It’s a theme that pops up again and again, even in ancient stories. Take Moses, for example.
He's tasked with appointing elders and bringing them to the Tabernacle to receive the Ruach HaKodesh, the Holy Spirit. Sounds like a pretty big deal, right? But two of these elders, Eldad and Medad, well, they weren't so sure they were worthy.
According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, these two men, overcome by humility, didn't obey Moses' summons. They hid, feeling themselves unworthy of such a great honor.
Now, you might think that's a mistake. That they missed out. But what happened next is truly remarkable.
Instead of punishing them for their humility, God actually rewarded them. And not just a little bit. The story goes that He distinguished them five-fold above the other elders.
What does that even mean? Let’s break it down.
First, the other elders prophesied what would happen only on the following day. They announced the coming of the quails. Useful, sure. But Eldad and Medad? They prophesied about things that were still hidden in the distant future. Think about that for a moment.
Second, the other elders' prophetic abilities lasted only for that one day. A flash in the pan. Eldad and Medad, however, retained the gift for life. Imagine the insight, the understanding they possessed.
Third, the elders died in the desert. Eldad and Medad? They lived on to become leaders of the people after the death of Joshua. They became pillars of their community.
Fourth, and this is interesting, the elders aren't even named in the Scriptures. They're a collective. But Eldad and Medad? They're called out by name, their individuality recognized and celebrated.
Finally, the other elders received their prophetic gift from Moses. A conduit, if you will. But Eldad and Medad? They received it directly from God. A pure, unmediated connection.
As we find in Midrash Rabbah and other texts, the lesson here seems clear. Humility isn't weakness. It can be a source of incredible strength and divine favor. It's a reminder that sometimes, the quietest voices have the most profound things to say.
It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How many Eldads and Medads are out there, hiding their light under a bushel, simply because they don't think they're worthy? And what could we all learn if we took a moment to listen to those who hesitate to speak?