How Not to Complain
Parashat B’ha’alotcha - June 21, 2003

When we think how challenging it must have been for the Jewish people to transform itself from a nation of slaves to a nation of free people in their own land, it’s not surprising that there were plenty of obstacles along the way, not the least of which is the episode we read about today, in which the people complain about the lack of variety of food that they are receiving in the desert.

What’s wrong, really, with complaining?

Yes, as Ben Zoma tells us in Pirkei Avot, all of us should be satisfied with our lot, but not all of us always are. What’s wrong with complaining that things should be better than they are? After all, if complaining were prohibited, if no one ever complained, we’d have no—or little—use for lawyers who litigate disputes. When you file a claim in a court of law, it’s often called a complaint. And the person who brings the complaint is called a plaintiff. All of us recognize that sometimes it’s appropriate to complain.

So, when and how does it become inappropriate? What are the elements of the complaining we read about in today’s parashah that set it apart, that make it clearly wrong, that identify the complainer as unworthy in some profound sense?

There are, I’d like to suggest, three elements in the complaining we read about today that clearly set it apart from the reasonable and appropriate conveying of constructively critical feedback, that set it apart from the proper way of redressing grievances.

The first element is selective recall, which leads to distortion. Notice what the people say when they complain: They complain, possibly accurately, that they don’t have meat to eat; that all they have to eat is manna. But then they describe, supposedly accurately, what they ate in Egypt: Leeks and cucumbers, garlic and fish to their hearts’ content—and all of it free! Now was it really free in Egypt? Perhaps it’s accurate to say it was free, but that’s clearly also a distortion. It may have been free in the sense that they didn’t have to pay any money to get it. But they did have to pay with their labor. They were slaves! And had they not been enslaved, they would certainly not have been fed.

We live in a society in which complaining has risen to a form of high art. Some would say that victimhood is now valued more than anything else. If you look at those daytime talk shows in which people are brought on to tell their tales of woe, this suggests that we have to be somewhat skeptical. The act of complaining itself can lead the complainer to magnify his or her injury and to distort the truth.

The Hebrew reflects this beautifully. The text tells us that the people are “k’”miton’nim—i.e., “like”—complainers. They are acting as onanim—like those who have suffered a great loss. Have they? Maybe, maybe not. One must look at the facts to be sure.

The second element in the complaining we read about today that alerts us that perhaps it wasn’t proper is that it focuses on blaming specific people—in this case, Moses—for the problem. Moses is put on the defensive: “If it were not for you, we wouldn’t be in this jam!” Anyone slightly familiar with the story of the Exodus has to share Moses’ indignation! How insensitive, at the very least, and offensive at the very worst, to blame Moses for their predicament!

Leaders, of course, have to expect that they will be blamed. It comes with the territory. Yet sometimes it’s clearly displaced. Looking at the total picture, one would have to say that Moses did the right thing in helping the people escape from slavery, even if the price of that was that they had to exchange free food of great variety (assuming that that wasn’t a distortion) for the steady diet of manna.

Constructive complaining within a community focuses not on fixing the blame, but on fixing the problem.

And yet the people complain. And listen to what they say: “All we have to look at is this manna!” But the manna itself is a gift! They’ve lost, it seems, their ability to feel and to express appreciation. And when that happens, complaining is no longer constructive. For they can no longer feel toward the object of their complaining as they should: as appreciative, trusting human beings.

Finally, there is one more element in this story that, to the rabbis who interpreted the story, clearly identified the “complainers” as unworthy individuals. The rabbis who read this story simply could not accept the notion that the true reason for the complaining had to do with the food. That just seemed ridiculous to them. The demand for meat, in their view, was masking a deeper issue that the people hesitated to voice. They were resistant to the transition from a people enslaved by Pharaoh to a people loyal to God. They didn’t really want to accept God’s rule over them. They preferred, on a certain level, orders by Pharaoh, to making moral judgments on their own.

It isn’t easy to grow up—either as a people or as an individual. So it is understandable that the Children of Israel were resistant. But the form their resistance took gives it away. It’s phony. The real problem is that they’re not ready to assume the responsibilities that God is offering them. When does this story take place? Three days from the Promised Land. As far as the people are concerned, that’s too close. And yet, instead of admitting that that is the real issue, they disguise their true concerns. Instead, they express ridiculous complaints full of distortion that blame Moses for their predicament.

There’s a lesson here for us, of course. Sometimes, when we face a challenge—a serious personal or familial challenge—and we are frightened, our instinct is to identify something in our situation that isn’t quite right, and to blow that up out of proportion. We may blame other people and make ourselves truly miserable to live with. Instead, we should stop and think and reflect. We should appreciate our blessings and ask ourselves if the source of our complaining is within. Are we, perhaps, with our doubts and fears and concerns, the real reason we behave as we do? If so, maybe there is something we can do about it, instead of just trying to focus on everybody else around us.

Of course, then, we’re less likely to be chosen to be on television to complain about our situation—but we may, by doing so, get closer than we ever thought possible to the Promised Land.

Shabbat Shalom.