Our ancestors certainly did. Today we're diving into a fascinating story from Sifrei Bamidbar, a legal commentary on the Book of Numbers, that grapples with just that feeling of exclusion and the beautiful, sometimes frustrating, process of seeking answers.
The story begins in Numbers 9:6: "And there were men who were unclean by the body of a man, and they could not offer the Pesach [Passover sacrifice] on that day." So, who were these men, barred from participating in this central ritual?
Rabbi Yishmael has one idea: they were the bearers of Joseph's casket, finally bringing him home to the promised land. But Rabbi Akiva offers a different take: Maybe they were Mishael and Eltzafan, who became ritually impure tending to the bodies of Nadav and Avihu, the sons of Aaron, who met a tragic end offering a "strange fire" before the Lord (Leviticus 10).
Rabbi Yitzchak throws a wrench in both ideas. He argues that both groups could have purified themselves in time for the Pesach offering. So, what gives?
He suggests a third possibility: These were men who had become unclean by contact with a meth-mitzvah—a body with no one else to bury it. In this case, their seventh and final day of impurity happened to fall on Passover eve. Talk about timing!
Then comes another puzzle. The verse says, "And they drew near before Moses and before Aaron on that day." Does that mean Moses, the great lawgiver, didn’t know the answer? Rabbi Yoshiyah cleverly suggests inverting the verse: "They came before Aaron, and he did not know, and then they came before Moses."
Abba Channan, quoting Rabbi Eliezer, paints a picture of Moses and Aaron sitting in the house of study when these men approach them. The very fact that they ask shows they were devout, eager to fulfill the mitzvah (commandment). It wasn't just about following the rules; it was about connecting with the Divine.
But why the repetition? The verse first says "the men" and then "those men." The text tells us that only the person directly affected by a question should be the one to ask it. They couldn't send a representative; this was their personal struggle.
Their question is powerful: "Why should we be held back from offering the sacrifice of the Lord in its appointed time?" They felt excluded, shut out.
A debate ensues. They challenge Moses, arguing that if offerings can be made up later, maybe impurity matters less. But what about the Pesach offering, which must be offered on the fourteenth of Nissan? Moses responds that offerings cannot be eaten in a state of tumah (ritual impurity).
The men press further. If the flesh can't be eaten impure, could the blood of the offering be sprinkled on the unclean, and the flesh eaten by those who are clean? They even build a logical argument based on the laws of sin offerings, using a principle of kal v'chomer (how much more so). It's a brilliant, impassioned plea!
But Moses admits, "I have not heard [the halachah – the law]” He doesn't have an answer. He tells them to wait, saying, "Stand, and I will hear what the Lord will command concerning you"—as if he’s saying, "I'll get it straight from the source."
The Sifrei then exclaims, "Happy the woman's son who was so confident that whenever he wished He would speak with him!" What an incredible statement about Moses's relationship with God!
Rabbi Chidka adds a fascinating tidbit: Shimon Hashikmoni, a colleague and disciple of Rabbi Akiva, believed Moses did know that an impure person couldn’t eat the Pesach offering. Their real debate was about whether the blood could be sprinkled on them.
The passage concludes with a final, profound question: Why was this section about the impure related through them, the men who were excluded? The answer: "For merit is conveyed through the meritorious, and liability through the liable." In other words, even in their exclusion, they became instruments of revelation.
What does this story leave us with? It's a reminder that grappling with exclusion, with feeling "unclean" or unworthy, can be a pathway to deeper understanding. The questions we ask in our moments of doubt and vulnerability can become the very questions that open new doors to spiritual insight. Maybe, just maybe, our struggles aren't roadblocks, but stepping stones on the path.