OzTorah

The sidra deals with the census of the Children of Israel in the wilderness.

From the human point of view the census has an obvious importance. We need to know how many people make up our population and whether our numbers are growing or declining.

But it is God who commands the census, and He is all-knowing – so why does He need the numerical information from the census?

Rashi explains that the census was a mark of God’s love. It wasn’t for God Himself that the numbers had to be ascertained, but in order to teach His creatures a lesson.

That lesson is that whichever place an individual occupies in the community list, God still loves him or her exactly the same as anyone else.

A Jewish saying says that nine rabbis do not make up a minyan but ten cobblers do.

There are places where the shammas stands outside the shule when they need a tenth man for minyan, and nobody complains if the tenth man he brings in is a High Court judge – or a street sweeper. God loves them all.

Shabbat B’midbar reminds us of the prophet’s words, “Let the wilderness and its cities rejoice” (Isa. 42:11).

A wilderness rejoicing? Surely not. By definition, a wilderness is crude and cruel, and no-one would really want to live there.

But if we take the word “wilderness” metaphorically – representing the people of Israel – we come to a different conclusion.

The prophet Isaiah is comforting Israel. Israel has suffered so much that it feels bereft, bothered and bewildered.

But the people that knew darkness and despair is being told that its future is assured, that it will still find joy in life, and the darkness will vanish and be replaced by light and happiness.

In our day, history has seen the prophecy come true, and the State of Israel is one of the happiest places on earth. Repeated studies have found that more than most nations, the people of Israel are high up on the global happiness scale.

The voices that call for Israel’s dismantling ought to be jealous. If only their own people had something of the Israeli spirit!

Two things have brought about Israel’s emotional and psychological triumph – our God, and our own spirit.

The hostile winds of criticism might howl, the acid tongues of criticism might shoot their barbs, but the erstwhile wilderness has become an oasis.

Q. Keeping the commandments seems to put you in a cage which gives you no freedom. You have to obey or else. How can Judaism demand this?

A. Emmanuel Levinas used this analogy when he said that to take refuge in moral or ritual codes is to abdicate responsibility. (Martin Buber said, “Religion no longer shapes but enslaves religiosity”). But the person who lives by the mitzvot doesn’t feel like this at all.

It is true that without the codes you have more freedom of movement – you don’t have to pray, you don’t have to limit what you eat, what you wear, what you do on Shabbat, or whether you have a m’zuzah on your door.

The problem comes when you have had your fling and your life doesn’t seem to be leading anywhere.

Having a set of traditions to honour gives you fixed points and endows the days and weeks with personality and colour. But more than this, the life of mitzvot is a constant series of symbols that indicate the principles that you serve.

In the words of Eliezer Berkovits, you are “governed by a fixed set of moral values”, such as k’vod hab’riyyot, human dignity, and dar’kei shalom, “the ways of peace”.

You might say that it is precisely there that the cage analogy is to be found, in the existence of a (cage-like) “fixed set of moral values”.

Why, you might argue, does one have to be controlled by values that are fixed?

Let me challenge you: find better values. Or tell me why fixed values are necessarily inferior.

Work it out, and I suspect that you will come back to Berkovits’ way of thinking before long.

Q. The Torah says that the counting of the Omer is for 50 days (Lev. 23:16), so why do we in actual fact only count 49 days?

A. The technical explanation is that the 49 days bring us to Shavu’ot, and that is the 50th day.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe, however, adds another dimension. He says that though the 49 days of counting bring us closer and closer to ultimate spirituality, the final goal eludes us.

We elevate ourselves further and further every day of the Omer, but the experience of complete revelation and understanding will always be beyond us.

That realisation must nevertheless not prevent us from trying the experience of elevation. We might not get there, but only if we make the effort do we give ourselves the chance of succeeding.

You cannot read the catalogue of calamity in B’chukkotai without a shudder.

“I will decree upon you panic, disease and fever, making your eyes weaken and your souls suffer; you shall sow your seed in vain, for your enemies shall eat it; your strength shall be spent in vain, and I will punish you seven times for your sins…” (Lev.26).

True, the rewards for obedience to God will be worth having, but why must all this be spelt out in such detail?

We all know what to do and what not to do. We are grown up enough to be aware of our duty. Are rewards and punishments really necessary?

In general principle the answer has to be no. The right thing should be done lishmah, for its own sake, not for the sake of a reward or to avoid punishment.

The point is made in Pirkei Avot (ch. 1) by Antignos of Socho who told his disciples not to be like servants who minister to their master on condition of receiving a reward.

Since not everyone is ready to serve God on the highest level, obedience is spurred on by the promise of reward or the threat of punishment.

Some are surprised that the rewards listed in the Torah are all material and this-worldly.

Ibn Ezra believes that spiritual rewards might not help the majority of people, who understand only physical things.

Nachmanides argues (commentary on Deut. 11:13) that since it is axiomatic that God will give spiritual rewards, only the material aspects need to be stated.

Nonetheless, human experience is that material rewards do not always come. The wicked often prosper and the righteous suffer. Some say that it is in the here-and-now that things are not always fair but all will be put right in the World to Come.

Joseph Albo (Ikkarim 4:39) offers the suggestion that it is the nation as a whole which receives the earthly reward or punishment, but not necessarily the individual.