piercing reminder of how biblical stories can reflect the urgencies of our present. Just last week, I cited Moses’s declaration from Numbers 10:35: “Advance, O God! May Your enemies be scattered, and may Your foes flee before You!” This statement which is part of the liturgy as the Torah is lifted from the ark, presents not a peaceful deity but a divine warrior. At the time, I didn’t realize how prescient it would be in light of recent events.

I’m not alone in sensing this. Natanel Ellinson wrote on his Facebook page:

From a believer’s point of view, I see a miraculous sequence preparing us for this day. In their foolishness, the Iranians have already wasted a precious stockpile of missiles, unknowingly training us to intercept them. The name of our counterattack, ‘Am KeLavi’ (‘A People Like a Lion’), comes from Balaam’s words—originally intended as a curse, yet transformed into a blessing: ‘Behold, a people rises like a lioness… it shall not lie down until it devours the prey.’” This biblical echo is chillingly apt. The people of Israel blow trumpets throughout the camp, and then it says: “And it came to pass, when the Ark set forward, that Moses said: Rise up, Lord, and let Your enemies be scattered, and let those who hate You flee before You.” The enemies of Israel flee miraculously before God’s people. Once again, we will merit to see the curses of our enemies—begun almost two years ago—turned into great deliverance for Israel (my translation from the Hebrew).

Our Air Force, flying over Iran in a high-stakes preemptive strike, responded to what leaders are calling an “existential threat.” As David Horovitz concluded:

All the signs are that Israel is responding just in time, and moving to separate an ideologically and territorially rapacious regime from the weaponry with which it intended to pursue the destruction of Israel and hegemony in this region and beyond.

Disrupted Joy, Disrupted Journeys

The geopolitical upheaval rippled into our personal life. My granddaughter’s Bat Mitzvah, carefully planned with modest catering, was nearly overshadowed. Flights were grounded, travel plans upended. Since I already had the keys to the synagogue, we managed a meaningful and moving ceremony. Shira shone—reading from the Torah, chanting the haftarah and delivering a well thought out drasha to the friends and family who could make it.

Others were less fortunate. My children, visiting from abroad, who were stranded, worked out how to leave the country via Sharm El Sheikh and Cairo. With an estimated 100,000 Israelis trying to return and 40,000 tourists scrambling to leave, WhatsApp groups are abuzz with travel tips. Private flights, cruise ships and yachts are in play. The Israeli government’s decision to prioritize inbound flights reflects real security concerns, but for many of us, it means disruption, uncertainty, and wandering—not unlike our ancestors in the wilderness.

The Spies’ Report: Between Promise and Fear

Parshat Shelach begins with a mission: God instructs Moses to send twelve leaders to scout the land of Canaan. The language is purposeful: “Send agents (anashim)… each a chieftain among them.” Moses tells them to assess the land, its strength, its cities, its soil. In essence, he asks: What are we up against?

These kinds of detailed assessments—reconnaissance, intelligence—are precisely what allowed Israel’s recent operation to succeed. As in the Torah, knowledge shapes strategy.

When the spies return after forty days, they confirm the land’s richness, even presenting its fruit. But their report quickly shifts. The majority argued against entering the land, spreading “calumnies among the Israelites about the land they had scouted: “The people are powerful. The cities are fortified. Giants live there.”

In short, the land is occupied—and dangerous.

Had Israel’s intelligence community come back with similarly negative conclusions, the current military strike might never have been launched.

The Power of a Minority Voice

In the biblical narrative, only Caleb voices confidence: “We can surely overcome them.” His faith—shared by Joshua—stands in stark contrast to the fear-driven majority. For speaking out, the two of them are nearly stoned.

Today, too, we live in a society divided. It’s not always clear who represents the majority or minority. What is clear is that dissent, even when prophetic, is dangerous—and often lonely.

Ultimately, God pardons the people, but the punishment is sweeping: an entire generation will die in the wilderness, barred from the promised land because of their lack of trust. Only Joshua and Caleb will live to enter it.

The Torah uses strong language here. Their doubt is called “zenuteichem”, often translated as “whoring” or betrayal. A harsh word—but one that reveals the emotional weight of divine disappointment and a sense that the people have betrayed God.

Chosenness: Gift or Burden?

Reading these verses, I’m struck by the complexity of chosenness. The land is flowing with milk and honey, yet it comes with relentless hardship and responsibility. We are expected to be grateful. But it often feels like a dubious honor. We are held to impossible standards. We wander, we fight, we suffer—again and again.

Even the idea of the “promised land” becomes fraught. What kind of promise demands endless sacrifice?

Perhaps the ten spies weren’t cowards or sinners—but prophets. Maybe they glimpsed a future where possession of the land would always come at a cost. Maybe they saw a nation whose survival would depend not just on faith, but on military might, diplomacy, sacrifice, and painful compromise.

Today, many Israelis live with similar questions. The stigma once attached to yordim—those who left Israel—has faded. Among my children’s friends, it is increasingly rare to return. The promised land is still here, but for many, the promise feels tenuous. And the struggle, unending.

Final Thoughts: A Legacy of Longing

To be sentenced to wander for forty years, waiting for death before renewal—what a curse. Those generations must have lived with resentment: toward leaders, toward one another, even toward God.

And yet they walked on.

So do we.

In this land of promise and peril, we still search for meaning. For peace. For a future in which our grandchildren—and their children—won’t have to fight just to live here.

May we merit that vision. May it come soon.