Human
Nature
Parshas Bamidbar
Posted on May 22, 2012 (5772) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner
The book of Bamidbar is perhaps one of the
saddest, so to speak, of all of the Holy Scriptures. Whereas the book of
Shemot, which records for us the sin of the Golden Calf also gives us pause, it
concludes with the final construction of the Mishkan and G-d’s Presence, so to
speak, resting within the encampment of Israel. But the book of Bamidbar, which
begins on a high note of numerical accomplishment and the seemingly imminent
entry of the Jewish people into the Land of Israel, ends on a very sour note.
It records the destruction of the entire generation including its leadership
without their entrance into the Promised Land.
The narrative of the book of Bamidbar tells us of
rebellion and constant carping, military defeats and victories, false
blessings, human prejudices and personal bias. But the Torah warned us in its
very first chapters that “this is the book of human beings.” And all of the
weaknesses exhibited by Israel in the desert of Sinai, as recorded for us in
the book of Bamidbar, are definitely part of the usual human story and nature.
Over the decades that I have taught this book of
Bamidbar to students and congregants of mine, invariably many of them have then
asked me incredulously: “How could the Jewish people have behaved in such a
manner?” I cannot speak for that generation of Jews as described in the book of
Bamidbar but I wonder to myself “How can so many Jews in our generation relate
to the existence of the State of Israel in our time so cavalierly?
How do we tolerate the cruelties that our
one-size-fits-all school systems inflict on the ‘different’ child? How do we
subject our daughters to the indignities of the current matchmaking process?
How, indeed!?” And my answer to myself always is that for the great many of us, human nature trumps common sense, logic and
true Torah values. I imagine that this may have been true of the generation
of the book of Bamidbar as well.
One of the wonders of the book of Bamidbar is that
the count of the Jewish people at the end of the forty years of living in the
desert was almost exactly the same as it was at the beginning of their sojourn
there when they left Egyptian bondage. Though the following is certainly not
being proposed by me as an answer or explanation to this unusual fact, I have
always thought that this is a subtle reminder to us that that no matter how
great the experiences, no matter how magnificent the miracles, no matter how
great the leaders, human nature with all of its strengths and weaknesses
basically remains the same.
It is not only that the
numbers don’t change much, the people and the generations didn’t and don’t
change much either. Human nature remains pretty constant. But our task is to
recognize that and channel our human nature into productive and holy actions
and behavior – to bend to a nobility of will and loyalty. Only by recognizing
the propensity of our nature will we be able to accomplish this necessary and
noble goal.
Shabat shalom and Chag Sameach,
Rabbi Berel Wein
Cut
Amongst the Rest
Parshas Bamidbar
This week’s portion begins Sefer Bamidbar, telling
the story of the major events that occurred during the forty year trek though
the Midbar towards the land of Israel. In secular terms the book is called
Numbers, probably because of the first command in this third Book of the
Pentateuch, “count the Jewish people,” thus the name Numbers.
The Hebrew words for count are either s’ooh ,
which also means lift up, and p’kod, which can also mean appoint. Thus, when
the Torah commands, “s’ooh es rosh kol adas Yisrael, count the heads all the
assembly of Israel (Numbers 1:2), it is telling Moshe to uplift them as well.
It was not merely a matter of numbers, explains
Rebbe Rav Shmuel of Sochatchov: counting the nation was not only a means of
enumerating them, but also of appointing a special dignity to each and every
one who was counted. Every individual was important, there were no communal
estimates, and the appointment actually lifted them.
But one of the tribes was not counted with the
rest. Regarding the tribe of Levi, which was designated as the spiritual leader
of the Jewish people, Moshe was told, “But you shall not count (p’kod) the
tribe of Levi; and their heads you shall not lift (v’es rosham lo sisah) among
the Children of Israel” (Numbers 1:49).
The questions are simple. Why is there a double
expression prohibiting a count “do not count and do not lift their heads”? In
addition, why does the Torah add the words, “amongst the children of Israel”?
True, they were counted separately, and so the Torah should rather state, “And
the tribe of Levi shall be enumerated separately.” Can there be a deeper
intonation with the expression, “Do not lift their head amongst the Children of
Israel”?
Rav Eliyahu Chaim Meisels,
the Rav of Lodz, would raise money for the poor widows and orphans of his city.
During one particularly freezing winter, he went to visit one of the prominent
members of his community, Reb Isaac, a banker who served as the president of
the community council.
Bundled in a coat and scarf,
the Rabbi approached the banker’s mansion and knocked on the door.
The valet who answered the
door was shocked to see the great Rabbi Meisels standing outside in the bitter
cold. He immediately asked him to enter the home where he said there would be a
hot tea waiting.
Rabbi Meisels refused. “It is
not necessary. Please tell Reb Isaac to see me by the door.”
The banker heard that the Rav
was waiting near the portal and rushed in his evening jacket to greet him. Upon
seeing the Rabbi standing in the frigid weather, he exclaimed. “Rebbe, please
step inside. I have the fireplace raging, and my butler will prepare a hot tea
for you! There is no need for you to wait outside!”
“That’s alright,” countered
Reb Eliyahu Chaim. “It won’t be long, and all I need could be accomplished by
talking right here. I’m sure you won’t mind. Anyway, why should I dirty your
home with my snow-covered boots?”
By this time, Reb Isaac was
in a dilemma. The frigid air was blowing into his house. He did not want to
close the door and talk outside in the cold, and yet the Rabbi did not want to
enter!
“Please, Rabbi, I don’t know
about you, but I am freezing,” cried the banker. “I don’t mind if your boots
are wet! Just come on in!”
But the Rabbi did not budge,
He began talking about the plight of some the unfortunate members of the
community as the bankers teeth chattered in response.
“Please, Rebbe, just tell me
what you need! I’ll give anything you want, just come inside!”
With that, Reb Elya Chaim relented. He entered the
man’s home and followed him to the den, where a blazing fire heated the room.
Then he began: “I need firewood for 50 families this winter.” The banker
smiled. “No problem, I commit to supplying the wood. Just one question. You
know I give tzedoka, so why did you make me stand outside?”
“Reb Isaac,” smiled Reb Eliyahu Chaim. “I know you
give, but I wanted to make sure you understood what these poor people are going
through. I knew that five minutes in the freezing cold would give you a
different perspective than my initial asking while basking in the warmth of
your fireplace.”
The Chasam Sofer explains that because Levi was a
special tribe of teachers and leaders it could be possible they would be aloof.
Thus, though they were counted separately, they could not be above the crowd.
Therefore, the Torah’s command was stated in clear terms, “their heads you
shall not lift (v’es rosham lo sisah) among the Children of Israel”. Leadership
may put you in a class by yourself, but remember, says the Torah, you must not
feel that you are above the folk. You cannot bask in warmth while you are
oblivious to those who suffer in the cold. Your head cannot be “lifted” from
among the children of Israel.
Good Shabbos
Chaos
in the Desert
Parshas Bamidbar
It must have been chaos in the desert, a city
planner’s nightmare, before the encampment of the Jewish people was reorganized
in the second year after the Exodus from Egypt. The new plans called for the
encampment to follow a rigidly defined grid. The people were to be divided into
four groups of three tribes and placed to the north, south, east and west of
the central hub in which the Mishkan stood. Each tribe was assigned its precise
place in the scheme of things, with its own flag and tribal emblem.
Why did G-d put off the organization of the
encampment until the end of the second year of the Jewish people’s sojourn in
the desert? Why did He allow chaotic conditions to prevail for so long?
The commentators explain that it would not
have been wise to create a formal pattern of encampment during the first year.
At that time, the Jewish people were still in an early formative stage.
Although they were all descended from Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, although they
had all shared the common woes of bondage in Egypt, the idea of a Jewish
nationhood based on the Torah and the covenant with G-d was still very new.
Each tribe had its own outlook and
personality, which gave it a singular perspective on Torah and Jewish issues.
Had the tribes been assigned to different sections of the encampment, there
would have been a high likelihood that their ideological differences would lead
to factionalism and dissension. At the same time, ideological differences among
the tribes could also be a potential source of great national strength. The
various perspectives could engender lively exchanges and debates. So how could
the ideological differences be used to create a strong intellectual, emotional
and spiritual vitality without leading to factionalism?
G-d’s solution was to allow the tribes to live
together in one huge, chaotic melting pot for a full year. During this time,
they would merge together into one nation indivisibly united around the core of
the holy Torah. They would bond not only as a large clan but also as partners
in the divine covenant.
But this condition could only be allowed to
continue for a limited time. Otherwise, the tribes would truly melt together
into some kind of a composite that lacked the focused strengths and virtues of
each individual tribe. Therefore, G-d instructed the tribes to separate into a
structured encampment in the second year, after the Mishkan had been built. The
tribes would thus retain their individual character and still remain bonded to
the rest of the Jewish people by their common connection to the divine Abode in
their midst.
A man enlisted in the army and was assigned to an
army base, where he made a number of new friends. After a few months of intense
training, he was transferred to another base where he was given artillery
training. One of his new friends was assigned to infantry training, while
another was sent to communications school.
“What is going on here?” the
young soldier complained to his sergeant. “If we are to be separated, why were
we thrown together in the first place? Why didn’t they send him straight to
communications school and where we fit? They knew his aptitude when he
enlisted, didn’t they?”
“They certainly did,” said
the sergeant. “Tell me, if you are called on to support the infantry in battle
with artillery fire, will you rush to do it?”
“Of course. That is my job.”
“But will it help at all if
you know that your friend is in the infantry?”
“I suppose it would.”
“There you go,” said the
sergeant. “Starting with all the men together leads to greater sense of
commitment.”
In our own lives, we also
live in small separated units. We are divided from each other by our interests,
our professions, our family backgrounds, our neighborhoods. But we must
recognize that there is more that binds us than divides us. We are brothers and
sisters whose ancestors stood together at Mount Sinai and heard the voice of G-d.
We shared the memories, both glorious and painful, of thousands of years of
history. Regardless of our differences, we are one people.
Text Copyright © 2010 by Rabbi Naftali Reich
and Torah.org.
Rabbi Reich is on the faculty of the Ohr Somayach Tanenbaum Education Center.
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