The Ambiguity of Promise: An Autistic Interpretation
by Harper Hazelmare
It seems an exciting prospect, to be chosen to finally see the Promised Land, to be the chosen of the Chosen. Yet this week’s Torah portion is anything but invigorating and positively motivational. We’ve been through so much as a people, moving from bondage to freedom, but there is always more life to live. As I and others in the United States currently navigate through despair and anger, so too our people felt such ways during the times of the portion Sh’lach.
G-d commands Moses to send forth spies to the Land of Canaan to prepare for its conquest, for the people’s entry into the Promised Land. And not just any spies—men of great standing from each tribe. After their journey, they return with the mixed message that the Land is indeed superb, literally fruitful, yet too well-fortified to be conquered. The people, initially slowly engulfed by terror, begin to panic, shrieking they should all return to Egypt. Moses is bitterly disappointed yet again; he takes in the fearful report and decides the people must wander another forty years in the desert. Another forty years so the generation of slavery may die out. That the mindset of mental captivity may no longer bind us.
Sh’lach (send) does indeed send us—out on a quest and then back to the comfort of the familiar desert, wandering for more decades in the wilderness. We fear what might be and so must have the headspace of enslavement done away with. We glimpse the hint of promise, of “milk and honey”, of challenge, but we do not know what to do with those hints. Instead, we react with terror and confusion.
For those of us who do not comprehend hints, terror and confusion are natural responses.
Hinting in the parsha (portion) is an oxymoron to the specificity of Moses, who sends the spies with clear intentions: “Go up there into the Negeb and on into the hill country, and see what kind of country it is. Are the people who dwell in it strong or weak, few or many?” Other such specific questions follow. So they go, in the season of the first ripe grapes, to see what they would see. And they flounder, getting glimpses of what might be life beyond bondage. These glimpses, these hints of utopia, from finding fruits of pomegranates and figs to the lushness of the land, left their minds stricken. They weren’t able to comprehend life away from the wilderness. Even as they reported to Moses, Aaron, and the people of the fruits and the “flowing of milk and honey”, they remained intimidated by what they perceived were formidable opponents. These glimpses they offered to the Israelite people, these hints of promise and dread—the beauty of a land so rich as to call into question the validity of the promise of G-d. How could they possibly be worthy of such a place? Even the fruits were hints of what could be, these hopes happening along the path like so many wishes come true.
As an autistic person, hints are regularly lost on me. I am bewildered by sarcasm. I am often distressed by hinting and mixed meanings and wish people would get to the point rather than talk around their anxiety or insecurity. But I also don’t feel I need to wander in the desert for forty years to rid my mind of this. I am this way, this is how my brain works, and that is in G-d’s image. I have confidence in that. My challenge is to have the patience to sort out and regulate what I’m feeling in my body. Can I move past the well-fortified ideas that I have about the person or the situation to consider a new viewpoint without consequence? It may indeed be of benefit to both parties and provide those flashes of insight into a promise of beauty. It requires trust and confidence. Sometimes it’s not the right moment, yet sometimes it is. There must be discernment. And removal is every now and again the answer—removal of myself to protect myself and regulate. To soothe in the face of so much confusion in perception or sensory overload.
That “milk and honey” hint of the Promised Land is the challenge for our people. The challenge of guiding ourselves closer to flashes of insight that open awareness to the reality that Paradise exists closeby. There is a choice to be enlightened or terrified. If there is enough information, perhaps the uncertainty comes from wondering how to be brave in the moment. I’m curious what people like me would have done with the data regarding the Land of Canaan? How would it have made a difference in our reactions—or reactions to others around us?
Flashes of insight are harder to have when we’re overloaded. I am easily overloaded with visual and auditory stimuli and wonder how it would have been to see such a strange and wonderful new place. How would the pressure to complete the quest have taken its toll on me-–pressure from within and from the people surrounding me? And the reaction of the people shrieking about returning to Egypt would have led to meltdowns and shutdowns, grave reactions to overwhelm. The mob mentality of afraid people would have been too much to overcome. People like me would have been lost in the shuffle of fearful footsteps.
Our voices, movements, needs would not have been heard in the panic.
Rabbi Shefa Gold writes, “After a peak experience, we return to our life shaken.” I wonder how autistic people would have been able to soothe, to understand what is even happening, and how we would have agency in such an onslaught of so much emotion. How the seed of tension would have turned into the seed of promise, faith, and compassion. After a life-altering event, any of us may lose a step. I wonder, for those of us who need firm guidelines in daily life, about the lack of balance when faced with despair. Could we see a clearer way forward? Were we overruled if we were given a voice at all?
We must not forget those who are not able to journey to a better place at the pace we deem important and necessary, especially those who are not able to journey as we see fit, no matter what impatience we feel. Just as you would not interrupt someone such as Moses who has a stutter, so too we must exhibit patience with others and ourselves as we embrace the challenge of the times. Embrace the fight against impetuosity and hate and terror. Embrace our spiritual challenge to receive the blessing of reaching what G-d has promised us: wholeness. There is a great seed of tension that runs within us, a reminder we are people of bondage. Yet that seed may become passion, the seed of compassion which we can be conscious of enough to nurture into caring. We cannot forget what is wise about our ancestors and elders on this journey, and keep in the foreground how we can help at least one person if not many.
I have access to the inner wilderness and Promised Land, that wholeness. There are times of sensory overload when I cannot feel the seed of compassion, yet that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. This is what faith is all about. And as we close the parsha of Sh’lach, we are to perform the mitzvah (commandment) of remembering that we are holy and have faith. We are commanded to attach tzitzit (fringes), the intricate knots of fabric to the edges of our clothing. “. . . Instruct them to make for themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner. That shall be your fringe; look at it and recall all the commandments of G-d and observe them. . .” It is my internal tzitzit, my fringes of boldest blue which nudge me to the mitzvah of remembering to have faith. We were commanded to perform the mitzvah of remembering, of these fringes, that we are above despair, slavery, and hopelessness. I am no less deserving of a place in wholeness than my autistic ancestors were. May they have found peace and comfort and caring along the way. May they have enjoyed “milk and honey” as the glimpse of promise coming to fruition. May there have been no need for hints, as the Promised Land opened their arms to them.
Harper Hazelmare (she/they) is a non-binary, queer botanical artist, writer of cautionary tales, and keeper of a community apothecary. A neurodivergent human, Harper's physical disabilities encouraged her to seek out a variety of people from which to learn, from herbalists teaching ways of healing to coaches who could speak plainly. When not loving the color yellow, they are most often experimenting in their home studio with found objects or growing black peppermint for Herbalists Without Borders.
