S.A.L.T. PARASHAT BAMIDBAR

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei

            The Torah in Parashat Bamidbar lists the names of Aharon’s four sons, and then reiterates that the two older sons, Nadav and Avihu, died when they brought an unauthorized offering on the final day of the Mishkan’s inauguration (3:4).  The Midrash (Yalkut Shimoni 624) implicitly raises the question of why the Torah here and in several other instances found it necessary to remind us of this unfortunate episode.  In fact, whenever the Torah mentions Nadav and Avihu, it adds that they died as a result of the “eish zara” (unauthorized fire offering) that they brought in the Mishkan.  The Midrash explains that the Torah wanted to emphasize that Nadav and Avihu were generally righteous.  The Torah was concerned that people might begin attributing all kinds of other failings to Nadav and Avihu, and it therefore repeated, several times, that their deaths resulted solely from the unauthorized fire offering.  They were not guilty of other misdeeds, as the people may have wondered.

            This comment by the Midrash raises several questions, especially in light of the fact that Chazal ascribe to Nadav and Avihu numerous offenses that are never mentioned in the Torah.  (Rav Menachem Kasher, in his Torah Sheleima, vol. 28 appendix 1, counts eleven different views regarding Nadav and Avihu’s sin that appear in the Talmud and Midrashim, and several other suggested by other commentators.)  It would appear that the Sages sought to identify the cause of Nadav and Avihu’s wrongdoing, rather than paint them in a darker light.  In fact, it might be precisely because the Sages regarded Nadav and Avihu as generally pious and God-fearing individuals that they struggled to find a character flaw that could explain how they committed such a grievous sin.

            However, at least when taken in isolation, the Yalkut Shimoni’s comments are likely intended to warn against the natural tendency to vilify prominent individuals who err.  Quite often, when a failing is exposed, people’s imaginations run wild and rumors abound telling of other offenses allegedly committed by the individual in question.  More commonly, when the people around us err, we instinctively begin placing the mistake in some kind of broader context, viewing it as part of a more general pattern of flawed behavior.  The Yalkut Shimoni understood the Torah’s seeming overemphasis on Nadav and Avihu’s violation as instructing us to take other people’s mistakes for what they are, and nothing more.  It is wrong to make far-reaching, speculative assumptions about a person’s overall character and conduct on the basis of isolated incidents.  Mistakes happen, and they are not always reflective of a broader pattern or negative tendency.

Sunday

            A famous verse in Parashat Bamidbar describes the arrangement of the Israelite camp in the wilderness with the expression, “ish al machaneihu ve-ish al diglo” – “each by his camp, and each by his banner” (1:52).  This refers to the fact that Benei Yisrael encamped according to tribes, each tribe situated in its designated position in reference to the Mishkan, and with its unique banner.

            A closer analysis of these two concepts reveals two opposite underlying themes.  The notion of “al machaneihu,” tribes encamping together, reflects the natural human need for a sense of belonging and group identity.  We can all relate to the feeling of unease and even disorientation that people experience in the company of those who are different from them.  People find comfort in shared associations and commonality with those around them, and this accounts for the conformist instinct which drives us to place ourselves “ish al machaneihu,” in a defined group, and then mold our conduct according to the accepted norms of that group.

            This natural desire to conform often conflicts with the second theme underlying Benei Yisrael’s encampment – “ish al diglo.”  The Midrash (Bamidbar Rabba 2:3) famously relates that at the time of Matan Torah, when the heavens opened and Benei Yisrael were given a glimpse of the upper worlds, they beheld the angels arranged in groups according to banners.  The people envied the angels’ banners, and requested that they, too, be arranged with banners.  Possibly, what the people envied was the angels’ clearly defined roles and duties.  The Sages describe how each angel is assigned a very specific mission which it is brought into existence to fulfill.  And it is perhaps this aspect of angelic existence that is represented by the “banners,” and which Benei Yisrael envied.  We all sense an instinctive need for purposefulness and fulfillment, and fear living without a purpose, without accomplishing goals.  Upon receiving the Torah, Benei Yisrael wanted to rise to the next level, of being explicitly assigned a clear mission which they can then devote their lives to fulfilling.  And their request was partially granted.  Each tribe was assigned a special banner, which likely reflected the unique quality and role of that tribe.  But on the individual level, we must work to determine our role.  We do not come into this world with an assignment pad telling us precisely what we need to do, in which area we are to leave our mark and make our contribution.  And we cannot necessarily look to other people as models of whom we are to become carbon copies.  It is our personal responsibility to forge our own unique identity, to determine our individual mission, to carry our own special “banner.”

            Thus, while “ish al machaneihu” relates to conformity and shared associations, “ish al diglo” involves a personal identity and purpose that cannot be defined based upon others.  As we travel through the “wilderness” of life, we carry this dual identity – a group identity, and an individual identity.  We identify ourselves with certain groups and communities, but at the same time, we work to establish an individual identity that nobody else can dictate.  Even as we place ourselves in a “machaneh,” conforming to its basic values and norms, we must never lose sight of our “degel,” our personal identity and mission, through which we achieve personal fulfillment and satisfaction, as well as, hopefully, the realization of the purpose for which we were brought into the world.

(Based on a sicha by Rav Yehuda Amital zt”l, transcribed at http://www.etzion.org.il/vbm/archive/4-sichot/25bemidb.php)

Monday

            Yesterday, we noted the famous comment of the Midrash that Benei Yisrael envied the “banners” of the angels that they witnessed at the time of the Revelation at Mount Sinai.  The Midrash Tanchuma (Bamidbar, 14) writes that Benei Yisrael saw “22,000 chariots of angels,” which “were arranged by banners.”  Benei Yisrael thereupon “desired banners,” and said to the Almighty, “If only we were arranged in banners like them!”  God granted their request, and, as we read in Parashat Bamidbar (chapter 2), they traveled in the desert arranged by tribes, each with its special banner.

            One of the defining features of Ma’amad Har Sinai was national unity, Benei Yisrael’s blending into a single, cohesive body of people joined in unanimous acceptance of the covenant with God.  In addition to Rashi’s famous description of the nation’s encampment at Sinai “as one person with one heart” (Shemot 19:2), the Torah itself emphasizes that the people expressed its acceptance of the Torah “together” (“yachdav” – Shemot 19:8) and in a unified voice (“kol echad” – Shemot 24:3).  In fact, the day of Matan Torah is referred to as “the day of the assembly” (“yom ha-kahal” – Devarim 9:10, 10:4, 18:16); it was characterized by the presence and joint participation of the entire nation.  At the time of the Revelation, there were no divisions among the people.  Everyone stood together, as one, and beheld a prophetic vision.  Three parties were involved in this event: God, Moshe and Benei Yisrael.  The nation stood as a single entity, they spoke with a single voice, and they beheld the same vision.

            But when they saw the angels “arranged in banners,” they were envious.  Benei Yisrael noticed the individual “chariots,” the different groups assigned different roles, the colorful mosaic of angels with distinct qualities and responsibilities.  Standing at the foot of Sinai, they saw “Michael and his banner, Gavriel and his banner” (Shir Hashirim Rabba 2:4).  The angels are not a monolithic assemblage of beings; they are a variegated group consisting of different members working harmoniously together in the service of the Almighty (“oseh shalom bi-miromav”).  And this is what Benei Yisrael “desired.”  They did not want the spectacular unity of mind, heart and mission sensed at Sinai to necessitate complete conformity and preclude individuality.  Their ambitious desire to resemble the angels meant serving God with the same unwavering and unfailing devotion as the angels, but also forming different groups like the angels.  They wanted “banners” to set different groups of people apart from the others, even as they remained perfectly unified in their commitment to God.

            The Almighty responded, as the Midrash relates, by issuing the instructions for the arrangement of the camp recorded in Parashat Bamidbar.  The encampment was arranged by tribe, “each by his banner” (2:2), signifying each tribe’s distinctiveness.  At the same time, however, God commanded all the tribes to encamp “around the Mishkan” (ibid.).  Each tribe differed in many ways from all the others, but they were all joined and unified by their dedication to the Mishkan, which contained the stone tablets, representing the divine law.  Individuality is encouraged as long it is done “facing the Mishkan,” with the goal of faithfully observing the Torah.

            The Ramban famously explained the arrangement of the Israelite camp around the Mishkan as a commemoration, or actually a perpetuation, of the Revelation when Benei Yisrael stood around Mount Sinai.  There is, however, one important distinction.  Whereas at Sinai Benei Yisrael stood “as one person with one heart,” they encamped around the Mishkan “each by his banner,” divided into tribes, each with its unique mission and role.  But it is perhaps precisely for this very reason that the commemoration of Ma’amad Har Sinai was so critical – to remind the people that despite the differences between the different tribes and groups, they are all bound together and unified by their joint commitment to the Torah.  Even as they break into separate groups, they remain a single nation devoted to God and His laws.

David Silverberg

Tuesday

            The Midrash (Bamidbar Rabba 2:8) relates that when God instructed Moshe to have Benei Yisrael travel and encamp in a set formation, with each tribe positioned in a particular direction vis-?-vis the Mishkan, Moshe was concerned. He exclaimed, “There will now be strife among the tribes, if I tell the tribe of Yehuda to reside in the east and they tell me ‘We only want in the south,’ and the same with Reuven, Efrayim, and each and every tribe.”  Moshe anticipated that the tribes would protest and argue over the positioning assignments, and thus wondered why God commanded a system that would likely lead to discord and infighting.

            God responded to Moshe’s concerns by noting an earlier precedent to this system.  He explained that Benei Yisrael are already familiar with this arrangement from the time of Yaakov’s funeral, many years earlier, when his sons surrounded his coffin in a particular formation.  And this is precisely the formation that God wanted implemented as Benei Yisrael traveled and encamped through the wilderness on their way to Eretz Yisrael.  The Midrash writes that the Torah alludes to this precedent when it speaks of the Israelite camp being arranged “le-veit avotam” – “according to their fathers’ families.”

            Why did Moshe anticipate arguing over the positions in the wilderness, and why did God compare the tribes’ encampment in the wilderness to Yaakov’s sons’ alignment as they transported his coffin?

            One possible explanation is that Moshe understood people’s natural fragility in stressful periods.  He figured that it would be best to just allow the people to travel in whichever way they wanted, in light of the difficult travails they were enduring during the period of desert travel.  If God began imposing particular demands and protocols during travel, when the people are likely tense and unsettled, the frustration and anxiety would overcome them and they would begin fighting.

            The response to Moshe was the precedent of Yaakov’s funeral, when, even in a period of grief and uncertainty about the future, the brothers conducted them with dignity and marched in a peaceful, orderly fashion.  The charged emotions were kept in check; despite the anxiety and sorrow, harmony and stability prevailed.

            If so, then the Midrash here emphasizes the special effort that is required during times of transition and other stressful periods to maintain one’s composure and peaceful relations with those around him.  The Midrash perhaps saw in God’s command of a structured, orderly arrangement an indication of the importance of dignity and poise in periods of hardship.  Despite the rigors of desert travel, Benei Yisrael were to march calmly and peacefully from one station to another, just as their ancestors marched on the way to bury their saintly father.  And this teaches us to work toward remaining calm and collected during hard times, confident in our safe arrival at our destination where more stable, secure conditions await us.

Wednesday

            The Torah in Parashat Bamidbar (chapter 3) outlines the various responsibilities assigned to the leviyim, and the arrangement in which they encamped in the wilderness.  Amidst this discussion, the Torah warns, “ha-zar ha-kareiv yumat” – that a “foreigner who approaches” will be killed (3:38).  The Gemara in Masekhet Arakhin (11b) cites Abayei as explaining this verse in reference to a Levite who performed one of the tasks assigned to a different group of Levites.  Different responsibilities were assigned to the different families among the leviyim, and according to Abayei, a levi who performed a task assigned to a different group is liable to death.  (We refer here to mita bi-ydei Shamayim – death at the hands of God, as opposed to court-administered execution.)  Abayei explained his view by noting that the same phrase – “ha-zar ha-kareiv yumat” – appears earlier in this section (3:10), and that verse refers to a non-Levi who performs a task assigned to a levi.  Necessarily, then, when the Torah repeats this warning later in the section, it must refer to a different situation – the case of a levi who performs a task assigned for a different Levite family.

            After citing Abayei’s theory, the Gemara attempts to find a basis for his view among the Tanna’im.  The Gemara concludes, however, that there is no proof that any Tanna’im predated Abayei in claiming that a levi is liable to death for performing the task of a different Levite family.

            Some later writers noted that there appears to be a Tannaitic basis for Abayei’s comment in the Sifrei Zuta (Parashat Korach).  The Sifrei Zuta first cites one view which states that although a levi who performs a task assigned to the kohanim is liable to death, this liability does not apply to a levi who performs a task assigned to a different group of leviyim.  But the Sifrei Zuta then proceeds to cite the view of Rabbi Shimon, who said that a member of the Gershon or Merari families of leviyim who performs a service assigned to members of the Kehat family is liable to death.  In Rabbi Shimon’s view, then, performing a service assigned to a different Levite family is indeed a capital offense.  One might therefore wonder why the Gemara in Masekhet Arakhin did not point to Rabbi Shimon’s comment as a basis for Abayei’s theory among the Tanna’im.

            Rav Shemuel Baruch Deutsch, in his work Birkat Kohen, answers by noting that Rabbi Shimon speaks only of members of Gershon or Merari performing tasks assigned to Kehat.  The Kehat family was distinguished from the other two Levite groups in the wilderness, as it was assigned the role of transporting the sacred articles of the Mishkan.  Possibly, Rabbi Shimon viewed the special stature of the Kehatites as a kind of quasi kehuna, a status that resembled the distinction of the kohanim.  As such, when a member of Gershon or Merari performed a service reserved for Kehat, his violation was akin to that of a Levite encroaching upon the domain of the kohanim, for which he is certainly liable to death.  Therefore, Rabbi Shimon’s ruling provides no proof for Abayei’s statement, considering it a capital offense for a levi to perform a task assigned to a different group of leviyim.

            In any event, the Rambam appears to accept Abayei’s ruling, as he writes (in Hilkhot Kelei Ha-mikdash 3:11) that a levi who “helps out in a job that is not his” is liable to death, indicating that this applies whether the levi performed a task assigned to the kohanim, or to another group of leviyim.

Thursday

            Parashat Bamidbar begins with the census taken of Benei Yisrael after the construction of the Mishkan at Mount Sinai, and the details of how the camp was arranged during the nation’s travels through the wilderness.  The first verse of the parasha informs us that the command to take the census was given “in the wilderness of Sinai, in the Tent of Meeting, on the first of the second month of the second year since they left Egypt.”  The Torah makes a point of identifying the precise date and location of this command.

            The Midrash (Bamidbar Rabba 1:11) explains the significance of this detailed information by drawing an analogy to a king who was twice married and then divorced.  Finally, he meets a woman for whom he feels genuine affection and admiration, and so this time, he has his servants draw up a ketuba that specifies the precise date and location of the wedding, expressing the seriousness with which he enters into this marriage.  Indeed, this third marriage endured.  Similarly, the Midrash comments, as God proceeded to create a bond with Benei Yisrael, He insisted on drawing up a “ketuba,” specifying the date and location, to ensure that this relationship would last eternally.

            The signing of the ketuba at a wedding ceremony serves to anchor the emotion and excitement surrounding the event in practical terms.  The bride and groom do not simply express to one another their feelings of love and affection, but also make specific, concrete commitments through which those emotions are manifested on a practical level.  The ketuba’s legalese and addressing the couple’s technical obligations to one another, let alone raising the possibility of death or divorce, might seem, at first glance, inconsonant with the festive, romantic aura of a wedding.  But the ketuba is precisely what lends a concrete, practical basis for the abstract emotion.  It thereby helps ensure the stability of the relationship, by grounding it in practical obligations and commitments, rather than leaving it in the exclusive realm of emotions that are often erratic, inconsistent and hence an unreliable foundation for a relationship.

            The Midrash invokes this role of the ketuba to explain the significance of the opening chapters of Sefer Bamidbar.  These chapters present us with a lot of technical detail – numbers, marching and encampment formations, the procedure for dismantling and transporting the Mishkan, and the various tasks assigned to the Levite tribe for this purpose.  Consistent with the technical subject matter of this section, the book begins – just as a ketuba and other legal documents begin – by specifying the date and place.  The kedusha and close relationship between God and Am Yisrael represented by the Mishkan must be grounded in the laborious details of Sefer Bamidbar, in the numbers and distribution of transport duties, the particulars that might seem so mundane but are in truth holy and lofty.

            Just as marriage is about practical commitments and obligation as much as it is about love and affection, our relationship to the Almighty must similarly find expression in both realms, of emotion and concrete obligations.  Nadav and Avihu, whose wrongdoing is briefly recounted in Parashat Bamidbar (3:4), made the mistake of neglecting the detailed restrictions that govern the Mishkan and its rituals.  They rushed to bring an offering to express their feelings of devotion to and closeness to the Almighty, without paying heed to the specific rules and regulations by which these feelings are to find expression.  Their tragic mistake reminds us of the importance of our detailed, practical halakhic obligations, that may not be ignored or neglected even in the quest for spiritual expression.

(Based on a sicha by, Rav Eliyahu Blumensweig Shelit”a of Yeshivat Yerucham)

Friday

            On many occasions throughout the account of the census taken of Benei Yisrael at Mount Sinai, the Torah describes the counting with an unusual term – “be-mispar sheimot” (“according to the number of names”).  The Torah seems to emphasize the fact that the census counted not people, but “names.”

            Rav Mordechai Gifter zt”l (cited by Rav Yissachar Frand at http://torah.org/learning/ravfrand/5770/bamidbar.html) explained that the Torah discourages ascribing a number directly to a person.  A number, by definition, is finite; it describes a very specific quantity.  When we quantify something, we severely limit its scope; we reduce it to a digit or a series of digits.  No human being can ever be “quantified.”  One of the inherent characteristics of human beings is their capacity to grow and develop into something far greater than what they are at the present.  “Every person is capable of being righteous like Moshe Rabbenu, or evil like Yerovam” (Rambam, Hilkhot Teshuva 5:2).  We can never consign an individual to a “number,” to a rigid, inalterable definition, because human beings always have the capacity to change, transform and develop.  Therefore, the Torah indicates that when we conduct a census, we count “names,” the symbolic representations of the people, rather than the people themselves.  For the same reason, Rav Gifter adds, the Torah forbids a direct census, and requires counting through a medium, namely, the half-shekel tax.  The Torah does not want us to reduce people to a number, to give any indication of denying them the possibility of growth and change.

            We often have the tendency to create in our minds rigid classifications of personalities, and to place the people we know into those narrowly-defined boxes.  The concept of “mispar sheimot” teaches that people are too complex and have too much potential to be consigned to rigid definitions.  We must recognize the vast potential of each and every individual, all people’s ability to change and grow, and never make the mistake of reducing any person – or ourselves – to a rigid, inalterable “number.”