What counts is the way you count: Bemidbar 5785

The count of the Jewish people that appears in this week’s parsha is difficult to understand. What are we to learn from all these detailed descriptions and seemingly exact numbers? The general lesson that every Jew counts, and is to be counted, is plain—but that lesson can be learned from a far more concise précis of the population of the Jews than the long account that appears in the parsha. Perhaps it the messenger that itself is the message: the Torah wishes to express its relationship to the Jewish people by dwelling at “unnecessary” length on the counting exercise. For those with whom we have a loving relationship, there are no unnecessary or superfluous acts or gestures. 

The rabbis wryly compare this type of relationship to the way one counts one’s money: thus one can compare the speed and intensity with which we recite our prayers with the speed at which we would count valuable coins. Care in counting is also an expression of the underlying attachment to what is being counted. I note that people leaving the ATM cash dispenser invariably check the bills that they have received. This is not only an act of prudence; it is an act of affection. Similarly the count of the Jews in the parsha, even in its detail and length, make perfect sense. Another explanation can be found in the identity of the counters themselves. Moshe, Aharon, Elazar and Itamar are the leaders of the Jewish people, totally responsible for its physical and spiritual welfare. Part of their task is to seek to know their millions of constituents—to make some sort of connection with each as an individual.

 The leaders of Israel used to view their responsibility as being like those of parents. Some Jews crave affection while others need tough love. The enormous diversity of the Jewish people—twelve different tribes that are counted separately as well as in their aggregate—is emphasized by the fact of their being counted as individuals. Responsibility for the fate of the Jewish people is a heavy burden, but it is one that automatically comes with leadership positions. Those who count he Jewish people are its leaders, constantly aware that they are relied upon for their leadership and wisdom. And they must also be aware that the needs of every person must be accounted for. 

So, the counting of the Jewish people is not an empty exercise; it reflects the scale of challenges they and their leaders face. May both the counters and the counted of Israel in our day be great in numbers, spirit and accomplishments. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein 

Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on parshat Bemidbar last year, "In the desert", can be read here.

Encamping with Purpose: Identity, Destiny, and the Call of the Land

Each year, as we begin reading Sefer Bemidbar, we are greeted by what appears to be a census—a counting of men aged twenty and above, fit for battle. This enumeration yields the familiar number: 603,550. The book’s name in English—Numbers—reflects this opening theme. But as with everything in Torah, the surface conceals a profound inner depth. This is not simply a military registration; it is a moment of spiritual crystallization.The Torah uses the phrase שְׂאוּ אֶת-רֹאש—“Lift up the head”—to describe this counting. Each individual is elevated, seen, and given significance. This isn’t about quantity: it’s about identity. And not just one identity, but a multi-layered formation of the self and of the nation. Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

Four Dimensions of Jewish Identity

Sefer Bemidbar reveals four dimensions of identity—personal, familial, communal, and cosmic—each represented in the way the people encamp around the Mishkan and prepare to receive the Torah anew.

1. Peshat: Readiness and Responsibility

At the literal level (peshat), the nation is arranged in military formation. “Kol hayotzei l’tzava”—those who go out to war—are counted and grouped by tribe. This reflects a nation on the brink of entering Eretz Yisrael, preparing to fulfill its divine mandate not just through faith, but through action and readiness. They were being prepared for immediate entry into the Land, each person in their place, ready to march with purpose.

Yet, as the Sforno insightfully notes, this arrangement also carried a divine potential: had the people entered the Land with eagerness and faith, God would have made the conquest unnecessary. The nations would have fled. As Chazal teach, the Girgashites left voluntarily. The encampment was meant to signal a people worthy of divine miracles. Tragically, the sin of the Spies would forfeit that opportunity, forcing Israel into forty years of wandering and eventual warfare.

The lesson is sobering and urgent: when we hesitate in our mission, our enemies grow bolder. This truth echoes into our own time. Following the miraculous victory of the Six-Day War, the Jewish people stood poised to reclaim and resettle their full inheritance. But reluctance to act decisively gave our enemies renewed claims. We must not repeat this error again.

2. Remez: Echoes of the Patriarchs

On the level of remez (hint), Chazal and Rashi point out that the tribal formation around the Mishkan mirrored the funeral procession of Yaakov Avinu. When the sons of Yaakov carried his body to Me’arat HaMachpelah, they stood in the very same tribal configuration.

This powerful parallel teaches that the structure of the Jewish camp is not arbitrary—it is ancestral. The honor once given to the father of the nation becomes the structural paradigm for the nation itself. Our future encampment is modeled on our past devotion. We are a people formed not only by divine instruction, but by the enduring legacy of our forebears.

3. Derush: Flags, Stones, and Sanctified Distinctions

On the homiletic level (derush), each tribe had its own flag (degel), uniquely colored to match its corresponding stone on the Choshen Mishpat—the breastplate of the Kohen Gadol. These were not mere decorations. They symbolized the holiness embedded in each tribe’s unique identity.

Rashi emphasizes that these colors and banners represent the tribe’s distinct spiritual role. Just as the High Priest wore twelve different stones, each tribe shone with its own hue, yet all were unified in the service of God. Unity in Judaism is never uniformity. It is the harmony of diverse roles, gifts, and callings sanctified within a single national soul.

This is the message echoed every Friday night in Kabbalat Shabbat. We sing “Bo’i VeShalom” three times—once as individuals, once as families, and once as a community. Each level of identity is necessary for true wholeness.

4. Sod: A Reflection of the Heavenly Chariot

And then there is sod, the secret, mystical level. Ibn Ezra, drawing from the vision of Yechezkel, reveals a breathtaking parallel: the tribal encampment mirrors the celestial Ma’aseh Merkavah, the Divine Chariot. The four lead tribes—Yehuda, Reuven, Ephraim, and Dan—correspond to the four celestial beings:

●      Yehuda: Lion (aryeh), symbol of royalty and courage.

●      Reuven: Human face (adam), symbol of introspection and wisdom.

●      Ephraim: Ox (shor), representing strength and service.

●      Dan: Eagle (nesher), sign of vision and divine swiftness.

The Jewish people encamp not just as a nation, but as a reflection of heaven itself. Their structure is a cosmic alignment, their movement a celestial choreography. Through their formation around the Mishkan, they became a living sanctuary, a human Merkavah for the Divine Presence.

Spiritual Archetypes: Four Pillars of Holiness

The Kli Yakar adds yet another layer. Each of the four camps corresponds to a spiritual archetype, values essential for building a holy society:

●      Chochmah (Wisdom): Yehudah’s camp, center of Torah and leadership.

●      Middot (Ethical Character): Reuven’s camp, source of integrity and humility.

●      Gevurah (Moral Strength): Ephraim’s camp, courage and discipline.

●      Ashirut (Wealth for Good): Dan’s camp, material prosperity directed toward sanctity.

These archetypes call on each of us to discover our unique spiritual path and contribute our talents to the collective mission.

Sinai, Shavuot, and the Mission of Unity

It is no coincidence that Parashat Bemidbar is read just before Shavuot, the anniversary of Matan Torah. At Sinai, we were “k’ish echad b’lev echad”—like one person with one heart. That unity was not sociological; it was sacred. To receive Torah, we had to become a vessel—a unified entity ready to carry the Divine word.

The desert encampment is not just a memory—it is a model. To receive Torah today, we must reclaim those layers of identity: personal uniqueness, familial roots, communal responsibility, and cosmic purpose. We must align ourselves—individually and nationally—with the Divine order.

A Timeless Call

The Sforno’s message rings clear: had the Israelites embraced the Land with love, God would have conquered it for them. The same truth faces us now. The Land of Israel awaits not only our return, but our readiness. When we despise the Land, even passively, we empower those who oppose us. But when we act with conviction and holiness, miracles follow.

The census in Bamidbar is not ancient history. It is a mirror. It asks us: Who are you? Where do you stand? What is your mission?

As we approach Shavuot, let us remember that we stood at Sinai not as a crowd, but as a formation. Let us stand again, each in our place—elevated, counted, and ready to carry the Torah into the Land and into the world.

In the desert: Bemidbar 5784

I have always been fascinated why this book of the Bible and this week’s Torah reading is called Bemidbar—"in the desert”. The rabbis of Midrash have stated that the lesson we learn from this is that the Torah only remains in a person who empties all other causes from one’s midst, being as open and unoccupied as is the desert. Nevertheless, other insights may be gleaned from the use of the desert as the backdrop for the events and laws contained in this, the fourth book of the Torah. One of these different insights has to do with the ability of water to transform a barren desert into a productive place of lush fields and orchards. 

Here in Israel, the Negev desert that began to bloom fifty years ago just south of Chevron has now expanded many kilometers to the south of Beersheba thanks to the national water carrier system and other means of irrigating that area of our country. Literally, the desert has bloomed in fulfillment of the ancient prophecies of Isaiah. 

Water can overcome the aridity of the desert. In California, desert valleys have been transformed into America’s vegetable basket by water diverted from the Colorado River. Again, in that case water was the key to transforming a desert into a garden and orchard. There are plans afloat all over the world to transform deserts into arable land. However, fresh water is a valuable and oftentimes scarce commodity and the struggle to discover and harness more of it for agricultural and human use is a continuous effort.  

Throughout the books of the prophets of Israel and as well as within the Talmud, the Torah itself is metaphorically compared to and even called water. Just as water has the ability to convert desolate and nonproductive desert land into a veritable Garden of Eden, so too can Torah fill the void in our hearts and souls and make us productive holy people. Torah, like the water that represents it, has this enormous regenerative power. The book of Bamidbar will, in its narrative of the many sad and tragic events that befall Israel in its sojourn in the desert, constantly reminds us of the powers of water/Torah to restore the Jewish people to a purposeful existence with greatly productive achievements in spite of all of its failures and backsliding. 

No matter how bleak and barren the desert landscape in which we currently find ourselves, we should always be cognizant of the ability of Torah to refresh and renew us. The Jewish people are an old nation and yet our powers of rejuvenation have never waned. We were and are constantly nourished by the waters of Torah irrespective of whatever desert we found or find ourselves in. The choice of Jewish tradition to call this book of the Torah by the name of Bemidbar—in  the desert—is meant to convey to us this message of hope, constant redemption, and rebirth. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein