”Active Blessings, Passive Complaints” Parashat Korach 5786
Think about the last time something went spectacularly right for you. You made a good guess in Wordle or you took the route Waze didn’t recommend and by doing so, avoided a traffic jam. What do you do? You smile, you pump your fist, and you say, “Wow, I got lucky.” Now, flip the script. You drop your toast, and it lands butter-side down on your brand-new rug. What do you do then? You sigh, you look at the sky, and you say, “I was unlucky.” Notice the fascinating grammatical asymmetry. We say “I got lucky”, but we say “I was unlucky”. In standard English, good fortune is a verb of acquisition (“to get”), while bad fortune is a verb of existence (“to be”). Why? Because human psychology assumes that the universe has a baseline. We assume that a lack of luck is the steady-state. The default setting of the world is neutral and predictable. When something wildly positive happens, we view it as an active, external disruption of that baseline. You got luck: you came into possession of a rare commodity that intercepted your normal day. It is an unstable, fleeting event.
But when bad things happen, our ego shifts into survival mode. We internalize it as a state of vulnerability. To say “I was unlucky” frames us as passive victims temporarily existing in a flawed environment. In psychology, this is known as Attribution Theory. It describes how we attach meaning to events based on their stability. When we win, we love the unstable event: We got lucky! When we lose, we blame the external, stable environment: We were just temporarily stuck in a bad state. It is the ultimate psychological ego shield. This psychological bias – this dangerous misinterpretation of the “steady-state” versus the “active event” – is the secret engine behind the rebellion of Korach.
In the Portion of Korach, we find a wealthy, smart, and furious leader who gathers two hundred and fifty distinguished men to march up to Moshe and Aaron. Look at the words Korach uses [Bemidbar 16:3]: “You take too much upon yourselves, for the entire congregation are all holy, and G-d is in their midst! Why then do you lift yourselves above the assembly of G-d?” Korach is claiming that holiness is an internal, stable state. He is telling Moshe that because everyone stood at Mount Sinai, holiness is their permanent baseline. This psychological trap is exposed by Rashi[1] on the very first words of the portion [Bemidbar 16:1], “And Korach took…” Rashi explains that Korach “took himself to one side to be separated from the community.” By treating holiness as a passive, unearned default, Korach withdrew from the hard work of real spiritual growth, separating himself into a silo of ego.
Because Korach views holiness as a permanent, passive default, he suffers from a massive self-serving Attribution Bias when looking at Moshe. He looks at Moshe’s supreme status as leader and Aaron’s status as High Priest (Kohen Gadol), and he attributes it to an external, stable state of political power-grabbing and nepotism. Korach essentially says, “Since we are all naturally in a ‘lucky’ state of holiness, the only reason you are on top is because you rigged the system. You didn’t do anything active to ‘get’ there; you’re just hoarding a default resource that belongs to all of us.” This is the great temptation of the steady-state. Korach wanted the rewards of greatness – the High Priesthood – without the gruelling, active, internal work required to achieve it. He wanted to believe that since everyone is fundamentally equal in their baseline creation, he was entitled to the highest spiritual office just by existing.
How does Moshe respond? Moshe does not get into a political debate about rights or lineage. As a leader who knows the reality of spiritual mechanics, Moshe knows that holiness is not a passive steady-state. It is a dynamic, unstable, highly combustible event. So, Moshe shifts the attribution dimensions entirely. He sets up a test [Bemidbar 16:5]: “In the morning, G-d will make known who is His, and who is holy…” He tells Korach and his followers to take fire–pans, place incense on them, and stand before the Tabernacle (Mishkan).
Think about the engineering of this test. Incense in the Mishkan is the ultimate “unstable event.” It represents the thin line between intense Divine connection and immediate physical destruction. If your internal alignment is perfectly correct, a cloud of smoke rises and brings blessing. If your internal alignment is corrupted by ego and ambition, a fire consumes you. Moshe is saying, “You think holiness is a stable state you can just claim because you’re born into the right family? No. Tomorrow morning, let’s see what happens when your ‘steady-state’ meets the active fire of the Almighty.”
We all know how the test ends. The ground cracks open, and Korach and his co-conspirators are swallowed alive by the earth. A Divine fire consumes the two hundred and fifty men offering incense. It is a terrifying, unmistakable demonstration of Divine Providence. Yet, look at what happens the very next morning. The Torah tells us something absolutely mind-boggling [Bemidbar 17:6]: “The entire congregation of the Children of Israel complained against Moshe and Aharon the next day, saying: ‘You have killed the people of G-d!’” How could they possibly march up to Moshe and accuse him of murder? The answer lies perfectly within Attribution Theory and our grammar of luck. The people of Israel were suffering from psychological shock. If they admitted that Korach died because of his internal, controllable choices – his sin of rebellion – they would have to face a terrifying reality. They would have to admit that their own baseline “steady-state” of holiness wouldn’t save them. They would have to accept that G-d demands active, ongoing moral accountability. Their egos simply couldn’t handle that weight. So, they deployed the ultimate psychological defence mechanism: the “I was unlucky” shield. They shifted the locus of control entirely external. They looked at the tragedy of Korach and said, “Korach didn’t cause his own downfall. He was just unlucky to be targeted by a cruel, external force named Moshe.” By shouting “You killed them,” the nation chose to view a profound moral lesson as a chaotic, unfair accident. They preferred to believe they were victims of bad luck rather than admit that their baseline status required active spiritual effort.
In Judaism, we fundamentally reject the concept of blind, random “luck.” Instead, what the secular world calls “luck”, we call “Hashgacha P’ratit” – Divine Providence. However, Judaism agrees that the physical world operates on a baseline of natural order. When extra abundance or unexpected success cuts through that natural order, it is an active blessing poured into the world by G-d. When we say “I got lucky,” the Jewish soul says “Thank G-d.” We are acknowledging that G-d actively stepped into our baseline reality to hand us an unearned gift. It is an event that demands gratitude. Conversely, when bad things happen, our Sages describe tragedy as “Hester Panim” – the temporary “hiding of the Divine Face.” When we lose our spiritual alignment, G-d temporarily withdraws His active protective shield, leaving us exposed to the natural, harsh, baseline elements of a volatile physical universe. Therefore, when we say “I was unlucky,” we are describing a state of vulnerability where the default protection was concealed.
Korach’s fatal error was that he wanted the blessing to be treated as a steady-state. He forgot that in the spiritual realm, one can never coast on cruise control. You cannot say, “I am holy, therefore I don’t need to strive.” Good fortune and spiritual heights are things we must constantly strive to “get” through active, intentional choices. And when obstacles arise, we must resist the urge to throw up our hands and grumble that we “were unlucky.” Instead, we must look inside, adjust our internal alignment, and take accountability for our trajectory.
Shabbat Shalom,
Ari Sacher, Moreshet, 5786
Please daven for a Refu’a Shelema for Rachel bat Malka, Iris bat Chana, Sheindel Devora bat Rina, Esther Sharon bat Chana Raizel, Meir ben Drora, Golan ben Marcelle and Hodayah Emunah bat Shoshana Rachel.
[1] Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki, known by his acronym “Rashi,” was the most eminent of the medieval commentators. He lived in northern France in the 11th century.
