By Rabbi Dr. Michael Leo Samuel in Chula Vista, California
Last week, we learned about the virtues of authentic humility—Moses, the humblest man on earth, who had nothing to prove. This week, we get a crash course in fake humility: the kind that sounds spiritual but is really just performance anxiety wearing a tallit.
God tells Moses: “Send spies to check out the land. See if the people are strong or weak, the cities fortified or wide open. And while you’re at it, bring back some fruit—we could all use a nice snack.” (Numbers 13:17-20)
Forty days later, the twelve spies return carrying a single cluster of grapes so massive it needs two men and a pole—like the world’s most over-the-top team-building exercise. “The land really does flow with milk and honey,” they admit… right before launching into their doom-and-gloom PowerPoint:
“The people are giants! The cities have walls thicker than our excuses! We looked like grasshoppers to ourselves—and trust us, that’s exactly how we looked to them.” (Numbers 13:28, 32-33)
Welcome to akridosis—the Grasshopper Syndrome. A certified Yiddishe classic. If you go around convinced you’re a grasshopper, don’t be shocked when the rest of the world reaches for the Raid.
Ten of the spies caught a fatal case. Joshua and Caleb? They were vaccinated.
The ten said, “The land devours its inhabitants!” Joshua and Caleb answered, “Yeah, but have you seen the fruit? Let’s go up and take it—we are well able to overcome it!” (Numbers 13:30)
They didn’t deny the facts. They simply refused to let the facts bully them into surrender. That’s the difference between clear-eyed faith and the kind of “realism” that folds faster than a cheap lawn chair.
The people, predictably, lost it. “Let’s pick a new captain and go back to Egypt! At least slavery had regular meals and air-conditioning!” (Numbers 14:1-4) Because nothing screams “we’re ready for freedom” like demanding a return ticket to the land of Pharaoh’s excellent customer-service whips.
The Midrash declares this sin worse than the Golden Calf. At least with the Calf they had a party. Here they threw in the towel before the game even started.
Sadly, akridosis is not an ancient relic. It flares up whenever courage is most needed.
After the Holocaust, when the Jewish people were at their lowest, David Ben-Gurion had the chutzpah to declare a state anyway. The grasshoppers in the room probably whispered, “Maybe we should wait until we feel stronger?” We’d still be waiting in line for visas.
Today the same tired report gets recycled with better hashtags: “The land eats its inhabitants! If only Israel wouldn’t build, wouldn’t defend itself, wouldn’t exist…” On campuses, wearing a Star of David is treated like a declaration of war. The grasshoppers among us wring their hands and suggest shrinking a little more—maybe then the giants will be nice.
Joshua and Caleb are somewhere in the heavenly yeshiva, rolling their eyes so hard they’re generating their own seismic activity.
Forty-five years later, 85-year-old Caleb was still saying, “Give me this mountain with the giants on it—I’m just getting warmed up!” (Joshua 14). That’s not courage; that’s chutzpah with an expiration date of never.
As Walter Anderson wrote: Courage is a three-letter word. It’s not the absence of fear—it’s what you do when your knees are knocking and your heart is doing the hora in your chest. Courage is like a tea bag: you never know how strong it is until it’s in hot water
The world will always have giants. The only real question is whether we’ll see ourselves as grasshoppers or as the children of a God who enjoy watching underdogs flip the script.
So next time you feel that grasshopper urge to hide in the tall grass of despair, channel Joshua and Caleb. Stand tall. Say “yes” to the promise. Bring back fruit, not just complaints.
And maybe keep a giant grape cluster handy as a visual aid. It worked for the spies—until they opened their mouths.
Shabbat Shalom. May we all be blessed with Joshua-and-Caleb energy, a healthy dose of chutzpah, and just enough nerve to make the giants nervous.
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Rabbi Dr. Michael Leo Samuel is spiritual leader of Temple Beth Shalom in Chula Vista, California.