Parsha BaMidbar (Numbers 1:1-4:20)
By Barrett Holman Leak
SAN DIEGO — My dear friends, we begin a new book of the Torah this Shabbat, Sefer Bamidbar, the Book of Numbers, or as it is more commonly known, “In the Wilderness.” The very first word, “Bamidbar,” immediately sets the scene: a desolate, challenging environment.
Yet, within this wilderness, the Torah begins not with a description of the arduous journey, nor with a grand revelation, but with a surprising act: a census. “Lift up the head of all the congregation of the children of Israel, by their families, by their fathers’ houses, according to the number of names, every male by their polls.”
Why does the Torah begin in such a manner? Why, at the cusp of their 40-year journey through the wilderness, is the very first command to count the people? Rashi, with his profound insight, offers a beautiful explanation. He teaches that God counted Israel out of God’s deep love for them, just as one counts their precious possessions. Imagine a king who has many legions. When he wishes to count them, it is not out of suspicion or a need for accounting, but out of care, to ensure that each and every soldier is present and accounted for. This first act of Bamidbar, then, is a profound declaration of God’s enduring love for each and every one of us.
In a world that often feels vast and overwhelming, where we can easily feel lost in the crowd, the message of Parsha Bamidbar is incredibly powerful: you are seen, you are known, and you are counted. This isn’t just about a numerical tally; it’s about individual significance. Each person, from the most prominent leader to the simplest individual, is significant. Their unique essence contributes to the collective strength and identity of the nation.
Consider the meticulous detail of the census: “by their families, by their fathers’ houses, according to the number of names, every male by their polls.” This wasn’t a general estimate. It was a precise, individualized counting. This teaches us that true connection, true community, is built not on generalizations but on recognizing the specific value of each component part. In our own lives, it’s easy to look at a community, a synagogue, a family, and see it as a collective. But Bamidbar reminds us that the strength of the collective stems from the vitality of its individuals. When we acknowledge and value each person, we strengthen the whole.
Beyond the general census, we see a distinct separation for the tribe of Levi. They were not counted among the military men, for their service was of a different kind: they were the guardians of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle. They were the ones who would carry its holy vessels, dismantle and reassemble its sacred structure. Ramban sees this as a reflection of the celestial order, with the Mishkan at the center, surrounded by the Levites, and then the other tribes. This arrangement is not arbitrary; it signifies divine protection and the structured path to holiness. The Levites, closest to the divine presence, embody the idea that spiritual service requires unique dedication and a different kind of strength—a strength born of commitment, study, and awe.
The organization of the camp, detailed with such precision in our parsha, is another critical lesson. Each tribe had its designated place around the Mishkan, with specific banners and directions. This wasn’t merely about logistical efficiency for travel. It was about creating order out of chaos, bringing sanctity to the mundane. The wilderness, by its very nature, is disorderly and dangerous. Yet, within it, the Israelites were commanded to create a structured, holy space. This teaches us that even in the midst of life’s wildernesses—its uncertainties, its challenges, its moments of feeling lost—we have the capacity, and indeed the obligation, to create order, to establish a framework for holiness, and to find our place within a larger sacred purpose.
This concept of finding our place is crucial. Just as each tribe had its role and position, so too does each one of us have a unique contribution to make to our families, our communities, and the broader world. Some are like the warriors, defending and protecting. Others are like the Levites, dedicated to spiritual service and bringing the sacred into daily life. Still others are like the other tribes, supporting the central mission through their presence and their actions. The beauty of this structure is that no role is insignificant. Each is vital for the harmonious functioning of the whole.
As we embark on this journey through Sefer Bamidbar, let us carry these foundational lessons with us. Let us remember that we are counted by God, loved individually, and essential to the tapestry of existence. Let us strive to find our unique place within the Divine order, contributing our strengths to build strong, holy communities.
The year 2022 was my wilderness. I lost my longtime friend, sister, brother, and mother, all died within seven months, shattering my world. I was still recovering from the death of another brother who was my closest sibling. The silence in my heart became deafening; I felt utterly alone, adrift in chaos.
Yet, in 2024, a quiet call emerged to create order. I started by hanging my mother’s framed embroidery, which was shipped to me, bringing memories of her into my home. Then, I tackled boxes of family photographs, meticulously selecting and arranging them in books where I am detailing family stories and framing others for wall display No more photo albums gathering dust. This act of ordering my history made me feel my family’s presence, grounding me as their enduring love surrounds me.
I decided to do my DNA and through it, I connected with a fourth or fifth cousin who happens to live here in California. This discovery was a lifeline; my sister from another mother has visited twice, and our shared roots bring unexpected comfort. In the wilderness, I realize I am not alone. I am counted, part of a continuing lineage. I am loved. This journey taught me that even in deep loss, we can create order and find connection.
Our country, our world may be a high-speed train riding off the rails, but I am here and I matter. Let is always remember that even in the wilderness, amidst life’s challenges, we have the capacity to create order, to find our place, to uphold our Jewish values, and to walk forward, counted and cherished, under the loving gaze of God.
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Barrett Holman Leak is a freelance writer based in San Diego.