By Rabbi Dr. Michael Leo Samuel in Chula Vista, California
In Charles Schulz’s Peanuts, Lucy Van Pelt strides in and demands the television remote. Linus protests. She raises her hand: “These five fingers—individually they’re nothing. But when I curl them together into a single unit, they form a weapon that is terrible to behold.” Linus complies, then turns to his own fingers with a sigh: “Why can’t you guys get organized like that?”
The cartoon is light, yet it distills a truth at the core of Jewish destiny: power and survival emerge only through disciplined unity. Our ancestors faced this challenge on the very threshold of the Promised Land.
As the Israelites stood ready to cross the Jordan, the tribes of Reuben, Gad, and half of Manasseh approached Moses with a seemingly pragmatic request: “If we have found favor in your eyes, let this land be given to your servants as a possession; do not take us across the Jordan” (Num. 32:5). The grazing land east of the river looked ideal. Why not settle here while the rest of the nation conquered Canaan?
Moses’ rebuke was immediate and prophetic:
“Shall your brothers go out to war while you sit here? Why do you discourage the hearts of the children of Israel from crossing into the land that the Lord has given them? This is exactly what your fathers did when I sent them from Kadesh-barnea…” (Num. 32:6–8).
He invoked the catastrophe of the spies—the despair and division at Kadesh that had doomed an entire generation to wander and perish in the wilderness. The danger was not merely logistical but contagious: when one segment withdraws from the collective burden, the morale and faith of the whole people begin to fracture. Moses feared history repeating itself. The tribes ultimately listened. They pledged to fight at the forefront until the entire conquest was complete, only then returning to their families (Num. 32:16–19). Unity was preserved through accountability.
Fourteen centuries later, a letter from the failing leader of the Bar Kochba revolt—discovered in the Judean Desert by Yigael Yadin—carries the same ache of betrayal:
“From Shimon bar Kosiba to the men of Ein Gedi… In comfort you sit, eating and drinking from the property of the House of Israel, and you care nothing for your brothers.”
Even a figure hailed by many as a potential Messiah could not overcome the fracture when parts of the nation chose comfort over shared sacrifice. The revolt collapsed. Jerusalem and Betar fell. The cost of disunity was catastrophic.
Moses’ question refuses to remain in the past. It speaks with undiminished urgency to our own generation.
The State of Israel, reborn from the ashes of the Shoah, faces existential threats on multiple fronts. Reservists are being called up. The nation braces for what may come. Yet a modest wartime deferment granted in the state’s early years to a handful of yeshiva students has ballooned into a systemic exemption for tens of thousands. In a society where army service forges a common Israeli identity and shared destiny, this divide breeds resentment, deepens polarization, and—most tragically—brings chillul Hashem. Maimonides’ emphasis on the collective responsibility to defend the Land and people (Hilchot Melachim) underscores that the Torah’s vision of am echad is not sentimental but essential for survival and sanctity.
As we prepare ourselves for Tisha b’Av, we would be wise to take these lessons to heart. The fast commemorates not only the physical destruction of the First and Second Temples but the spiritual rot that made them possible—sinat chinam, baseless hatred, factionalism, and the failure of different segments of the people to see themselves as one indivisible whole. The rabbis teach that the Second Temple was destroyed because Jews could not transcend their divisions even while observing ritual punctiliously. The parallel to our own era is sobering.
Yet the drasha cannot rest solely as a critique of Israeli Haredi society. Moses’ question turns its gaze upon every Jew, including those of us in the Diaspora. It is too easy to study, donate, advocate, and critique from afar while others carry the physical burden. Are we truly “organized like that”? Do we feel the unity of klal Yisrael in our bones, or do we too often sit “eating and drinking from the property of the House of Israel” while others stand watch?
At a time when antisemitism has reared its ugly head, we must remain loyal to Israel–even if our neighbors or friends might disapprove.
The tribes of Reuben and Gad ultimately chose solidarity. Bar Kochba’s plea reminds us of the alternative. As Tisha b’Av approaches, may we internalize the Torah’s urgent call: true unity is not the erasure of difference but the harnessing of every “finger” into a single, formidable fist for the sake of the covenant, the people, and the Land.
May the Almighty grant us the wisdom of Moses, the courage of the faithful warriors, and the teshuvah to heal our divisions—so that we may merit consolation after the fast, the rebuilding of Jerusalem, and the final, enduring peace of am yisrael chai.
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Rabbi Dr. Michael Leo Samuel is the spiritual leader of Temple Beth Shalom in Chula Vista, California.