That's the scene facing Moses and Aaron in the wilderness, as described in Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews.
Initially, the people focused their anger on Moses. Aaron, with his legendary love of peace and his kind heart, was generally beloved. He was the people's favorite. But desperation can erode even the strongest bonds.
Driven to the edge by suffering and rage, the Israelites turned on both brothers, their words like stinging barbs. Can you hear the echo of their frustration? "Before," they cried, "you always told us that our sorrows were a consequence, that God wasn't with us because of the sinners in our midst." It's a classic blame game, right?
But now? Now they were "a congregation of the Lord," a 'edat Adonai – a phrase dripping with irony considering their behavior. If they were truly God's congregation, why were they suffering so? Their question cuts deep: "Why have you led us to this desolate place, a place devoid of water, where neither human nor animal can survive?"
The accusation continues. "Why don't you implore God to have mercy on us?" they demanded. It's a poignant plea, tinged with resentment. They remind Moses and Aaron of a past blessing: "The well of Miriam disappeared when she died!" Miriam's well – a miraculous source of water that had sustained them throughout their journey – was now gone. (Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, references Numbers 20:1-13 here.)
It's easy to judge the Israelites, isn't it? To see them as whiny and ungrateful. But imagine their thirst, their fear, their utter dependence on leaders who seemed powerless to help. It’s a stark reminder that even faith can be tested to its breaking point under the weight of hardship. And it raises a timeless question: When faced with adversity, do we turn inward and blame, or do we find a way to draw strength from each other and from the wellsprings of our own faith?