Calev saw the good in the Land—and today, that role falls to us.
Israelis and Tourists
Anyone who visits Israel will notice something funny: Israelis treat tourists like royalty. Locals? Not so much. But the second someone’s clearly a tourist, the smiles come out and the tone changes.
Ask any Israeli. If he speaks Hebrew to another Israeli, he gets the regular local treatment—which usually means being ignored or barked at. But the moment he switches to fluent English, suddenly the service improves. He’s now part of the special class known as “tourists,” and he gets the VIP treatment.
So what’s going on here? Why do Israelis suddenly become warm and welcoming when they spot a tourist?
Some might say it’s economics: tourism is a huge part of Israel’s income. Visitors fill hotels, shop in stores, eat at restaurants—and countless people depend on them for their livelihood.
But I think there’s something deeper going on.
The Big Disaster
In this week’s Torah portion, we read the story of the Spies. It’s one of the most well-known episodes in the Torah: Moshe sends twelve tribal leaders to scout out the Land of Israel and bring back a report to the people.
And they do come back—with a mixed message. After forty days of exploring, they return and confirm that the Land is indeed “flowing with milk and honey.” But then comes the big “however”: the people there are powerful, they live in fortified cities, and there are even giants roaming the land.
Calev, one of the Spies, tries to turn the tide. He jumps in and says, “Let’s go up and take the Land—we can do it!” But the rest of the Spies aren’t convinced. They double down and declare, “We cannot go up against them—they’re stronger than we are.”
At that point, everything spirals. The entire nation begins to panic. They cry out to Moshe and Aharon, “If only we had died in Egypt!” They insist it would have been better to die in the desert than to be slaughtered in Israel. “Our wives and children will be taken captive!” they cry. And then the rebellion reaches its peak: “Let’s appoint a new leader and go back to Egypt.”
And how do Moshe and Aharon respond to all this? The Torah says, “Moshe and Aharon fell on their faces.” They collapsed—they seemed to be completely overwhelmed by what was unfolding.
Where Was the Leadership
Let’s try to understand what really happened here.
At that point in time, the Jewish people had been holding on to a dream for centuries—a promise from G-d that one day, they would return to the Land of Israel. G-d had promised the land to Avraham, to Yitzchak, and to Yaakov, and they passed that promise down to their children. For over 200 years of slavery in Egypt, that hope lived on. When Moshe came to redeem them, the very first thing he told them in G-d’s name was: “I will bring you out of the suffering of Egypt… to a land flowing with milk and honey.”
And now, after all that—they had left Egypt, received the Torah, built the Mishkan, and were finally standing at the threshold of the Land. It was all coming together.
Then the Spies returned—and shattered everything.
Yes, they admitted, the land is beautiful, flowing with milk and honey. But then came the “however.” The people are too strong. The cities are too fortified. The enemy is unbeatable. The message was clear: This isn’t going to happen. This whole dream? It was nice while it lasted—but it’s just not realistic.
Of course the people cried. Of course they panicked. The dream they had carried for generations suddenly came crashing down. That’s why the Torah says, “The people cried that night.” It wasn’t just fear—it was heartbreak.
But here’s the big question: Why didn’t Moshe say anything?
What kind of response is “falling on his face”? That’s not what you expect from a leader in a crisis. And it’s not like this was the first time the people had panicked. Back at the Red Sea, when they were trapped between Pharaoh’s army and the water, they had nearly the same complaint: “Were there not enough graves in Egypt that you brought us out here to die?” What did Moshe say then? “Stand firm and see the salvation of G-d!” He spoke with strength. He calmed them. He gave them hope.
Why didn’t he do that now—when the nation needed it most?
And what about Yehoshua? True, he eventually speaks up along with Calev and says, “The land is very, very good!” But by then, the people were already in full meltdown mode. Why didn’t he speak earlier? Why did he leave Calev standing alone against the other ten Spies and the entire nation?
In fact, later in the story, when G-d praises the faithful few, it’s Calev who’s singled out. It’s Calev who “had a different spirit.” Why wasn’t Yehoshua the standout? Why wasn’t he the one to take the lead from the beginning?
What happened? Why did Moshe remain silent? And why didn’t Yehoshua hear the call at the most critical moment?
The Outsider
The Talmud (Sotah 35a) says that Yehoshua did try to speak up—even before Calev did. But as soon as he opened his mouth, the people shouted him down: “Is this decapitated head going to speak?”
What exactly does that mean?
Some commentators explain it like this: The people had already heard Eldad and Meidad prophesying in the camp that “Moshe will die and Yehoshua will bring the people into the Land.” So when Yehoshua tried to say something, they saw it as self-serving. “Of course you want us to go into the Land,” they said. “You’re next in line! You just want to become our leader!” That’s what they meant by calling him a “decapitated head”—someone who’s trying to lead without the authority or trust of the people. In their eyes, Yehoshua was disqualified from even having an opinion.
This also explains why Moshe and Aharon said nothing. First of all, they had never set foot in the Land, so in the people’s minds, they had no credibility. The Spies had just returned from the Land with firsthand accounts. “You weren’t there,” the people could argue. “You didn’t see what we saw.” On top of that, Moshe, Aharon, and Yehoshua were all part of the leadership that had been promising this dream all along. To many, it probably felt like they were just trying to protect their own narrative. So they were dismissed as biased and untrustworthy.
But Calev? Calev wasn’t part of the leadership. He wasn’t sitting in any official position, didn’t have an office, staff, or special status. He wasn’t part of “the establishment.” He didn’t have anything to gain.
And that’s exactly why people were willing to hear him out.
Calev came with “a different spirit”—as the Torah puts it. He wasn’t defending a system or pushing a personal agenda. He was simply standing up for truth and faith in G-d. And that’s why, when he spoke, people finally listened.
Our Role
Someone who lives in Israel, dealing with daily life and all of Israel’s challenges—especially the security concerns, the back-and-forth of peace talks, ceasefires, prisoner swaps, and everything in between—can easily lose sight of the beauty of the Land.
But then tourists arrive from abroad and remind everyone: “The Land is very, very good.” They see things with fresh eyes. Israel’s economy is booming. Wherever you look, there’s construction. Growth. Renewal. Tens of thousands of young people fill the streets. And even in the shadow of a painful war, the nation has risen with strength and unity. In many ways, the Land looks better than ever.
It’s the outsider who often sees the bigger picture. That’s why Israelis treat tourists so well—they’re thinking, “If so many people are coming here, maybe there really is something special about this place.”
And that’s where we come in. Our job is to be the Calevs of the Jewish world—to be the voices that remind our fellow Jews, wherever they live, that “The Land is very, very good.”