This is part of a double portion to be read on Saturday, June 27. San Diego Jewish World will run Rabbi Samuel’s discussion of Balak, the other portion, on Sunday.
By Rabbi Dr. Michael Leo Samuel in Chula Vista, California
A woman, worried about her husband’s explosive temper, visits the doctor. “Every day he loses control for no reason—it frightens me,” she says. The doctor offers a simple remedy: “Whenever he begins to rage, take a glass of water, swish it in your mouth, and do not swallow until he calms or leaves the room.”
Two weeks later she returns looking radiant. “Doctor, it worked brilliantly! Every time he started, I swished and swished—he calmed right down. How does water do that?” The doctor smiles: “The water does nothing. Keeping your mouth shut is what does the trick.”
This week’s parsha, confronts us with one of the most painful moments in Moses’ life. Commanded to speak to the rock so that water might flow for the thirsty congregation, Moses instead strikes it twice in anger (Num. 20:11). For this lapse, he is denied entry into the Promised Land. God’s rebuke is stern. Yet the Torah does not condemn anger itself as inherently sinful. Rather, it teaches us that the critical question is not whether we become angry, but whether we control the anger—or whether the anger controls us.
Anger is a natural, God-given emotion. Throughout the Book of Exodus, Moses channels righteous indignation effectively: confronting Pharaoh’s tyranny, smashing the Golden Calf, and standing against injustice. God Himself is described as “angry” in response to cruelty and idolatry, yet that divine anger is always purposeful, measured, and directed toward tikkun—restoration and moral order. Biologically and psychologically, anger serves as an alarm system: it alerts us to threats against what we love—our families, our values, our sense of justice. As Tim Keller insightfully notes, in its uncorrupted form, “anger is actually a form of love” in motion, defending what is precious.
The problem arises not from the fire of anger itself, but from losing mastery over it. When anger becomes indiscriminate, unfocused, or self-serving—stemming from personal offense, frustration, or ego rather than moral principle—it turns destructive. Moses’ striking of the rock, born of accumulated exhaustion after the rebellions of Korah and the people’s ceaseless complaints, crossed this line. It was not the anger per se that disqualified him, but the failure to subordinate it fully to God’s precise command and to the dignity of his office. In that moment, the leader’s frustration overpowered disciplined speech.
Modern science confirms the ancient wisdom. Chronic or uncontrolled anger significantly elevates risks of heart disease, stroke, and other ailments. Neurophysiologists distinguish between those who explode outward and those who internalize rage, yet both forms erode body and soul when left unchecked. Proverbs warn: “An angry person stirs up conflict” (Prov. 29:22). Anger is contagious; it spreads dissension in families, communities, and congregations.
Righteous anger—anger that mirrors God’s own over injustice, cruelty, or desecration—remains a vital moral force. But most of our daily anger is “human anger”: reactive, personal, and often rooted in disordered loves—pride wounded, expectations unmet, or territory invaded. Spiritual leaders are not exempt. Moses’ example reminds every rabbi, teacher, and guide that we, too, carry this same vulnerability. The question is not whether we will feel anger, but whether we will master it through mindfulness, prayer, pause (that proverbial glass of water), and redirection toward constructive purpose.
The Torah’s message in Chukat is therefore one of hope and discipline: Anger itself is not sinful. It becomes problematic—indeed dangerous—precisely when we surrender control and allow it to rule us. By cultivating self-mastery, we transform a potentially destructive force into a tool for justice, compassion, and spiritual growth. In our homes, synagogues, and society, may we learn, like Moses at his best, to speak rather than strike—to let disciplined love, not unchecked fury, shape our response to a broken world.
*
Rabbi Dr. Michael Leo Samuel is spiritual leader of Temple Beth Shalom in Chula Vista, California.