Magicians rely on misdirection—the art of drawing attention away from what truly matters to achieve a predetermined, surprising outcome. Emotionally, we often do the same. Instead of confronting what truly troubles us—grief, fear, sadness—we redirect our discomfort elsewhere, sometimes lashing out at those closest to us. This ancient tactic is not only psychological but spiritual, woven into the very fabric of our sacred texts.
In Parshat Chukat, we read of the death of Miriam. Her passing is marked briefly with mourning, but almost immediately the people’s sorrow turns to unrest and anger. Their lament is not just for Miriam but for the loss of something deeper—their spiritual sustenance. According to the Talmud, one of the miracles created on the sixth day of creation was a well of water that followed the Israelites throughout their journey, so long as Miriam lived. When she died, the water dried up.
Miriam was more than a prophetess. She was the soulful heart of the people—the one who led song and celebration after the crossing of the Red Sea. Her presence embodied nurturing and emotional strength. Her death created not only a physical void but a spiritual one. Rather than facing that deep sense of loss, the people turned on Moses. They complained and accused, not because Moses had failed, but because their faith had faltered.
This episode reveals how grief and disappointment can quickly morph into blame. A singular event—whether the loss of a loved one, a setback, or a miscommunication—can rupture relationships. What appears to be a sudden shift from harmony to conflict often has deeper roots. The anger, accusations, and division are misdirections—emotional maneuvers that obscure the true source of pain.
In those moments when we are on the receiving end of such misdirected emotions, it is tempting to take it personally. But perhaps we should instead recognize that we are witnessing a projection of inner turmoil, not a reflection of our own actions. As the modern sage Mel Robbins reminds us, when people behave irrationally, emotionally, or unfairly, we might simply “let them.” Let them reveal their own struggles. Let them show their grief, their fear, or their faithlessness—not as an indictment of us, but as a glimpse into their own unresolved pain.
The lesson embedded in this parashah is subtle but powerful. Between Miriam’s death and the people’s insurrection lies only a small textual space—but within it, a universe of emotional truth. People do not usually break in an instant. Often, the emotional crack was already there, waiting for a moment to split wide open.
When we encounter misdirection—whether in the Torah or in life—we are called not to react but to reflect. Not every outburst or betrayal is about us. Sometimes it is simply a symptom of another’s sorrow.
By Rabbi Evan J. Krame
