“And Hashem said: Please hear My word, if you are prophets of Hashem, it is only via images that I appear to you and by dreams I speak to you” (Bamidbar 12:6).
After receiving the Torah on Mt. Sinai, Moshe Rabbeinu separated from his wife. When Miriam heard the news, she complained to her brother Aaron. “We too are prophets, yet we remain with our spouses.” Although their intentions were good, Miriam and Aaron were punished for the sin of lashon hara.
Rashi points out that Hashem began with a mild expression of “Please listen.” It was only after Miriam and Aaron understood their mistake that He rebuked them in the critical manner warranted to defend Moshe’s honor. Had Hashem initially spoken sharply, they wouldn’t have accepted the criticism. Siftei Chachamim, based on Rashi’s commentary, adds that we can learn from Hashem’s initial, mild communication that that our interactions with others should always be pleasant and agreeable.
Rashi’s explanation is very difficult to understand. Miriam and Aaron were two of the greatest tzaddikim, whose entire existence was dedicated towards serving their Creator. Why wouldn’t they accept the words of Hashem if they were spoken strongly? How could two such holy people possibly think they were right and Hashem was wrong?
To answer this question, let’s focus on a foible of human nature as described in the following story:
Two-Gun Crowley, also known as Crowley the Cop Killer, was one of the most notorious gangsters to ever terrorize New York City. In the 1930s, the police commissioner described him as “a hardened killer. A man who would kill at the drop of a feather.”
Two-Gun fired his last bullet in a shoot-out with police in an apartment on West End Avenue. Surrounded by 150 policemen armed with everything from tear gas to machine-guns, he held them at bay for over an hour. Ten thousand onlookers watched as the streets of Manhattan reverberated with the explosions of machine-gun fire. Finally, after he was shot in the chest, he wrote and signed his last will and testament – a note, drenched in his blood, which read:
To Whom It May Concern:
Under my coat lies a lonely heart,
But a good heart. A heart that
Would do no man harm.
Just hours before, Two-Gun Crowley had been in Central Park sitting in a car with his girlfriend. When a passing police officer asked him for his license and registration, Two-Gun reached into his coat, pulled out a pistol, and shot the cop dead. He jumped out of the car, retrieved the officer’s gun, fired another bullet for good measure, and drove off.
“A good heart. A heart that would do no man harm.”
The story doesn’t end there. During the shootout, after Two-Gun was shot, he passed out from loss of blood. The police broke in, arrested him, and carried him to the hospital. He survived, eventually stood trial, and was found guilty of murder. On his way to the electric chair, he was overheard saying, “This is what I get for defending myself.”
This story is significant because Two-Gun Crowley wasn’t insane. He wasn’t a psychopath. His behavior displayed a peculiarity of human nature that reasons, “I never do anything wrong.” No matter how depraved, no matter how immoral and inexcusable my behavior, in the courtroom of my mind, it is fine and acceptable.
This phenomenon isn’t simply a quirk – it’s fundamental to the purpose of Creation. Hashem put us into this world to allow us to become what we will be for eternity. By resisting temptation, standing up to challenges, and choosing what is good, right, and proper, we shape our essence. The level of perfection we reach is who we are forever.
And therein lies one of the great dilemmas in Creation. How does Hashem take a brilliant, pure soul and give it free will to damage itself? A soul is far too wise and perceptive to destroy itself by sinning, and yet, to be credited with shaping himself, man must be able to choose freely.
To solve this dilemma, Hashem put an element into man that we call “imagination,” which serves as a balance between logical thought and emotion. Since imagination allows man to bend reality, it also allows him to shape his own truth. As man can imagine himself as a pirate sailing the seven seas; so too, he can invent mental constructs and worldviews that are completely unfounded that enable him to justify his actions.
When man approaches an issue, he isn’t limited to logic. If he wants something, his emotions can influence his understanding. He can change his sense of morality at will. And therefore, since man has the power of imagination, Hashem can credit him for choosing good over evil because this power gives man free choice. It allows him to do things that his logical mind and spiritual soul would never allow him to do.
Now we can understand why Hashem first rebuked Miriam and Aaron in a “soft voice.” As great as they were and as much as they desired to serve their Creator, Miriam and Aaron were still human. When we feel attacked, we tend to resist and fight back. It’s part of the fabric of our being. Had Hashem first spoken to them in a blistering manner, they would have resisted and found a rationale for what they had done. It would have prevented them from seeing their error. Therefore, Hashem first spoke softly so they could hear, and only then did he rebuke them fully.
As much as we feel our own pain, we tend to forget that others are as human as we are. The more we understand the inner workings of humanity, the more we can chart our course for greatness and the more effective we will be in dealing with ourselves and those around us.