T

here have been times 
when one passage in 
this week’s parshah 
was, for me, little less than 
lifesaving. No leadership 
position is easy. Leading Jews 
is harder still. 
And spiritual 
leadership can 
be hardest 
of them all. 
Leaders have 
a public face 
that is usually 
calm, upbeat, 
optimistic and relaxed. But 
behind the façade we can all 
experience storms of emotion 
as we realize how deep are 
the divisions between people, 
how intractable are the 
problems we face and how 
thin the ice on which we 
stand. 
Perhaps we all experience 
such moments at some point 
in our lives, when we know 
where we are and where we 
want to be, but simply cannot 
see a route from here to there. 
That is the prelude to despair.
Whenever I felt that way, 
I would turn to the searing 
moment in our parshah when 
Moses reached his lowest 

ebb. The precipitating cause 
was seemingly slight. The 
people were engaged in their 
favorite activity: complaining 
about the food. With self-
deceptive nostalgia, they 
spoke about the fish they ate 
in Egypt, and the cucumbers, 
melons, leeks, onions and 
garlic. Gone is their memory 
of slavery. All they can 
recall is the cuisine. At this, 
understandably, God was very 
angry (Num. 11:10). 
But Moses was more than 
angry. He suffered a complete 
emotional breakdown. He 
said this to God: “Why have 
You brought this evil on Your 
servant? Why have I failed to 
find favor in Your eyes, that 
You have placed the burden 
of this whole people on me? 
Did I conceive this whole 
people? Did I give birth to 
it, that You should say to 
me, ‘Carry it in your lap as 
a nurse carries a baby?’ … 
Where can I find meat to give 
to this whole people when 
they cry to me saying, ‘Give 
us meat to eat?’ I cannot 
carry this whole people on 
my own. It is too heavy for 
me. If this is what You are 

doing to me, then, if I have 
found favor in Your eyes, kill 
me now, and let me not look 
upon this my evil.” Num. 
11:11-15 

BENCHMARK OF DESPAIR 
This, for me, is the bench-
mark of despair. Whenever 
I felt unable to carry on, I 
would read this passage and 
think, “If I haven’t yet reached 
this point, I’m OK.” 
 Somehow the knowledge 
that the greatest Jewish leader 
of all time had experienced 
this depth of darkness was 
empowering. It said that the 
feeling of failure does not 
necessarily mean that you 
have failed. All it means is 
that you have not yet suc-
ceeded. Still less does it mean 
that you are a failure. To the 
contrary, failure comes to 
those who take risks; and the 
willingness to take risks is 
absolutely necessary if you 
seek, in however small a way, 
to change the world for the 
better.
What is striking about 
Tanach is the way it 
documents these dark nights 
of the soul in the lives of 

some of the greatest heroes of 
the spirit. Moses was not the 
only prophet to pray to die. 
Three others did so: Elijah 
(1 Kings 19:4), Jeremiah 
(Jer. 20:7-18) and Jonah 
(Jon. 4:3).
The Psalms, especially 
those attributed to King 
David, are shot through with 
moments of despair: “My 
God, my God, why have You 
forsaken me?” Ps. 22:2
“From the depths I cry to 
You.” Ps. 130:1
“I am a helpless man 
abandoned among the dead 
… You have laid me in the 
lowest pit, in the dark, in the 
depths.” Ps. 88:5-7
What Tanach is telling us 
in these stories is profoundly 
liberating. Judaism is not a 
recipe for blandness or bliss. 
It is not a guarantee that 
you will be spared heartache 
and pain. It is not what the 
Stoics sought, apatheia, a 
life undisturbed by passion. 
Nor is it a path to nirvana, 
stilling the fires of feeling 
by extinguishing the self. 
These things have a spiritual 
beauty of their own, and their 
counterparts can be found 
in the more mystical strands 
of Judaism. But they are not 
the world of the heroes and 
heroines of Tanach.
Why so? Because Judaism 
is a faith for those who seek 
to change the world. That 
is unusual in the history of 
faith. Most religions are about 
accepting the world the way it 
is. Judaism is a protest against 
the world that is in the name 
of the world that ought to be. 
To be a Jew is to seek to make 
a difference, to change lives 
for the better, to heal some 
of the scars of our fractured 
world. But people don’t like 

 From 
Despair 
 to Hope

Rabbi Lord 
Jonathan 
Sacks

SPIRIT
A WORD OF TORAH

56 | JUNE 20 • 2024 

CREDIT: MATTHEW T RADER

