Every One Counts

This week’s parsha of Bamidbar opens a new sefer in the Torah and introduces the counting of the Bnei Yisroel and the precise arrangement of their encampments as they journeyed toward the Promised Land. Chazal instituted that Parshas Bamidbar is always lained on the Shabbos preceding Shavuos, and that connection is deeply significant. As we stand at the culmination of the days of Sefirah, during which we prepared ourselves for Kabbolas HaTorah, the lessons embedded in this parsha become especially relevant.

Rashi, on the opening posuk, explains that Hakadosh Boruch Hu counts the Jewish people because of His love for them. A person repeatedly counts and checks his treasured possessions not because he has forgotten them, but precisely because they are precious to him. What we value, we do not lose sight of.

The Gemara in Bava Metzia teaches that when a person loses money, we assume that he has already realized the loss and despaired of recovering it, because people instinctively and constantly check their pockets to make sure that their valuables are still there. Rarely does someone lose a wallet or checkbook without immediately noticing the loss. We carefully monitor what matters deeply to us.

That is the message of the census in Bamidbar. Every Jew counts because every Jew matters. Though we are many millions strong, no individual is expendable, interchangeable, or insignificant. No Jew should ever feel like a faceless statistic swallowed by the masses. No person should ever be made to feel that the world would manage fine without him.

The Torah’s insistence on counting every individual teaches that human worth is not measured by prominence, accomplishment, wealth, or influence. Every person is precious because every person bears the tzelem Elokim. Every neshomah is counted because every neshomah matters.

This lesson is particularly timely during the days of Sefirah. Chazal teach that the talmidim of Rabi Akiva perished because they failed to accord one another proper respect. It is difficult to understand how the disciples of the great Rabi Akiva - the very Tanna who proclaimed “Ve’ahavta lerei’acha kamocha zeh klal gadol baTorah” - could have stumbled in this area. Perhaps the sheer size of their numbers contributed to the failing. When there are 24,000 students, it becomes easier for an individual to feel less indispensable. The uniqueness of each talmid becomes blurred within the vastness of the crowd. Familiarity and scale can dull sensitivity.

But the Torah demands the opposite perspective. The greater the crowd, the greater the responsibility to ensure that no individual disappears within it.

The iconic Mirrer mashgiach, Rav Yeruchom Levovitz, whose 90^th yahrtzeit falls this Sivan, was once asked how he could possibly guide and influence the hundreds of bochurim in the Mirrer Yeshiva. How could one person serve as mashgiach to three hundred talmidim, each with different struggles, personalities, strengths, and aspirations?

Reb Yeruchom answered with a perspective that revealed the essence of Torah leadership and chinuch. He said, “I am not one mashgiach over three hundred bochurim. There are three hundred bochurim, and each one has one mashgiach.”

In those few words, he defined what it means to care for people.

Most people who viewed the Mir bais medrash saw a large yeshiva filled with hundreds of students. But Rav Yeruchom did not see a crowd. He saw individuals. He did not relate to his talmidim as part of a mass, nor did he speak to them as interchangeable members of a group. Every bochur was an olam malei, a complete world unto himself, with unique strengths to cultivate, weaknesses to address, and greatness waiting to be uncovered.

That was the secret of his influence. People flourish when they know that they are seen and when they are addressed as individuals, not merely as another member of the group.

Rav Yeruchom understood that chinuch and leadership cannot be built on generalities alone. A successful mashgiach, rebbi, rov, or parent is not someone who merely delivers shmuessen to a room full of listeners. A good mechanech listens, notices, understands, and connects. He recognizes when someone is discouraged, when someone else is struggling, when one person needs guidance, and when another simply needs encouragement and belief.

Rav Yeruchom did not ask, “How do I manage three hundred students?” He looked at each one and asked, “What does this bochur need from me?”

That perspective reflects the Torah’s view of Klal Yisroel. When Hashem commands Moshe to count the Jewish people in Parshas Bamidbar, the counting was not about statistics. It was about affirming the value of every individual. Each Jew was counted because each Jew mattered.

The greatness of a leader, a teacher, or anyone else lies in the ability to look beyond the crowd and see the individual standing before him.

There are people who speak to you without making eye contact. They may technically be talking to you, but they are not really looking at you. And when they do not look at you, you sense that they do not truly care about you. Their eyes drift beyond you or past you, because their minds are occupied elsewhere - with themselves or with something else entirely. People like that cannot genuinely connect.

And when someone does not truly look at you, you instinctively feel that he does not truly care about you.

Real connection demands presence. It requires more than speaking. It requires listening. More than hearing words, it requires recognizing the person saying them. The people who influence us most are not always the most brilliant or eloquent. They are the people who make us feel seen, understood, and valued.

My rebbi, Rav Elya Svei, was one of the leading roshei yeshiva of his generation and was sought out by people across the world for guidance and counsel. Yet, when I, or any other young bochur, stood before him in the bais medrash, speaking with him in learning or discussing personal matters with him in his office, there was no one else in the room.

He looked at you. He focused on you and your issue. At that moment, there was nobody else and nothing else more important. And because of that, the talmid felt that he mattered.

One time, when I was sitting with Rav Elozor Menachem Man Shach, the conversation continued for quite some time while people waited impatiently outside the room for their turn to speak with him. There was noise and commotion beyond the door, but Rav Shach did not hear any of it. He heard me. He looked at me. He focused on me, despite the fact that I was an American yungerman in my twenties.

One of the attendants entered the room and informed him that a certain dignitary was waiting outside, hinting that the gadol hador should quickly finish up with his anonymous American guest. Rav Shach looked at him quizzically and said, “But I’m speaking now to Lipschutz.”

The other person would have to wait.

To Rav Shach, to a gadol b’Yisroel, every Jew was choshuv. Every Yid deserved simas lev, to be focused on and treated with respect.

And that is part of what the Torah is teaching through the counting in Parshas Bamidbar. Hashem does not look at Klal Yisroel as an anonymous mass. He counts each Jew individually because He sees each Jew individually. Every person carries a unique mission, a unique struggle, and a unique worth.

This is one of the great lessons the Torah seeks to teach us before Kabbolas HaTorah. The talmidim of Rabi Akiva failed because they did not sufficiently honor one another as unique and irreplaceable individuals. They saw each other as part of a group instead of appreciating the value of each individual comprising the group.

In a large yeshiva, in a thriving community, or even within a family, it is easy for people to become numbers, faces in the crowd, individuals whose struggles and strengths go unnoticed. Parshas Bamidbar reminds us that this is not the Torah’s view of a Jew. Hashem counts us because Hashem treasures us. And those who seek to walk in His ways must learn to view others the same way.

People are often quick to criticize, quick to dismiss, and quick to condemn without fully understanding another person’s struggles, circumstances, or intentions. One of the central avodos of Sefirah is learning to restore dignity to other people - to see them, value them, and treat them with the respect due to someone created b’tzelem Elokim. The counting of the Bnei Yisroel was a public declaration of love, importance, and worth.

This message carries enormous relevance in our generation. Not many decades ago, the Jewish people stood on the brink of destruction. Every surviving Jew was cherished and appreciated. During those terrible years, Jews instinctively understood that every person mattered. Yet, prosperity and growth can sometimes weaken that sensitivity. When communities flourish and botei medrash and schools overflow, there is a danger of unconsciously taking individuals for granted.

There was a time when yeshivos struggled desperately to find students. Today, many institutions are bursting at the seams with talmidim and talmidos. But abundance must never diminish appreciation. A great yeshiva, even when crowded, never makes a single bochur feel invisible. A good school, even when it has more students than it ever dreamed possible, never makes a student feel superfluous. No child is extra. No student lacks needs, emotions, and feelings that must be attended to. There is room and a place for everyone. A thriving community must never allow any individual to feel forgotten.

The parsha continues by describing the arrangement of the encampments: “Ish al machaneihu v’ish al diglo.” Every shevet had its designated place. Every individual camped where he belonged.

The Torah here teaches another fundamental principle: Greatness comes not only from recognizing your value, but also from recognizing your place.

Every shevet has a mission. Every person has a role. The harmony of Klal Yisroel depended upon each individual understanding where he belonged. One of life’s great temptations is the assumption that we could do better if only we occupied someone else’s position. We imagine that if we stood where others stand, if we had their platform, influence, authority, or responsibilities, we would accomplish more than they do and fix what they are doing wrong. And so, people abandon their own mission while attempting to live someone else’s.

The Torah’s carefully ordered encampment teaches that greatness is not achieved by invading another person’s territory. It is achieved by maximizing the potential of the position Hashem assigned to us.

Since the country is focused on war, perhaps we can illustrate this with a moshol about a group of friends who were drafted into the army. One was assigned to the infantry, another to the air force, and another to the navy. Each was jealous, convinced that the other had been given a better, easier, or more prestigious role.

Eventually, they approached their commanders and requested transfers to different units. But the commanders explained that each was performing a vital role. An army cannot function with only infantry, only pilots, or only sailors. Every division is essential, and every role is indispensable to the success of the whole.

What creates the strongest and most effective fighting force is not uniformity, but rather when every soldier in every branch rises to his fullest potential and fulfills his mission with excellence. Only then can the army achieve victory.

So too with Klal Yisroel. Each person has a unique role and shlichus in this world. Instead of looking at others and wishing to be in their place, we are meant to focus on fulfilling our own mission with dedication and integrity. That is what builds the strength of the klal and brings each of us to our personal and collective purpose.

Sefirah is meant to restore order to our inner world. Just as the encampments in the desert were arranged with precision and purpose, these weeks are meant to help us organize ourselves spiritually and emotionally in preparation for Matan Torah. Much as the month of Elul prepares us for Rosh Hashanah, Sefirah prepares us for Shavuos.

Ever since the second day of Pesach, we have counted upward, day by day, from Yetzias Mitzrayim toward Kabbolas HaTorah.

And so, as Shavuos approaches, we must ask ourselves some questions. Have we grown during these weeks? Have we refined our middos? Have we become more patient, more humble, more respectful, more disciplined? Have we become more worthy of receiving the Torah anew?

Forty-nine days separate Pesach from Shavuos because transformation takes time. Forty-nine shaarei kedusha must be approached. Forty-nine steps must be climbed. Each day is another opportunity to rise beyond the distractions, superficiality, and moral confusion that dominate the world around us.

As the Am Hanivchar, we are called upon to live differently. Before we can stand at Har Sinai and realize our destiny, we must elevate ourselves and become better than we are - more refined, more compassionate, more elevated, more selfless.

Let us seek to excel in our roles, in our learning, and in our understanding of Torah.

Let us show, through the way we speak to one another and care for one another, that we have learned the tragic lesson of Rabi Akiva’s talmidim. Let us demonstrate through our actions that we are worthy of receiving the Torah.

May we all be zoche to growth in Torah and mitzvos and merit the coming of Moshiach Tzidkeinu bekarov.

Coming Home

 

As we learn the parsha each week and study the words of different meforshim, there are, invariably, ideas in the Torah that feel less like commentary and more like a quiet unveiling of history itself. The Meshech Chochmah in Parshas Bechukosai offers one of those. In a few penetrating lines, he not only explains the Tochacha, but maps the spiritual psychology of golus and the conditions that make the geulah possible.

The Tochacha is like a cascade of consequences: If Klal Yisroel follows the mitzvos, there will be brocha and hatzlocha. If not, chalilah, there are curses of increasing severity. In the posuk that discusses our period of golus (26:44), “V’af gam zos behiyosam b’eretz oyveihem lo me’astim velo ge’altim lechalosam lehofer brisi itom,” Hakadosh Boruch Hu promises that even when we are dispossessed and forced to live in foreign lands, He will not forsake us or allow us to be obliterated, nor will He annul the bris that He has with us.

The Meshech Chochmah explains that golus is not simply random suffering. It follows a tragic but recognizable progression. The way the Hashgocha works is that after being settled in a country for a few hundred years, a storm erupts and we are blown out of that place where we have grown comfortable. We move to a new exile. There is pain, instability, and dislocation. We feel like strangers. And then we come together, strengthen ourselves, and build up our Torah institutions. The foreign land becomes familiar. Livelihoods stabilize. Houses are built. Children who have never seen anything else are raised there. And then something subtle but seismic occurs: The Jew begins to feel at home.

The feeling of comfort in golus is the turning point.

Because once Jews feel comfortable in a foreign country, golus stops feeling like golus. The longing to return home, the yearning for the Bais Hamikdosh, begins to fade. The tension between what is and what should be disappears. And at that moment, history begins to move again, not gently, but forcefully.

And then, sometimes painfully, the illusion breaks. The Jewish people once again begin hearing those hate-filled voices that shout at them to leave and go somewhere else.

So has it been throughout the ages.

In recent days, Jews in England, particularly in London, have been reminded of this pattern in a most jarring way. A stabbing attack in Golders Green left two Jewish people who were walking on a street wounded. It was declared a terrorist incident.

Leading up to it, there were arson attacks targeting Jewish individuals, shuls, and even Hatzolah ambulances.

Authorities have raised the national threat level to “severe,” meaning further attacks are considered highly likely.

This is not fringe discomfort. It is a shift in atmosphere. Reports indicate thousands of antisemitic incidents a year, with many Jews expressing fear about openly living as Jews. And not only in England, but throughout Europe, Jews do not feel safe.

In this country, as well, there has been a marked increase in antisemitic incidents. Not too long ago, it was political suicide to speak against Jews and Israel, but today, there are Democrats who do so without jeopardizing their standing in the party.

What is perhaps most haunting is not only the violence, but the sense that something once assumed to be stable no longer feels so.

And here, the Meshech Chochmah’s words echo with unsettling clarity. Golus contains within it a built-in instability. When Jews begin to feel fully at home, Hakadosh Boruch Hu has a way of reminding them that they are not.

There is no justification for hatred or violence. Those who commit such acts are responsible, morally and humanly, for what they do. But we must know that it is not random. There is a pattern, a rhythm, and it is meant to keep us connected to where we belong, to remind us who we are, to keep alive the bris, the connection, with Hashem.

Golus begins with distance, moves toward comfort, and then, when that comfort becomes too complete, it is disrupted, because golus, by its very nature, cannot become permanent.

And so, what we are witnessing, painful as it is, carries a message that Jews have heard before across centuries and continents. We are not home. These reminders come to spark us to work toward geulah, to do what we must to bring about the redemption. Recognizing that golus is inherently incomplete is the first step in preparing to leave it.

In earlier generations, when the Jewish people were blessed with leaders who could discern and convey the Yad Hashem in all that transpired, people were not as confounded by events at home and abroad. In the times of the nevi’im, people were often forewarned before a calamity would strike, so that they could accept teshuvah upon themselves and prevent the tragedy. And even when they did not, afterward they were taught that it was the Yad Hashem that had struck, and they would engage in whatever was necessary to correct their ways.

Even after our people lost nevuah and Hashem began conducting the world through hester, people still had enough faith to recognize that nothing happens on its own and that everything takes place through Hashem.

As time went on and people became increasingly less learned, they lost the ability to see Hashem’s Hand in the various manifestations of His din. They began attributing events to natural causes, without recognizing that what they were witnessing were Divine messages directed at them.

We read the news and wonder what we can do to affect the situation. What can we do to temper the hatred for Jews? What can we do to bring about peace in Eretz Yisroel and peace in the world? What can we do about the internal war on the chareidi community in Israel? What can we do to bring stability and prosperity to our suffering brethren?

We won’t get the answers to these questions by following statuses, scrolling through pundits, or reading popular columns of analysis, interpretation, and speculation.

The answers are found in this week’s parsha, Bechukosai.

The posuk states quite simply, “Im bechukosai teileichu v’es mitzvosai tishmeru va’asisem osam.” If you will follow the chukim and mitzvos of the Torah, you will be blessed.

The Torah promises that if you follow the chukim and mitzvos, “vishavtem lovetach b’artzechem…venosati shalom ba’aretz ushechavtem v’ein macharid…v’cherev lo saavor b’artzechem, you will live safely in your land, there will be peace in the land, and you will sleep with no fear.”

Everything that is happening today is clearly prescribed in this week’s parsha. The history of the Jewish people is all in Parshas Bechukosai. When we were good, life was good. And when the people sinned and strayed, then what the pesukim say will happen (26:14–44) happens.

The posuk states, “Im bechukosai teileichu v’es mitzvosai tishmeru va’asisem osam.” The Toras Kohanim expounds on the words “Im bechukosai teileichu” that “Melameid sheHakadosh Boruch Hu misaveh sheyihiyu Yisroel ameilim baTorah…” From here we see that Hashem desires that the Jewish people be ameil in Torah.

Chazal teach us that “Im bechukosai teileichu” is not only a promise of brocha for those who observe the chukim, but the words contain a deeper charge, namely, “shetihiyu ameilim baTorah,” that we must toil in Torah. The brachos are a reward for observing the mitzvos, but they also flow from immersing in Torah, from laboring over it and living with it.

When we study the Torah, we are connecting with Hashem in the most direct way possible. We are engaging with His word, and it shapes us, our neshamos, our thinking, and the way we live. Through Torah, we become refined, purposeful, and more aligned with what we are meant to be.

“Shetihiyu ameilim baTorah” is the heartbeat of yeshivos and kollelim, those unique places where Torah is not just studied, but lived with intensity and dedication. It is there that ordinary people rise beyond themselves, where human beings, through effort and persistence, elevate themselves and become connected to something far greater. It is through that striving that we merit the brachos of Heaven.

That connection to the Torah strengthens us in the face of a world filled with distractions and pressures. Ameilus gives a person clarity and resilience, enabling us to withstand the constant pull of a society that often leads in the opposite direction.

This avodah is especially relevant during these days of Sefirah. As we count toward Shavuos, we are preparing ourselves to receive the Torah anew. Each day of the count presents an opportunity for growth, for refining our middos, for becoming more fitting recipients of the Torah.

We, maaminim bnei maaminim, are meant to see the Yad Hashem in everything that unfolds around us—in every bomb, in every missile, in every mission, in every antisemitic act, and in everything we have been blessed with.

But that vision does not come automatically. It is sharpened and deepened through Torah. The more a person is immersed in Torah, the more clearly he perceives Hashem’s presence, in moments of challenge and in moments of brocha.

What we must do is clear. We need to increase our Torah learning, approaching it with greater focus and depth. We need to strengthen our observance of mitzvos, performing them with more care and awareness. We need to daven with more kavonah, paying attention to the words and thinking about what we are saying. We need to be more mindful of what we allow into our lives, what we read, what we watch, what we bring into our homes, where we go, and what we put into our mouths.

We take pride in our mesorah, in the harchakos and takanos that preserve our distinctiveness and elevate us. We do not seek to mirror the world around us or mimic it. We are striving toward a different goal, aware that we are away and remaining focused on getting home.

Foreigners who cannot find meaningful employment in their home country travel to countries such as ours, working hard and sending money back to their families and saving for the day they can return home. The same way, through Torah, mitzvos, and teshuvah and correcting the failings that caused us to be sent into golus in the first place, such as lashon hora and sinas chinom, we get closer to the day we can return. Each word of Torah, each mitzvah, brings us nearer to the geulah.

As we are maavir sedrah this week and study the combined parshiyos, we should take the time to work on understanding the pesukim and their eternal messages about us, about the world, and about life.

Because the message of Parshas Bechukosai is not only a warning, it is a direction. Golus is meant to be transient. The instability, the discomfort, and the reminders that are repeated throughout our history are not there to confuse us, but to awaken us. They push us to ask not only what is happening, but what is being asked of us.

The answer is as clear today as it was when it was first given: “Im bechukosai teileichu.” To live with the Torah. To toil in it. To allow it to shape us, elevate us, and reconnect us to where we truly belong.

If golus begins when we forget who we are, then geulah begins when we remember.

The parsha of the tochacha also contains nechomah, for just as we are told that if we sin we will be struck down by our enemies and chased out of Eretz Yisroel, we are promised that Hashem’s bris with the avos will not be forgotten and we will be brought back home.

May it happen speedily in our day.