By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
EL CAJON, California — As a mental health professional, I often seen how deeply people long to feel chosen, to feel and be seen, to feel valued, and purposeful. Whether it’s a child left out of a game, or an adult passed over for a promotion, the pain of being left behind is real. This week’s Torah portion, Behaalotecha, speaks directly to that very human feeling—and offers a path not only for healing, but for growth.
The parsha opens with the elevation of the tribe of Levi, chosen for sacred service in the Mishkan. The rest of the nation was not even permitted to enter. You can imagine the disappointment. Yet, in the very verse describing the Levites’ selection, the Torah repeats the words Bnei Yisrael—the Children of Israel—five times. Rashi tells us this was to demonstrate Hashem’s deep love for the entire nation, not just for those chosen to serve in this specific role.
The Sefat Emet adds something even more beautiful: those five mentions correspond to the five books of the Torah. Hashem was reminding the people—and us—that every single person is cherished, even if their task looks different. More on what to do when it does, in a moment.
Later in the parsha, we see another powerful lesson—this time from Moshe Rabbeinu. After Miriam and Aharon criticize him, the Torah inserts a striking verse: “Now Moses was exceedingly humble, more than any man on earth.” Moshe doesn’t defend himself, argue, or lash out. He simply remains silent. And in that silence, we see his greatness.
Rav Kook teaches that humility doesn’t mean thinking less of yourself. It means knowing that your worth is inherent, and that your strengths are gifts—not achievements of ego, but expressions of divine kindness. In this view, humility is a form of spiritual clarity. It aligns us with truth: that we matter unconditionally, and that what we have is on loan from the Infinite. In contemporary psychology, unconditional self-acceptance is a hallmark of emotional wellbeing. Self-esteem is considered a cancer of emotional health. Why? Because it relies on success…failing tanks self-esteem. It leans on rating oneself rather than one’s accomplishments. What you achieve and what you are, are not one and the same. Self-worth is not earned through perfection. Rather, recognize that you were created by Hashem with Divine care, not comparison, beyond your own wisdom.
This perspective has enormous psychological value. When we realize our worth isn’t dependent on comparison or status, we’re less vulnerable to envy, shame, or despair. And when we remember that our talents come directly and only from Hashem, we’re less likely to become arrogant. Instead, we live with gratitude and quiet strength.
Dr. Viktor Frankl captured this well when he wrote: “Situational values are always there, waiting until their hour strikes.” In other words: if one door closes, another path is waiting, all directed by Hashem. What looks like rejection may be redirection. Sometimes, Hashem closes doors for us because we’re aiming too low. He knows the potential embedded within each of us, the unique gifts that He’s planted in our souls. He knows what we’re capable of achieving, and in His infinite wisdom, He doesn’t want us to settle for anything less than our true purpose.
Behaalotecha reminds us: not being chosen doesn’t mean being forgotten. It means our mission lies elsewhere—no less sacred, no less needed.
We can see inside the Torah reading, important lessons in keeping our Torah-anchored flame alive, and how to practically use these lessons to foster both personal and communal growth.
For example, we begin with Aharon’s role in kindling the Menorah—a task that, despite being repeated daily, he performed with unceasing devotion and reverence. It’s easy for routine to dull our enthusiasm, but Aharon’s example reminds us that true commitment means embracing each opportunity with fresh eyes and a full heart. I see this as a call to infuse our rituals—prayer, study, acts of kindness—with presence and purpose, rather than letting them become rote.
Life often feels repetitive, and religious practice is no exception. The Torah portion challenges us to renew our passion even in the midst of familiar routines. Psychologically, this reflects the need for intentionality: to approach each prayer, each mitzvah, not as an obligation to be checked off, but as a moment to truly and deeply connect with Hashem and with our deeper selves. Slow down and don’t just mumble the words. Feel them.
We also encounter the Israelites wrestling with complaints and Moses grappling with profound emotional challenges. This is a powerful reminder that even the most faithful experience vulnerability. These struggles are not signs of failure; rather, they are invitations to deepen our reliance on Hashem and to find resilience in our community. From a therapeutic perspective, acknowledging our struggles can foster growth and empathy, strengthening both personal character and communal bonds.
Finally, this week’s portion invites us to see every action as an opportunity to bring light into the world. The concept of tikkun olam—repairing the world—resonates deeply with survivors of hardship who discover healing through acts of service. Volunteering, supporting others, or simply offering a kind word can transform not only the world around us, but help bring light to our own sense of purpose.
When life doesn’t go as planned, don’t rush to blame yourself. You’re not off-course—you’re being lovingly redirected. We see moments; Hashem sees meaning. As the Talmud teaches (Berachot 60b), “Everything that the Holy One, Blessed be He, does is for the good.” We may not always understand it at the moment but in the bigger picture, Hashem’s guidance is leading us exactly where we need to be. So, when you encounter a closed door, trust that Hashem is your ultimate doorkeeper, ensuring that you find the path that leads to the best possible version of yourself—a path He’s already laid out with infinite love and wisdom.
Your worth isn’t measured by outcomes but by the truth that you’re created with purpose and guided with care. Instead of, “I should have done better,” try: “I may not see the whole picture, but I trust the One who does.”
That’s not weakness. That’s growth. That’s faith.
Let us draw on these lessons to nurture the sacred flame within us: approaching each mitzvah with fresh commitment, embracing life’s challenges as pathways to growth, and seeking meaning in every action. In doing so, we can keep the light of our faith burning brightly—within ourselves and throughout the world-which is needed now more than ever in the face of rampant, vile, antisemitism.
So, if you’ve ever felt left out or passed over, let this parsha be your guide. You are not invisible. You are indispensable. Your path hasn’t ended—it’s simply unfolding.
May we each have the strength to walk our own path with humility, confidence, and faith in the One who sees us all.
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares a weekly D’var Torah for Young Israel of San Diego, where he and his family are members. They are also active members of Congregation Adat Yeshurun.