It happens: A leader to whom we have looked up, who, for all intents and purposes, has been the paragon of virtue — sins egregiously. It is not supposed to happen, because part of virtue is maintenance. A person — regardless of his exalted spiritual level — must work on himself constantly, or he will fail. Spiritual ascension is dynamic; if one takes a break to “enjoy the scenery,” he might become part of it. Rashi says that the meraglim, spies, were keshairim, kosher, righteous Jews — at first. Then something occurred which overwhelmed them, and they plummeted from their lofty spiritual perch to the nadir of ignominy, going down in history as the initial precursors of what became our national day of mourning — Tishah B’Av. How did it happen? We ask this, because, if it could happen to such members of the spiritual elite, it can happen to anyone. The Torah does not simply record historic events. It teaches us a way of life. The Torah is our Moreh derech, guide for the journey called life.
In his commentary to the words of l’pesach chatas roveitz, “Sin crouches at the door” (Bereishis 4:7), the Kli Yakar addresses the manner in which sin lurks, waiting for an opportunity to ensnare a person. The yetzer hora, evil inclination, has its various wiles and never gives up hope. He stands by the door, waiting for us to allow him to gain entry. Once he passes the threshold, we are his captive. It is an ever-present challenge of free-will — the struggle between temptation and virtue. He quotes Chazal (Berachos 61a), who compare the yetzer hora to a z’vuv, fly. A number of explanations exist for this comparison. The Kli Yakar observes that a fly’s mouth is very weak, and, as a result, it is unable to pierce the skin of a human or animal (as other insects do). When it discovers an opening in the skin, however, a wound or any opportunity in which it can find a place to park itself — it will do so, and, while it is there, it is able to widen the wound and cause the wound/infection to spread. All it requires is an opening, and it will do the rest. Likewise, the yetzer hora is too weak to pierce the skin of a spiritually-accomplished person. His skin is too thick, too strong. However, when it locates a weakness, a crack in the otherwise healthy skin, it makes that crack its home and widens it for “comfort.” Always looking for that slight sin, the insignificant flaw upon which it can expand; it crouches, waiting until it is “invited” in by us.
The meraglim started out as virtuous and righteous, but, when we think about it, why did they agree to become spies for the nation? Did they not believe wholeheartedly that the land was good? One would think that, after that, a tzaddik who is righteous would protest the idea of sending spies. They apparently had no problem going on a fact-finding mission. Why? They feared losing their exalted positions once they would be residents of the Holy Land. The people might posit that these Nesiim were the right fit in the wilderness, but, once they settled in the Land, different leadership would be more appropriate. The flaw was there in which the yetzer hora/fly could settle and make itself comfortable.
Horav Bunim zl, m’Peshischa, told his chassidim to imagine that the yetzer hora stands facing them with an ax pointed at their heads. If one is not vigilant, he may become the yetzer hora’s next victim. Hearing this, a chassid approached the Rebbe and said, “I have always pictured this image; yet, it does not seem to work for me.” The Rebbe agreed, “Apparently the yetzer hora has already separated your head from the rest of your body.”
Perhaps, we suggest another reason for the tragic failure of the meraglim. Indeed, they were each individually distinguished, virtuous, and righteous men, who on their own would make the correct decision. The problem here was that they acted as a group, which often means a diffusion of responsibility. Everyone assumes the fellow will take responsibility and speak up. In the end, no one takes a stand, while each one on his own would have issued a statement no one wants to take the initiative. Let the other fellow speak up. The fear of stepping forward can lead to failure, especially when confronting moral or ethical challenges. Thus, if one of the spies was filled with fear, which resulted in a jaundiced perspective of the Land, the others individually did not speak up, because they felt that the “other one” should take the stand. In the end, no one took the stand, resulting in the apathetic capitulation of ten meraglim.
