Bamidbar teaches us to show up and be counted
A few weeks ago we read Parashat Bamidbar, which, on the surface, is a relatively straightforward Torah portion highlighted by God’s command that Moshe conduct the first post-exodus census of the Israelites.
The Torah recounts with precision the number of military age males present in each of the tribes (save for the Levites, whose exclusive focus was on spiritual duties). It also lists details concerning the location of the tribes’ respective encampments surrounding the Mishkan (aka the Tabernacle). Especially when juxtaposed with the awesome audiovisual spectacle of the Israelites’ divine revelation at Mount Sinai, Bamidbar’s numeric and geographic details seem comparatively mundane. But, as is often the case with the Torah, there is so much more than meets the eye. The question is what is the Torah teaching us and how does it apply to our modern-day tribe?
I humbly submit there are two sides to Bamidmar’s eternal coin, each complementing the other.
The first is a ruthlessly pragmatic focus on preparing for the military conquest of the Promised Land. Moshe is counting his soldiers and rallying the troops for the sacred task of establishing a Jewish homeland. Each able-bodied male makes himself available for duty, willingly becoming part of a whole greater than the self.
The second is the spiritual significance of the wilderness’s ability to remove distractions of ego and materialism, enabling each Jew to accept the divine decree with their priorities properly ordered. Bamidbar often is translated as “in the desert,” but some scholars prefer translating it as “in the wilderness.” That linguistic distinction is worthy of further attention, but for now, let’s keep in mind the wilderness as underscoring the Israelites’ transition between slavery and nationhood.
In connection with the census, the Torah (Numbers 1:2) uses the Hebrew phrase “se’u et rosh,” literally meaning “lift up the head.” According to commentators, rather than using the generic word for “count,” the Torah deliberately chooses “lift up the head,” signifying that while the Israelites are a collective unit, each individual Jew counts. While a census can reduce a person to a mere number, Hashem elevates each of us by bestowing upon every Jew a divine purpose — a particular role (and, in turn, a responsibility) within our community. Rashi further develops this concept by noting that God repeatedly counts the Israelites because Hashem cherishes each Jew, much like a person counts their most valuable, beloved possessions. The counting is not about statistics per se; it is an expression of relationship.
As for the Torah portion’s setting, the wilderness is a place void of material possessions, distractions, or dalliances. It enables (or demands) that we become a raw, stripped-down version of ourselves needed to truly welcome Hashem into our lives. Rabbinic tradition emphasizes the appropriateness of the wilderness as the place for true divine revelation. The Talmud (Eruvin 54a) emphasizes the importance of making oneself humble like the wilderness to maximize one’s ability to acquire Torah wisdom — i.e., spiritual openness comes from an acceptance of a power higher than oneself.
The medieval commentator Ramban (Rabbi Moses ben Nachman, aka Nachmanides) remarks that the census testifies to the Israelites’ resilience, having grown in number despite the travails of slavery, wandering in the desert, and withstanding myriad obstacles along the way. To the Ramban the seemingly simple act of counting the Israelites is a profound tribute to our people’s ability to persevere (and thrive) throughout history, despite constant threats to our national survival.
To bring forward the Ramban’s concept to our modern-day Israelites, over the centuries those of us with slave mentalities have died out, and a new, purpose-driven people has emerged. In each generation there have been those among us who metaphorically seek to turn back to Egypt, assimilating to the point of diluting Judaism down to a shadow of its glory and eschewing Jewish pride. Those lost souls sadly are consigned to the dustbin of history, where they can rest alongside copies of the New York Times. Our collective national stone has been worn, making it smaller than it should be due to centuries of persecution, but its core has become stronger. Those of us who remain have the benefit of hindsight and the blessing of bountiful resources to fight for our future.
Much like our ancient forebearers, today’s people of Israel remain a nation at war. Our enemies have gathered on numerous fronts, literally and metaphorically surrounding Israel and the Jewish people with a raging storm of antisemitism from the left and the right. Thank God, thus far, Israel has weathered the storm with a blend of ferocious focus, unyielding self-defense, and a loving support for one another.
Much like the Israelites in the wilderness, which Diaspora Jews will “lift up” our heads to be counted? Our Israeli brothers and sisters serve on our front lines; they are the tip of the spear. Their families anxiously await word of their safety, enduring countless restless nights. The rest of us, including American Jews, can be counted through concrete actions in support of our people and the Jewish state. Whether visiting Israel despite the headwinds, becoming involved in pro-Israel politics at home, or supporting Jewish institutions with the goal of building the next generation of committed Zionists, each of us can join the cause.
We did not seek this war. Nor do we revel in it. To the contrary, our liturgy is replete with passionate prayers for peace. But we do not apologize for mobilizing our battle-tested people when our lives are on the line. My prayer is for each of us to trek to our respective wilderness, strip down to our spiritual core, and accept the responsibility of carrying the Torah to the next generation. When the next chapter of Bamidbar is written, will your name be recorded among those who showed up to be counted?
Ari M. Berman lives in West Caldwell and is a member of Congregation Agudath Israel in Caldwell. He is an attorney.
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