SPEAKER_00
0:13
Welcome
back
to
Sacred
Garden.
For
forty
years
Israel
has
wandered.
A
generation
has
risen,
a
generation
has
fallen.
The
rebellions,
the
complaints,
the
victories,
the
losses.
Most
of
the
people
who
crossed
the
sea
are
now
gone,
and
at
last,
the
nation
stands
on
the
edge
of
the
promised
land.
But
before
they
enter,
the
Torah
does
something
unexpected.
It
pauses.
Instead
of
rushing
forward
into
conquest
and
settlement,
it
looks
backward.
Because
before
Israel
can
inherit
the
future,
it
must
remember
the
past.
Chapter
thirty
three
records
the
stations
of
Israel's
journey.
At
first
glance,
it
reads
like
a
travel
itinerary,
place
after
place,
name
after
name.
But
the
Torah
is
doing
something
much
deeper.
Memory
creates
gratitude,
and
gratitude
begins
by
remembering
where
we
have
been.
The
Israelites
are
not
asked
merely
to
remember
Egypt.
They
are
asked
to
remember
every
step
between
Egypt
and
Canaan,
every
failure,
every
rescue,
every
lesson.
They
remember
Mara,
where
the
water
was
bitter
until
God
made
it
sweet.
Exodus
fifteen
twenty
three
to
twenty
five.
They
remember
Refidim,
where
there
was
no
water,
and
Moses
struck
the
rock.
They
remember
Mount
Sinai,
where
heaven
touched
earth,
and
a
covenant
was
given.
Exodus
nineteen
to
twenty.
They
remember
Kibroth
Atava,
where
craving
overtook
gratitude,
and
the
people
demanded
more
than
man.
eleven
four
to
thirty
four.
They
remember
Kadesh,
where
Miriam
died,
and
Moses
struck
the
rock
a
second
time,
costing
him
entry
into
the
land.
twenty
verse
one
to
thirteen.
And
they
remember
Mount
Hor,
where
Aron
died,
and
his
priestly
garments
were
passed
to
Elazar.
Each
place
carries
a
story,
each
story
carries
a
lesson,
and
together
they
tell
the
truth
of
the
wilderness.
Israel
survived
not
because
the
desert
was
hospitable.
It
wasn't.
They
survived
because
God
sustained
them.
Then
chapter
thirty
four
turns
to
something
practical
the
borders
of
the
Promised
Land.
At
first
it
seems
like
administrative
material,
measurements,
regions,
lines
on
a
map.
But
the
Torah
is
making
a
profound
statement.
God
does
not
give
Israel
an
empire,
God
gives
Israel
a
home.
Ancient
empires
measured
success
by
expansion.
The
Torah
measures
success
differently,
not
by
how
much
land
you
can
seize,
but
by
how
faithfully
you
can
live
within
the
boundaries
God
has
assigned.
Holiness
requires
limits.
A
people
without
boundaries
eventually
loses
its
purpose.
Then
we
come
to
one
of
the
Torah's
most
remarkable
legal
innovations
the
cities
of
refuge.
In
the
ancient
world,
if
someone
killed
a
person
even
accidentally,
vengeance
often
followed.
A
family
member
would
seek
retaliation,
then
another
retaliation,
then
another.
The
cycle
could
continue
indefinitely.
The
Torah
intervenes.
It
distinguishes
murder
from
accidental
killing.
Intent
matters.
Circumstances
matter.
Justice
matters.
Six
cities
are
established
where
someone
responsible
for
accidental
death
may
flee
and
receive
protection
until
a
proper
judgment
is
made.
These
cities
do
not
erase
responsibility,
but
neither
do
they
allow
revenge
to
become
justice.
The
Torah
refuses
to
build
a
society
on
endless
retaliation.
It
seeks
a
society
where
life
is
protected
and
justice
is
measured.
And
finally,
the
book
ends
where
one
of
its
most
beautiful
stories
began,
with
the
daughters
of
Zelophiad.
Mala,
Noah,
Hogla,
Milka,
and
Tirza,
the
five
sisters
who
had
approached
Moses
earlier
in
the
wilderness.
The
women
who
dared
to
ask,
why
should
our
father's
name
disappear
simply
because
he
had
no
sons?
Numbers
27,
verse
4.
God
had
ruled
in
their
favor.
Now
chapter
36
returns
to
the
question
How
can
their
inheritance
remain
within
the
tribe?
So
a
solution
is
found,
and
the
sisters
comply.
The
book
of
Numbers
ends
not
with
a
battle,
not
with
a
miracle,
not
with
a
conquest,
but
with
a
legal
discussion
about
women,
inheritance
and
fairness.
That
is
extraordinary,
because
it
tells
us
something
about
what
God
considers
important.
The
future
of
Israel
will
depend
not
only
on
armies
and
victories,
it
will
depend
on
justice,
on
family,
on
responsibility,
on
how
the
vulnerable
are
treated.
The
Book
of
Numbers
begins
with
a
census,
a
people
being
taunted,
a
camp
being
arranged,
a
nation
preparing
to
move.
And
it
ends
with
memory,
boundaries,
justice,
inheritance.
The
wilderness
has
done
its
work.
The
slaves
who
left
Egypt
are
gone.
A
new
generation
stands
ready.
Not
perfect,
not
finished,
but
prepared.
And
perhaps
that
is
the
deepest
lesson
of
numbers.
The
promised
land
is
not
the
reward
for
the
journey,
it
is
the
responsibility
that
comes
after
it.
Next
time
we
step
back
from
the
text
itself,
we
will
look
at
the
wilderness
as
a
whole.
What
did
Israel
learn?
What
did
they
fail
to
learn?
And
what
does
the
book
of
Numbers
still
teach
us
today
about
memory,
responsibility,
leadership,
and
becoming
the
people
we
are
meant
to
be?
Until
next
time,
may
we
always
cultivate
light.
I'll
catch
you
on
the
next
one.
Ciao
for
now.