Footsteps of the Grasshopper: A Dramatic Midrashic Exploration of Parshat Sh'lach

This collection is dedicated to the spiritual companions who walk the wilderness with courage—those whose presence reminds us that even in the most uncertain landscapes, faith is possible, and by their quiet strength, invite us to rise and walk alongside the

© 2025 Rabbi Jo Beilby. All rights reserved.

This work was created in collaboration with AI support for sacred creativity and Jewish pastoral expression. All text, prayer, music, and reflections are original unless otherwise noted.

You may adapt, perform, or share this work in educational, spiritual, or communal settings with appropriate attribution. For publication or licensing inquiries, please contact Rabbi Jo Beilby.

The following work is based on the Torah portion Sh’lach. It is crafted as a group learning experience rather than a staged performance, offering a dramatic reimagining of the biblical narrative alongside spiritual reflection, music, commentary, and prayer. In the musical and prayer reflections, the themes of Sh’lach—faith, fear, longing, and the tension between hope and retreat, are given transformative space. This resource is designed to guide participants through a layered journey of awakening, personalizing, and integrating the themes of the parshah into their own lives.

The play Footprints of the Grasshopper and accompanying drash When Giants Rise Again were first presented by Rabbi Jo Beilby at Kedem Synagogue’s Service for the Soul in Melbourne, Australia, on the 21st of June, 2025 (25 Sivan 5785). It was created in response to both the ancient text and the contemporary realities and tensions that shape our communities today.

This collection may be used in full or in part, in communal or personal settings, for learning, reflection, and transformation. I hope you enjoy the experience.

With blessings,

Rabbi Jo

- Narrator

- Moses

- God (voice only)

- Caleb

- Joshua

- Ten Scouts

- Israelite Crowd (chorus)

- Aaron

- Individual Israelites (interchangeable roles)

ACT ONE

Scene 1: The Wilderness of Paran

Narrator: In the heat of the desert sun, the people camp. Restless. Suspicious. Haunted by slavery, but terrified of freedom. And then—God speaks to Moses.

God (voice): Send agents to scout the land of Canaan, which I give to the Israelite people. Narrator: Moses obeys. From each tribe, a leader. Twelve in all. Among them—Joshua son

of Nun, and Caleb son of Jephunneh.

Scene 2: The Commissioning

Moses (urgently): Go! See the land—its strength, its soil, its fruit. Look with eyes open

wide. And bring back what you find. The season of first grapes is upon us.

Caleb (aside): I feel the earth calling. I want to believe it’s our time.

Joshua (thoughtfully): Will they see what I see? Or only their fear?

Scout 1 (to others): What if it's as terrifying as we were told as children? Giants, walled cities... doom?

Scene 3: The Scouting

Narrator: For forty days, they walk. Sweat, fear, awe. Grapes the size of fists. Towering

walls. Strange peoples. And memories that whisper: You do not belong here. Scout 2 (frightened): We are nothing but grasshoppers.

Scout 3 (tormented): Even the air here feels dangerous. The land devours its inhabitants. We will be consumed.

Caleb (to Joshua): Do they not feel the promise underneath their feet? Joshua (softly): They feel the chains still on their backs.

Scene 4: The Return and the Report

Narrator: They return. Their hands full of fruit. Their hearts full of dread.

Scout 1 (to the people): The land is bountiful... but its people are powerful. Strong. Unbeatable.

Caleb (loudly, confidently): Let us go up! We can take the land. We are stronger than we know.

Scout 2 (shouting): No! They are giants! We looked like grasshoppers—even to ourselves. Narrator: And that—was the truth that broke them.

Scene 5: Night of Weeping

Israelite Crowd (wailing, overlapping voices): Why did we ever leave Egypt? We’ll die

here! Our children will be taken! Better to go back. Better to die!

Moses (falling to the ground): Adonai...

Aaron (joining him): Forgive them...

Joshua and Caleb (tearing clothes): Do not rebel! The land is good. God is with us! Do not be afraid!

Narrator: But faith is fragile. Fear is louder. Stones rise in angry fists.

Scene 6: The Divine Reckoning

God (thunderous): How long will they reject Me? After all they’ve seen?

Moses (pleading): If You destroy them now, the world will think You failed. Remember who You are—slow to anger, abundant in kindness...

God (after silence): I pardon. But they will not enter the land. Only Caleb. Only Joshua. Their children shall walk where they would not.

Scene 7: Despair and Defiance

Narrator: Grief washes over the camp. Morning comes. A new resolve rises—but it is too

late.

Israelite 1 (to others): We will go up now. We were wrong.

Moses (warning): Do not go. God is not with you now.

Narrator: But pride, once bruised, often charges ahead. They go.

Narrator (somber): And they fall. Crushed by Amalekites and Canaanites, in the hills where hope had once shimmered.

Scene 8: A New Command

God (softly, firmly): When you enter the land... remember. Bring Me your offerings. Teach

your children. Tie fringes to your garments. Look at them. And remember who you are.

Narrator: Even in exile, the story continues. A people broken—but not destroyed. A path delayed—but not ended.

Reflections:

Each character steps forward, one by one, to offer a final line.

Caleb: I saw promise in the soil.

Joshua: I carried the memory of freedom.

Moses: I bore their burdens on my back and in my bones.

Scout 1: I saw myself as small—and made it true.

Israelite 1: The wilderness outside... reflected the wilderness within.

Narrator: In every journey toward a promised land, we face not only enemies without—but the shadows within. What we see depends on what we carry.

END

The following Discussion Guide provides questions intended for group dialogue immediately after the play reading, and to encourage deep reflection on inner and communal dynamics, emotional psychology, and spiritual growth.

The Journey to the Promised Land Within

1. What does the “Promised Land” symbolize for us today?

Is it a physical goal? An internal state? A sense of belonging, healing, or purpose? How do we each define what we are longing for?

2. What internal voices block us from entering our own Promised Land?

Like the scouts who saw themselves as grasshoppers, what beliefs or patterns from our past cause us to feel “small” or unworthy?

3. How does fear shape our perception of what is possible?

In what ways do fear and anxiety distort our ability to see abundance, opportunity, or beauty in front of us?

4. How do family and early experiences shape what we believe about risk and worthiness?

What did you learn growing up about taking leaps, trusting yourself, or stepping into something new? Are those beliefs still serving you?

5. As a community, how do we unintentionally keep one another in fear or scarcity? What patterns or habits in our families, congregations, schools, or workplaces reinforce doubt instead of vision?

6. How does the anticipation of something good sometimes trigger collapse or sabotage?

When have you been close to something you wanted—and suddenly doubted yourself or pulled away?

7. In the story, reflection is often hijacked by panic. How can we create spaces for healthy reflection instead of reactive regret?

What spiritual or communal practices help us pause, grieve, reset, and grow rather than spiral?

8. What does it mean to carry the “wilderness within us”?

How do our internal chaos, unresolved trauma, or habitual responses travel with us, even when our surroundings change?

9. Why do some people—like Caleb and Joshua—still have hope?

Is hope something innate, learned, practiced? Do they simply see differently? How can we learn to see like them?

10. What are the tools we can use to bring hope to the surface and let it lead us forward?

Consider: community, storytelling, prayer, silence, ritual, therapy, song, rest. What do you reach for? What else could you try?

“In every journey toward a promised land, we face not only enemies without—but the shadows within. What we see depends on what we carry.”

— Narrator, Scene 8

What are you carrying now—and what might you set down, or pick up, to walk forward with hope?

Many roads...

Through Torah, song, prayer, reflection, commentary, discussion, meditation, journaling and much more, we find many ways to climb the mountain.

Here are a few to try...

Draw, Write or Doodle – what would like to come out on to the page?

Discover your inner song! Improvise a tune, line by line, person by person, to express how you are feeling through the words of the song. At the end you will hear your unique communal voice!

Inspired by the Song of the Sea, this piece echoes the journey from fear to freedom. Like the Israelites at the sea, we stand between what was and what might be—asking not only 'Who is like You?' but also, 'Who am I becoming?' This song weaves the longing for movement with the courage to step forward, even when the path is unclear.

This song draws from the language of ascent and calling—aliyah into the Land, and aliyah to Torah. It is a song of inner rising, of movement through uncertainty, of choosing vision over fear. Inspired by the courage we all carry within us and the wisdom of generations, it calls us to rise together.

Verse 1

Will you rise when the call comes through?

Will you climb though the sky is blue? Even fear can feel like shelter—

Will you dare to break on through?

Verse 2

There are voices deep within you— Ones that know and ones that hide. You were made to cross the threshold, Even trembling, still with pride.

Chorus

Promised lands are not behind you, They are waiting to be claimed.

Let your courage be your vision, Let your soul burn with your name. Rise and go up, walk the fire—

You were never meant for shame.

Verse 3

Though the journey curves and changes, Though the road is worn and steep, There is power in your rising—

Even if you’ve yet to leap.

Bridge

Caleb speaks within your silence, Joshua steadies every breath.

We are made to hold the vision— Even walking near to death.

Final Chorus

Arise and go up, take your place. There is promise in your pace.

Step by step through doubt and flame, Every rising speaks your name.

We are walking forward, hand in hand, Holding what we barely understand. Hope will guide us through the grey— Even if we don’t know the way.

Even if we don’t know the way.

Source of Becoming,

You who stirs longing at the edge of uncertainty— Be near, when we are far from ourselves.

In the moment before movement,

In the tension between fear and clarity,

Help us navigate the gravity of choice.

When we hear giants,

Remind us we are not grasshoppers— We hold Your covenant in our hearts. Let our steps be acts of remembering, Let our fear be soil for hope.

Let us rise

Guide us through the midbar,

the wilderness of unknowing,

And plant within us a song of ascent.

We are not unworthy—we are unfinished. Let this wilderness refine us, not define us.

Let memory become discipline.

Let discipline become direction.

Let direction become ascent.

We rise not because we are ready,

But because our sacred connection drives us.

Keep us awake to what we carry:

Memories of the covenant, knotted threads in our hands. May we act with honesty,

Even when our vision flickers.

We are not lost. We are becoming.

Give us the strength to go up—

And the wisdom to become what the ascent requires. Arise and go up— For there is promise in our rising And let us always know,

Your Presence always travels within.

---Amen.

From the voices of modern Jewish women scholars and teachers:

“These commentaries speak to the heart of the parashah's enduring question: what do we see when we look forward? The footprint of the grasshopper—the legacy of distorted self- perception—has followed us through time. It is the mark of every generation that shrinks in fear when it might rise in spirit. In our time, re-visioning is not denial—it is spiritual resistance. To seek the Promised Land is to confront distorted vision with sacred imagination, and to step beyond the shadow of smallness with a different spirit.”

❝The tragedy of Sh’lach is not that the people saw giants—it’s that they forgot their own stature. Fear is real, but we mustn’t allow it to erase our memory of what we’re capable of as a people of covenant. Faith is not the absence of fear; it is the willingness to act

anyway.❞

❝This portion reveals how memory—especially of trauma—can distort vision. The Israelites were free, but they still saw themselves through the lens of slavery. We carry collective narratives in our bodies. Liberation begins when we tell different stories about who we are.❞

❝Teshuvah doesn’t only mean return—it also means re-vision. Sh’lach asks: Can we re- vision ourselves when everything we believe is collapsing? The Promised Land begins in the imagination. And sometimes, the work is to keep imagining anyway.❞

Today, we are not in the wilderness—but we are wandering.

We are wandering through a world riddled with fear, threats of war, and rising hate. The names have changed—no longer Anakites or Amalekites—but the shadows are familiar: terrorism, aggression, the specter of Iran’s ambition, and the deep spiritual exhaustion that comes with generations of conflict.

We are, once again, standing at the edge of a Promised Land we may not fully believe we deserve. And like our ancestors, we face the haunting question: Are we strong enough to go up?

The scouts in Parshat Sh’lach didn’t just see giants. They became small in their own eyes. Fear distorted their vision. It does the same to us. We tell ourselves the threat is too big, our unity too fragile, the risks too great. And in doing so, we forget what Caleb remembered: “The land is very, very good... do not be afraid.”

The brilliance of Jewish tradition is that it never demands we be fearless. It asks us instead to remember: who we are, where we’ve come from, and what we carry. Tzitzit are not armor—they are memory. The pillars of fire and cloud do not promise ease—they promise presence.

Psalm 121 reminds us: “I lift my eyes to the hills—from where does my help come? My help comes from Adonai, Maker of heaven and earth.” This is not magical thinking. It is the grit of spiritual resilience.

We do not know how every crisis will resolve. But we know what we are called to do:

• To walk toward dignity even when despair is loud.

• To protect life, and truth, and each other.

• To refuse to let trauma dictate our future.

• To plant vineyards, raise children, and build peace—even when it seems

impossible.

Caleb and Joshua were not fearless. They were faith-full—and hopeful in spirit. May we too be hopeful in spirit.

May we hold the grief of our world without letting it define us.

May we never let the voices of those who trade in fear drown out the quiet courage that moves us forward.

And may the promise of a better world—flowing with justice, compassion, and sacred memory— be in our grasp, in our minds, and in our actions.

Ken yehi ratzon.

Delivered at:

Kedem Synagogue - Service for the Soul Melbourne, Australia

21st of June, 2025 (25 Sivan 5785).

Endnotes

[1] Numbers 13:33 — This verse encapsulates the psychological despair of the scouts: “We looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them.” It reveals the inner collapse of self-perception that fear provokes.

[2] Numbers 14:7–9 — Caleb and Joshua’s counter-testimony is striking in its clarity and confidence: “The land that we passed through to scout is exceedingly good... do not fear the people of the land.” Their courage is not denial—it is spiritual clarity.

[3] Numbers 15:38–39 — The commandment of tzitzit is given immediately after the story of the scouts. It becomes a physical reminder to see differently—not through the eyes of fear, but through mitzvot and memory.

[4] Psalm 121:1–2 — A beloved passage in times of fear: “I lift my eyes to the hills... my help comes from Adonai.” In Jewish tradition, this verse is part of Shir Hama’alot, songs of ascent, often recited in times of uncertainty and travel.

[5] Numbers 14:24 — God says of Caleb: “My servant Caleb, because he was imbued with a different spirit and remained loyal to Me...” This 'different spirit' is what Jewish leadership must cultivate—courage grounded in hope, not bravado.