Why the Spies Failed—and Why Jewish Education Still Matters

Warning Signs

Everyone knows the story of the Six-Day War. In the weeks leading up to it, Israelis lived under a cloud of fear. Many genuinely believed the country was facing catastrophe. And when victory came, so swiftly and so decisively, Jews in Israel and around the world were stunned.

Recently, I read interviews with several Israeli generals who served during that period. What struck me was how different the mood inside the military was from the mood on the streets. The public was gripped by anxiety, but the army itself felt very differently. The commanders were confident. They knew they had the ability to defeat their enemies. They did not necessarily expect a victory of such overwhelming proportions, but victory itself was not a surprise to them.

In this week’s Torah portion, Shelach, we read about the spies whom Moses sent to scout the Land of Israel. Moses carefully selected what appeared to be a dream team. The Torah emphasizes that they were leaders—”all of them heads of the children of Israel” (Numbers 13), and Rashi comments that they were distinguished men and, at that time, they were righteous.

Among them were two towering figures: Joshua, Moses’ devoted disciple, and Calev ben Yefuneh.

Yet from the very beginning, there are signs that Moses senses something is wrong. Commenting on God’s words, “Send for yourself men” (Numbers 13:2), Rashi explains that God was essentially saying, “This is your decision. I am not commanding it. If you wish, send them.” Moses realized from the outset that if this mission was not being initiated by God Himself, it was already cause for concern.

There is another clue. Before the spies depart, the Torah tells us that Moses changed the name of Joshua from Hoshea to Yehoshua (Numbers 13:16). Jewish tradition associates adding or changing a person’s name with prayer for protection in times of danger. Rashi explains that Moses prayed for him, saying, “May God save you from the counsel of the spies.” 

All of this suggests that Moses already sensed that this story was not going to end well.

And Moses was not alone. Caleb, who had received no special message from Heaven, seems to have felt the same uneasiness. The Torah tells us that he went to Hebron, and Rashi explains that he traveled there alone to pray at the Cave of the Patriarchs, asking that he not be swept up in the plans of his companions. 

So, while on the surface, the spies’ rebellion appears to have come as a shocking surprise, a closer reading of the Torah portion reveals that Moses saw the danger coming long before it erupted.

The question is: What did he see? How did he know?

They Didn’t Want to Leave

The answer, surprisingly, appears at the beginning of Deuteronomy. Moses recalls God’s words at Mount Sinai: “You have stayed long enough at this mountain” (Deuteronomy 1:6). The Rebbe, in Likkutei Sichot (vol. 24, p. 15), explains that Moses wanted the people to understand that they were supposed to enter the Land of Israel immediately. Every extra day spent at Sinai was already “too much,” because God’s desire was that they move forward without delay.

In other words, the Torah itself suggests that it was not God who kept the people in the desert. Quite the opposite. The hesitation came from the people.

When you look at the timeline, this becomes rather striking.

The Jews left Egypt on Passover and arrived at Mount Sinai at the beginning of the month of Sivan. They received the Torah, and Moses ascended the mountain for forty days. Then came the sin of the Golden Calf. Moses spent another eighty days pleading for forgiveness, until finally, on Yom Kippur, God declared, “I have forgiven, as you have requested” (Numbers 14:20). The next day, Moses instructed the people to begin building the Tabernacle.

But this raises an obvious question. Wasn’t the entire purpose of the Exodus to bring them to the Promised Land? If so, why linger in the desert? Why not head immediately to the land flowing with milk and honey? Couldn’t the Tabernacle have been built there? Wouldn’t the Land of Israel have been the most fitting place for God’s dwelling?

And even if God wanted the Tabernacle completed first, a Midrash in Pesikta Rabbati states that the construction was finished on the twenty-fifth of Kislev, more than three months before it was finally inaugurated on the first of Nissan. During that time, it remained disassembled and unused. They then celebrated Passover, and only on the twentieth of Iyar—nearly a year after arriving at Sinai—did they finally begin their journey.

Moses noticed something. The people were in no rush. They had separation anxiety from Mount Sinai.

So when they approached him and said, “Let us send men ahead to explore the land” (Deuteronomy 1:22), Moses immediately recognized the request for what it was. It wasn’t really about gathering intelligence. It was another way of postponing the inevitable. And that is why he sensed from the outset that this mission would not end well.

In a sense, everyone understood this. The Jews wanted to remain at Mount Sinai. Moses wanted them to continue on to Mount Moriah.

Mount Sinai represents receiving. It was the place where the Jewish people received the Torah. In the wilderness they received manna from heaven, water from the rock, and the protection of the Clouds of Glory. Life there revolved around being provided for.

Mount Moriah, the future site of the Temple in Jerusalem, represents something very different. It is the mountain of sacrifice and dedication. There, one does not merely receive; one gives. One builds. One offers. One takes responsibility.

Seen from that perspective, the disastrous outcome of the spies’ mission was not really a surprise at all. Not to Moses. Not to Calev. And, deep down, not even to the people themselves.

No Surprises

So what does all of this mean for us?

Parents sometimes complain that they spent years and a small fortune sending their children to Jewish schools, only to discover that the children are not particularly observant as adults. They don’t seem especially interested in synagogue, and whatever Jewish practices they do maintain are often done more out of respect for their parents than out of personal conviction.

You hear the frustration: “I spent a hundred thousand dollars on tuition, and what do I have to show for it?”

But I would suggest that there is one thing you can say with confidence:

Judaism will never be a surprise to them.

People who are forty or fifty years old today constantly surprise me. I ask someone, “Will I see you in synagogue on Shavuot?” and he replies, “Shavuot? I didn’t even know there was such a holiday!”

I mention a mezuzah, and he is astonished to discover that there is actually a parchment inside the decorative case. Another person has never seen a pair of tefillin. A third has never heard of Kabbalah. Every day seems to bring a new opportunity to introduce someone to something they never knew existed.

But children who grow up with a Jewish education—even if they do not become fully observant—will not be caught off guard.

They know what Lag BaOmer is. They know who Rabbi Akiva was. They know what a mezuzah is and what blessing is recited when one affixes it. They know what a mikvah is, and they know that it serves purposes far beyond conversion. They have a vocabulary, a memory, and a connection.

And perhaps that is one of the great missions of our generation.

To give our children what so many in the previous generation never had the opportunity to receive.

To repair the painful gap in Jewish knowledge.

To ensure that, whatever choices they ultimately make, they will never be strangers to their own heritage. They may embrace it fully, they may wrestle with it, and they may even walk away from it for a time—but they will never be surprised by it.

(See the Sicha of 13 Nissan 5743, Toras Menachem p. 1280 and onward).