Taming the Wilderness: Naso

Taming the Wilderness

D’var Torah for Parashat Naso

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Parashat Naso (Numbers 4:21—7:89) is the completion of the perfect picture that the previous weekly portion, Bamidbar, painted.  Everything is in its place; everybody knows their role and function.  The twelve tribes are arranged by size and strength around the Tabernacle.   The Levites form an inner circle of protection, with the kohanim (priests) at their head.  The Israelites have their marching orders, all part a procedure so smooth and orderly that nothing can go wrong.

But, of course, we are dealing with human beings here; and, let’s not forget, we are in the Wilderness.  In the Wilderness everything can go wrong, from the elements to the creatures that furrow in the sand, from enemy tribes that we might cross paths and swords with right down to the passions that all-too-often rule our personal lives.

Naso provides us with rules meant to temper human nature.  In the Torah’s ideal vision of the way things ought to be, the tribes’ leaders aren’t vying with one another for leadership; one doesn’t try to undercut or outdo the other.  None can claim that they are better, more observant or religious than another and therefore deserve God’s blessings more than anyone else.  As the tribes’ leaders ponder what sacrifice they might bring to the Tabernacle’s upkeep, they are told by Moses to bring exactly the same thing as the other leaders.  Nothing more, nothing less. Absolute equality before God is the lesson they must teach the people.  Judah, the largest and bravest of the tribes, is no more important in this larger scheme than Benjamin, the youngest and smallest.  All are equal before God.

Two human passions are considered next in the portion.  Both basic to the human soul, they are cousin emotions:  jealousy and zealousness.  In these examples of passion gone awry, loyalty and devotion, good in themselves and actually important to the social fabric, are stretched to an extreme level.  They become obsessions that can take over a person’s life, ultimately causing mayhem and chaos.  Through involved and complex rituals described in the portion, these passions can and must be defused before they turn into domestic abuse and violently religious zeal.  The rituals themselves are by now antiquated and obsolete, yet their purpose hasn’t changed in thousands of years. Fervor must be controlled before it becomes rage.

For the rest of us, during those long stretches of time when we are not in the throes of passion, personal responsibility for the common weal is a constant requirement.  If one individual falters, or is fined but cannot afford to pay the fine, a relative must step up to help out.  We are each other’s support.

It’s all a question of doing the right thing in the first place.

But it’s also the lesson of how to right the world again when things go wrong.

Though the picture is perfect, the metaphor isn’t too difficult to understand.  Naso contains the secret of how to tame the wilderness around us as well as inside us.  We are, after all, still wandering in the wilderness.  We find ourselves somewhere on a winding path between two points—one which we left far behind us, and another, equally far but—oh! —so much better than the first, towards which we are headed.  Seeing that we’re going to be spending a long time in the Wilderness (forty years at least), we might as well try to make the best of the situation and try to find the beauty right around us.

It is so that we tame the wilderness.  We don’t—in Joni Mitchell’s words—pave Paradise.  Nor do we construct grandiose structures that help us pretend we’ve conquered the desert.  Rather, we learn to live in harmony with the elements around us and within us, to weave our lives with emotion and passion as only two threads within a larger tapestry.

It is no wonder that in Parashat Naso we find the ultimate blessing, the Threefold Blessing bestowed by God on the Israelites in the Sinai Wilderness and, from that moment on, by priests and rabbis to this day:  “May God bless you and keep you; may God make God’s face shine on you and be gracious to you; may God turn God’s face toward you and grant you peace” (Num. 6: 24-26).

Shalom doesn’t mean only “peace.”  Shalom implies wholeness and completion, with nothing missing and everything in its place.  Everyone knows his and her role, function and direction; everyone does the right thing, just so, and nothing is remiss.

It’s an ideal picture, one that may exist for only fleeting moments in our lives.  Yet, in our imagination, it is as vibrant and exultant as it was when Moses first presented it to us, wanderers in the Sinai Wilderness, no longer slaves in Egypt but not yet wholly free in our Promised Land either.  For all its impossibilities, it’s a vision still worth sustaining and working towards, a vision of serenity and peace, of true and blessed shalom.

© 2013 by Boaz D. Heilman