Chukat - Moments of Independence

Living Free in a Dying World

As we are reminded each year, Parshat Chukat centers on the theme of death. It opens with the laws of the Red Heifer and the purification following contact with a corpse, recounts the deaths of Miriam and Aharon, tells of a deadly plague of snakes, a classic symbol of death, and includes God’s decree that Moshe will die in the desert. But in the Torah, death is never just about loss; it’s about transformation. That’s why Chukat, though seemingly somber, may be the perfect parsha to read around the Fourth of July.

Independence is a core value in both American identity and the Torah. Perhaps more than any previous generation, we understand its meaning, especially as Jews living in America. This country has become home to some of the most powerful and influential Jews in history, for better or worse. Thanks to the freedoms America has provided, we’ve been able to help shape the world. As a people who endured centuries of persecution under foreign rule, we shouldn’t take independence for granted. And America, the nation that has elevated independence more than any other, is a uniquely fitting place for us to appreciate its value.

But the Torah’s idea of independence is more than political. It’s about how a person becomes themselves within the context of a group and the larger world. That tension between the individual and the group is a core theme of the entire Torah. Bereisheet is about individuals. Shemot is about the birth of a nation. Vayikra and Bamidbar, and distinctly, Parshat Chukat, explore the complex balancing act between personal identity and broader national destiny.

All of history is shaped by this tension. Communism, fascism, socialism, democracy, and every form of government are, at their core, attempts to answer a single question: how do we live together without losing ourselves? And this question isn’t just theoretical. We live it, in every community, every family, every generation. Even today, people still try to revive failed ideologies, sometimes with great fanfare. But from the perspective of both history and Torah, we know that real change doesn’t come from trying to control the world. It comes from learning how to become ourselves within it.

And that’s where death returns to the picture. This world ends; it doesn’t last forever. That’s a sobering reality, but it’s also what gives life its meaning. If we lived forever, time would lose all significance. Each day would blur into the next. Nothing would truly matter.

This is the message of Kohelet, one of the most haunting books in Tanach. The word Kohelet means “gathering,” like the word asif, as in Chag HaAsif, another name for Sukkot, the festival during which we read Kohelet. Both asif and Kohelet are tied to the idea of finality, of things coming to an end. And yet Kohelet insists, “L’kol zman v’eit”, to every moment there is a purpose. Meaning arises from endings. The moments of life become meaningful precisely because they don’t last forever.

That’s why the Midrash teaches that there are seven levels of laziness. The lower levels describe someone who simply won’t get out of bed to learn Torah. But the highest level is more subtle and more dangerous: it’s the person who says, “I’ll learn later when I’m older.” That person doesn’t understand how precious each moment is. Once it’s gone, it’s gone forever. That’s the essence of laziness: not appreciating that time can’t be made up. Moments die. They don’t return.

Even more tragic, the Midrash adds an eighth level: the person who refuses to do teshuva, convincing themselves there’s always more time. But the Torah says otherwise, ki karov eilecha hadavar meod, the possibility of change is very close to you. It’s right there. You just have to step into it. Don’t waste that moment. The next one won’t be the same. Once again, death keeps us real. Don’t be lazy. As my rebbe, Rav Aharon Bina Shlit’a, used to say: you’ll have plenty of time to relax, after 120. Until then, let the awareness of death be your motivation to live with urgency and purpose.

That’s the deeper meaning behind Moshe’s mistake of hitting the rock in our parsha. Rashi explains that had Moshe spoken to the rock, as God commanded, it would have conveyed a powerful message: if even a rock, which receives neither reward nor punishment, listens to God’s word, then all the more so should we, who are held accountable for our actions.

At first glance, the comparison seems strange. How can we be compared to a rock? A rock has no choices and no moral agency. It’s like comparing apples to oranges. The whole reason a rock isn’t rewarded or punished is because it cannot choose, while we, as human beings, possess that ability. So why is this comparison valid?

The answer lies in understanding our place in history. While we do have free will, we don’t control the broader arc of events. We don’t determine when or whether the Geulah will come. That is entirely in God’s hands. God has decided that redemption will happen, and that the world does have meaning. In that sense, we are like rocks, swept along by forces beyond our control.

But here’s where the difference lies: unlike rocks, we can do teshuva. We get to choose who we become. We can influence how the story unfolds, even if we can’t decide what will happen. We may not write the entire script, but we define our role in the narrative, and that can shape the way events play out. That, ultimately, is what gives our lives purpose and meaning.

And that’s the lesson of Chukat. There are things we’ll never fully understand, like death, the red heifer, or why we suffer. These are chukim, divine decrees that transcend logic. Chazal teach that people may mock them. Satan and the nations of the world may ridicule our rituals, calling them superstitious or absurd. But the Torah’s response is clear: don’t worry about what others say. Don’t feel the need to explain everything. Focus instead on who you’re becoming. Align yourself with the klal, with Torah, with the Jewish people, and find your unique path within it.

We may not be able to control the course of history. But we can control how we live. That’s what true independence means. And that’s what Chukat teaches us: accept what you cannot change, and commit fully to what you can. If we do that, we’ll find not only freedom, but deep and lasting meaning, not just as individuals, but as part of something much larger than ourselves. And through that, we can build a reality more beautiful than even our wildest dreams.

Happy 4th and Shabbat Shalom!

Eliezer Hirsch