June 18, 2009
One of the worst experiences imaginable is betrayal. The shocking discovery that someone who has been a trusted friend or lover has turned against one who trusted that person is an unspeakable horror. Learning that one’s downfall is directly attributable to the very person whom one was counting on for success is nearly impossible to accept.
Literature abounds with examples of betrayal. The greatest writers cannot help but be fascinated by such stories and devote much of their efforts to exploring its roots and consequences. Every reader of Shakespeare can quote the dying words of Julius Caesar, as he surveyed the faces of his assassins and found his trusted friend Brutus among them. “Et tu, Brute?” he exclaimed. It’s impossible not to be moved by the profound pain that those words express. “You, whom I trusted as a friend, also turned against me.”
The phenomenon of betrayal exists in every arena of human life, in government, in work, and in marriage. In this last context betrayal is perhaps most painful of all. To learn that one’s spouse, upon whom one relied in the most intimate of all relationships, has been unfaithful is epic tragedy. It is no wonder that the cuckold is the character who is most mocked, and yet most pitied, in all of literature.
Disappointment, although painful, is less than, and qualitatively different from, betrayal. Disappointment is the reaction to the failure of another to act according to expectations. We feel stupid, perhaps, but not deeply wounded.
Betrayal occurs, on the other hand, when we think we know who a person — a friend, a partner, a mentor, a lover, a holy man — is and then discover that person has been an imposter, a fraud. We are not only mistaken in our expectations but proven wrong in our understanding of the identity, the very nature, of the person who let us down.
In this week’s Torah reading, the Jewish people are betrayed by a group of men whom they misidentified. These men were chosen because they were thought to be leaders, because it was hoped they would show the courage and possess the vision to move the Israelites from the status of “desert-wanderers” into the Promised Land. But these men turned out to be cowardly, weak, and grossly deficient in the attributes of leadership. They were not the people they were thought to be.
Moses and Aaron felt betrayed. The Almighty felt betrayed. And we, the readers of the story, also feel betrayed. As we are introduced to these men in the opening verses of the parsha, we expect a great deal from them. As the story unfolds, we learn they are not the heroes we think they are. The consequences of their betrayal are severe indeed: an additional 40 years of desolation, the frustration of a dream, and the postponement of a divine plan. Such are the fruits of betrayal.
Fortunately, the reader of the Torah portion can take encouragement from the example of Joshua and Caleb, who were not guilty of betrayal. They knew who they were, and the self-confidence that comes with self-knowledge enabled them to be more, not less, than what they were expected to be. They not only demonstrated the leadership qualities that their mission entailed, but surpassed their mission by defying the pressures of their fellows. Their image of themselves conformed to the image others had of them, and this self-knowledge allowed them to even transcend their initial assignment. They went beyond “spying” to praise the land and to exude courage and hope. They are a model of Jewish leaders to this very day.
Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb is executive vice president emeritus of the Orthodox Union.
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