A Model of Perfection: Bamidbar
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
June 8, 2019
The Torah is filled with wonderful stories and images. Many have been transformed into some of the world’s greatest art. Several movies, both live and animated, tried to capture the magnificence and depth of the stories and characters. Its message of freedom and hope inspired countless writers, many African-American spirituals, and at least one opera (Moses And Aaron by the 20th century composer Arnold Schoenberg). There’s even a reconstructed Noah’s Ark attraction in Kentucky—one that recently suffered water damage, with an ensuing insurance claim of $1,000,000. (I guess they didn’t follow properly God’s instructions re waterproofing).
Yet the further we get into the five books, the fewer the adaptations. And that’s understandable. There’s little drama in the lists of commandments, the lengthy genealogies, or in the detailed description of the Israelite camp that’s found in this week’s Torah portion, Bamidbar (“In The Wilderness,” Numbers 1:1—4:20). Yes, later on, beyond these chapters, there are wars and uprisings, the miracles of water bursting out of the rock, and the moving description of Moses’s final vision and death at Mt. Nebo. But—let’s face it—all of these amount to no more than 15 or 20 minutes of screen time, and they don’t stand a chance next to the spectacular images of Noah’s Flood or the Parting of the Red Sea. Hollywood does not like anti-climaxes.
Yet the message in this week’s portion is as important as any other in the Torah. Depicting the encampment of the Israelites during their 40 years of wandering in the Sinai Wilderness, it is the picture of perfection. Despite the many moves and changes, everyone is always in their place, everyone knows where they belong. Each individual has his or her task in the maintenance of the Tabernacle and the camp, and every tribe is strategically positioned to defend the newly-emerged people. In this picture, every individual counts; everyone’s contribution—from great to small—matters.
At the heart of the camp, protected by the Priests and Levites, lies the magnificent Tent of Meeting, the Tabernacle. All its utensils are in place; the rituals are well-practiced and perfectly carried out. At its innermost core, in the Holy of Holies, is the Ark of the Covenant, and inside that, the Tablets of the Law. It is here that Moses and Aaron receive God’s word, to be passed on and taught to the rest of the people.
From station to station, each move is coordinated perfectly, down to the last detail. Nothing is left out, nothing is missing. Throughout the long road, everyone carries out without fail their duties and responsibilities. There is a higher truth at stake, a higher power, one which is entrusted not only to one individual, but rather to the entire people: The Power and Message of the Torah.
The Torah is more than a set of laws, more than a collection of stories, miracles and wonders. The Torah is God’s eternal Covenant with the People of Israel. Throughout the generations, the Torah has served as our inspiration and source of strength. It has been our fortress and sanctuary in times of change, war and upheaval.
When the Israelites finally reach the Promised Land of Israel, under the leadership of King Solomon a permanent Temple is built to house the Holy Ark and its contents. Destroyed by the Babylonians, the Temple was rebuilt some time later—only to be destroyed once again, by the Romans in the year 70 CE.
Though the Jerusalem Temple was never rebuilt, wherever our people went they carried the Torah with them. As they did so, the image that they had before their eyes was the one described in this week’s Torah portion. The Sanctuary is always at the People’s heart; the Holy Ark always houses—not the set of stones Moses had given us, and which disappeared in the course of history—but rather, the rolled parchment we call the Torah.
Through the centuries, synagogues were built wherever Jewish communities grew and thrived. Though leadership of the people was taken up by rabbis rather than kings and priests, to this day we still find ourselves facing east, just as the Israelites did in the Sinai Wilderness. Facing the Torah, our hearts and minds are always directed to this ancient document and the sacred message that it contains.
Generations come and go. Change is inevitable. Yet the eternity of this first portion of the Book of Numbers remains untouched. It is the cornerstone of every Jewish community. Just as described in Bamidbar, at every synagogue, shul and temple, everyone has an assigned role to fill. There is always a person responsible for the implements, utensils, the food; another individual or committee is in charge of the rituals; yet another is there to keep account of membership and dues; and still others who carry out other necessary duties. Times and places may change, yet the model, the vision we are given in this Torah portion, never alters. Such is the nature of perfection.
Today, we find ourselves at yet another time of change and transition. A short four years ago, I began carrying out my responsibilities as Rabbi of TBI. I was entrusted with the teaching of Torah, the care of the community and its children, in charge of carrying out our rituals and traditions, celebrating our holy days and Sabbaths.
When I began my task here, what I found at TBI was a devoted and dedicated congregation. I am still astounded by the deep thirst for Jewish knowledge, by your love for our traditions, by your commitment to observe and practice our ancient customs and rituals. TBI’s involvement in social action is nothing short of phenomenal: feeding the hungry; visiting the sick; providing for the needy; nurturing wounded warriors—these are but some of the mitzvot—commandments—that TBI obeys. Teaching children, one of the most important and challenging commandments of all, has always been at the heart of everything you do.
TBI’s place and role in the larger community is recognized not only in Laconia, but throughout the State of New Hampshire. When tragedy struck, both personal as well as communal, the outpouring of comfort and sympathy from all our friends and neighbors, from politicians and community leaders, from other members of the clergy as well as the “ordinary” people we met at supermarkets and on the street, has been nothing less than overwhelming. Recognition of Temple B’nai Israel’s contribution to society and the world around us is welcome, fitting and valuable. It’s proof of the truth embedded in our Torah: We might be wanderers in the wilderness, but when we follow the model shown us in Bamidbar, there is no doubt of the outcome. Like some well-oiled machine, as long as everyone does the task assigned to them, it works. That’s the way it has been for more than 3000 years now.
The important task is to live by Torah, and then to pass it on to the next generation. Wherever we live, we are still in the Wilderness. We have meandered over continents, across oceans and seas, through valleys and high mountains. Yet throughout our history, what has never changed is what we see before our eyes today.
When Moses’s time comes to leave his charge behind, he does so reluctantly. He knows his work isn’t done. But he also has faith. He knows that someone will follow him. He also knows that, with the Torah’s vision always before the People’s eyes, they will continue the work he had left unfinished.
It is now my turn to pass leadership on to a new rabbi. I do so with sadness, but also with confidence and faith. I have faith in God, faith in TBI. I have faith in you, my friends. I will always carry in my heart the love and friendship you have shared with me. The rich memory of the past four years will continue nurturing me for as long as I have life and breath. I am grateful for the opportunity to be your rabbi, grateful that you became my friends, my chevruta—my study and worship partners. I could not have asked for more.
I am confident that TBI will never forsake its responsibility. You will persist—as you have for more than 100 years now—in bringing Judaism to life in New Hampshire. Wherever your paths may take you, you will always carry with you the vision of Bamidbar. And we will always meet here again, in this Torah portion, in this glorious abode of God and people, where everyone lives in peace and harmony, where all have a place, a role and a task to play in keeping our tradition, people and faith alive.
The Hebrew word shalom means not only hello and goodbye, but also wholeness and peace. With the image of the Tabernacle in the Wilderness in my mind and heart, I wish you all shalom.
I close with the parting words of the beloved friends, David and Jonathan, “Until we meet again, may God be between thee and me.”
© 2019 by Boaz D. Heilman
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