We frequently find that two people can observe the same set of facts and yet arrive at opposite conclusions. Our interpretive instincts are shaped by both personal experience and neurobiology. Facts that confirm our existing beliefs and well-established neural pathways are readily noticed, while those that contradict our assumptions are often dismissed as irrelevant.

This phenomenon of seeing what we expect to see is vividly illustrated in Parashat Shelach Lekha, particularly in the report of the twelve spies who return from their scouting expedition in Canaan. They agree on the basic facts: it is indeed a beautiful and fertile land, flowing with milk and honey. It is also a populated land, inhabited by powerful peoples and protected by fortified cities. No one disputes these observations. The disagreement concerns their significance.

Ten of the spies conclude that the inhabitants of the land are too mighty to be conquered and that any attempt to enter the land will lead to Israel’s defeat and destruction. Growing increasingly alarmed, they even claim that it is “a land that devours its inhabitants”. Two spies, Caleb and Joshua, protest that the land is exceedingly good and that, with God’s help, Israel can succeed. Yet fear proves more powerful than hope. The people rebel against the leadership of Moses and prefer to return to the familiar, if harsh, reality of Egypt rather than press onwards towards the promised land.

Surprisingly, it is not only the people who struggle to place their challenges in proper perspective. The character of God as presented here appears irascible and prone to lashing out in frustration. Moses sounds almost like a coach—or even a therapist—counselling God that destroying Israel would be interpreted by the surrounding nations not as strength but as weakness. Moses, who is himself frustrated, urges God to demonstrate the greater strength of compassion. God agrees, declaring: סָלַחְתִּי כִּדְבָרֶךָ, “I have forgiven, as you said.” In Midrash Sifrei BeMidbar (134:1), the sages remark: אשרי אדם שהמקום הודה לדבריו, “Happy is the person whose words are accepted by the Divine.”

This movement from disappointment and anger towards forgiveness and compassion lies at the heart of Jewish spirituality. It is foundational to the liturgy of the High Holy Days, when we plead with God to set aside harsh judgement and to regard us with love. The words of both Moses and God suggest that we, too, must learn to transform our responses to disappointment, allowing mercy to overcome our instinct towards severity.

If only this were easy. Changing our minds can feel nearly impossible, even painful, because it requires us to shift our attention away from established neural pathways and cultivate new patterns of response. We may wish to be less anxious or angry, and more patient and forgiving, yet translating that aspiration into reality is difficult.

It is said that mastering a new skill requires 10,000 hours of practice—at least if that skill is playing the violin. Something similar may be true of cultivating a moral virtue. Growth does not simply happen; it requires sustained effort and repetition. Judaism provides two primary pathways for this work of self-transformation: Torah study and mitzvah practice. Torah study, especially when done with a study partner, cultivates neuroplasticity through exposure to competing perspectives. Mitzvah practice is a physical enactment of virtues such as chesed (care for others) and ahavat Hashem (love for God). Through both mind and body, we dedicate ourselves to the pursuit of virtue, intending with each act to weaken our destructive tendencies and strengthen our better selves.

Our parashah demonstrates the danger of allowing fear and anger to govern our responses. It invites us instead to cultivate habits of reflection, courage and compassion, practising them repeatedly until they become second nature.