Chukat-Balak: When the Well Runs Dry

On loss, leadership, and the water that springs from within

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Most of us are blessed with people in our lives without whom we simply couldn't imagine functioning. But what happens when we are suddenly left without them? The Torah portion this week begins with death, grief, and a loss that leaves a massive hole. But it also looks at what remains after the people who sustained us are gone. Welcome back to Torah and Seven. I'm Bela Olidoard, and this week we have a double Torah reading, Chukat and Balak, so we'll go just a bit over our usual seven minutes. This week's episode is generously sponsored by Rabbi Bin Sian Gyzinski in memory of his beloved wife Chaya Zlata Bhat Rebyoshua Allah Shalom. On her 16th yard site, Zlata was a true giver, serving as the Chabad Schlucha to the Jewish community of Chevy Chase, Maryland. She was also a dear classmate of mine whose warmth and laughter could fill any room. Zlatta was taken from us far too soon in the prime of her life. We honor her memory with this specific partial which records the death of Miriam, the prophetess. Like Miriam, Zlatta was the emotional pulse of her community, nurturing it with wisdom, with joy, and love. Her wellspring of inspiration continues to flow. Yhizakhra Baruch. If you'd like to sponsor an episode in honor or memory of a loved one, please email me at Torahin7 at gmail.com. The Parsha opens with a strange and famous law, the Para'aduma, the Red Heifer. Its ashes are mixed with fresh spring water to purify anyone who has come into contact with death. In Jewish law, death causes a spiritual numbness because our connection to God stems entirely from our vitality, our free will, our capacity to choose, to create, and to act. And a corpse is a physical shell stripped of that divine spark. When we encounter it, we face absolute helplessness. It can leave us feeling spiritually detached. So the Torah's fix is profound. Mix the remnants of death, the ashes, with the ultimate source of life, living spring water. This ritual shocks a person back into the stream of vitality. It's a divine reminder that even our deepest lows do not have the final say. And this reminder arrives just in time because the very moment the law is stated, Miriam dies. Her passing is a catastrophic blow to the camp because Miriam was so much more than just a leader. Without her, there would be no exodus. She was the one who watched over her brother, the infant Moshe in the reeds. She was the emotional pulse of the nation, the one who took up the timbrel at the Red Sea and knew exactly when it was time to sing. And as they traveled through the wilderness, a miraculous moving source of water followed them, known as Miriam's Well. The people were sustained entirely because of her merit. But the moment she dies, the well dries up. The people panic. They look around and cry out that this wilderness has no grain, no figs, no vines, no pomegranates. They weren't just thirsty. They were grieving the loss of the imagination she inspired for a fruitful future. The passing of a giant like Miriam was a shock, but it also offered a pivot. According to Hasidic teaching, when a righteous person passes away, their life's energy is no longer restricted to a single physical body. It's released into the world as a spiritual inheritance waiting to be claimed by anyone or everyone. But on the ground, the people are consumed by desperation. They panic. God instructs Moshe to speak to a rock so it will give water. But instead, Moshe berates the people harshly. Shimu Nahamorim, he says, listen, you rebels, shall we get water for you out of this rock? And he strikes the rock. Water flows, but God punishes Moshe for his impatience. Moshe, who hasn't even had a chance to grieve the loss of his sister, is now told that he will not lead this congregation into the promised land. So Miriam has died, then Moshe learns he will not make it to the promised land, and the Parsha then describes Arun's passing. A tectonic shift is underway. The era of the Titans is ending. And yet, look at what happens next. This new generation stumbles at first, but then a breakthrough happens. Instead of remaining locked in resentment, waiting for an external miracle, they step forward and take moral accountability. Chattanu, they say, we have sinned. They confess of their own accord, no intermediary forces their hand. They own it, and the moment they reach this internal maturity, they find water. The text shifts beautifully. Then Israel sang this song, Spring up, O well, sing to it. This time there's no Moshe conducting, there's no Miriam leading with her timbrel. The people find their own independent voice of optimism. Miriam is gone, but they find her song within themselves. Which brings us to the bridge toward our second parsha, Balak. Because this water imagery doesn't end with Hukat. Bilam is a prophet hired to curse the Jewish people. But every time he opens his mouth, blessing tumbles out instead. In one of his visions, he reaches almost involuntarily for the image of water. He says, like valleys they spread out, like gardens beside a river, water will flow from his buckets. The great 18th century commentator, the Archaim, reads this not as a physical landscape, but as an internal one. Each person carries their own unique source. It's no longer a well dug from the outside, nor water given strictly from above. It's water flowing from their own vessels. Miriam's spring used to travel alongside them, and now the water is inside them, and even an enemy can see it pouring out. For 40 years, the Jewish people relied on safety nets and the external strength of larger-than-life leaders. But when the well dried up, they discovered that the music hadn't died. We often experience moments where the structures we relied upon suddenly disappear, leaving our lives looking entirely barren. We feel the sudden thirst of an empty well. This is something we have lived ourselves. Just recently, on the third of Tammuz, we marked the passing of the Lababa Cherebe, a leader whose presence sustained an entire generation from the outside. And when that physical presence was gone, the landscape looked empty. We felt that sudden, desperate thirst. And yet it's precisely in those moments of exposure when the well runs dry that we have no choice but to find the resources within ourselves. That's when we discover that the leader's energy was actually released into the world to be claimed by all of us who carry it forward. Because we can't live on external inspiration alone. We have to keep what we've inherited from those who have been such vital presences in our lives alive within us. That's how we ensure that the life-giving water flows from within and continues to sustain us. This was Torah in seven for Pashat Hukat Balak. If you'd like to go deeper, you can find a companion study guide with Hebrew terms, sources, and questions for further learning at Torah in seven dot substack.com. Thank you for listening. Shabbat Shalom.