“The desert speaks
The desert, the desert speaks
The desert says
Ancient secret things
The desert speaks from our past
Things happened in the desert
Voices were seen from the desert
The secret was given in the desert
Silence was in the desert
Desert”
(HaBrira HaTivit (The Natural Selection)/ Shlomo Bar)
It is from a place without permanence, property, land, or security that the human ability to create a moral, sensitive, and compassionate society is tested. In a settled land, one might think that power, abundance, and land are what define a person.
In the desert, everyone depends on one another, and everyone depends on God’s grace — on the manna, the water, and the clouds of glory. The desert dismantles hierarchies of power and wealth and forces the people to understand that society cannot exist without mutual responsibility. One could even say that God does not immediately give Israel a state, an army, and land. First, God sends them to learn how to be humane to one another. In the desert, everyone eats the same manna. There is no true rich or poor.
In our parashah, the arrangement of the camp teaches that each tribe has its place. Every person has a banner, an identity, and a sense of belonging:
"The Israelites shall camp each [household] with its standard, under the banners of their ancestral house;” (Numbers 2:2)
The desert creates a society in which every group has a place without erasing its uniqueness.
The desert teaches interdependence and compassion. In the desert, one cannot survive alone. There is no agriculture, no stability, and no readily available natural resources.
Human vulnerability becomes visible, and therefore the Torah repeatedly emphasizes responsibility toward the weak through the memory of the desert: “You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Deuteronomy 10:19). The experience of being strangers in Egypt is also the experience of being “strangers in the desert.” It is meant to cultivate moral sensitivity. One who has been homeless should not humiliate other homeless people. One who has needed kindness should know how to extend kindness.
An exemplary society is born out of deprivation. Surprisingly, the Torah is not given in a palace but in the desert. The sages asked why the Torah was given specifically there, and one answer is that the desert belongs to everyone. It is ownerless. No one can say, “The Torah belongs only to me.”
This may be one of the greatest social teachings of the Book of Numbers. True holiness is not created through ownership and power but through openness and sharing. The Tabernacle, too, stands at the center of the camp:
“The Israelites shall encamp troop by troop… The Levites, however, shall camp around the Tabernacle of the Pact” (Numbers 1:52–53).
The center of society is not the king, the army, or wealth, but holiness and shared responsibility.
The Book of Numbers is full of figures who are “outside the camp,” and the response to them teaches much about social morality. For example, the book presents a revolutionary principle: “the same ritual and the same rule shall apply to you and to the stranger who resides among you.” (Numbers 15:15). The same law applies to everyone. There is here a statement of fundamental equality before the law, even for strangers.
Perhaps this is the secret of the desert. The desert is an empty place, and therefore something new can be built there.
In Egypt, the Israelites were slaves.
In the land, they may become people of power. But in the desert, they learn the hardest lesson of all: how to become a nation without forgetting the vulnerable. Perhaps this is why the Book of Numbers is also filled with failures, complaints, and crises. The Torah does not portray a perfect model society, but rather a long journey of human beings learning compassion, responsibility, and boundaries.
To conclude, I would like to bring a short quotation from an article by my late father, Rabbi Michael Graetz z”l:
“The side that refuses compassion exists and is present in the national and personal consciousness of many Jews, at least from the Middle Ages until today. We have become accustomed to activating a sense of lack of compassion as an almost instinctive response toward ‘non-Jews.’ Perhaps because our existential condition in so many places in the world was horrifying and frightening. Hatred of Judaism and Jews creates defensiveness, and this is more understandable when there truly are enemies who wish to destroy us. As Woody Allen says, ‘Even paranoids have enemies.’ But our tradition is very careful about judgment and deep, reasoned moral thinking whenever people believe compassion must be withheld. Thus we learn from the midrash about the rescue of Ishmael when Abraham cast him and Hagar into the desert.In order to move forward from the position of a persecuted people in exile, we must restore the positive attribute of compassion to the high and important status it held in the Bible and in the early rabbinic literature. We must emphasize it in our religious thought and practice toward every human being simply because they are human. Compassion is one of the clearest and strongest qualities connecting God and the divine image implanted within every person. Let us elevate and dedicate compassion as a national project for the State of Israel.”
With the hope that compassion will rise up and fill all our people and leaders, for only through it can we once again become a leading society — an exemplary society that safeguards the humanity of every person.
Shabbat Shalom!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rabbi Ariella Graetz Bartuv was ordained to the rabbinate at Hebrew Union College in Jerusalem. She serves as Rabbi of the Ohel Avraham Congregation at the Leo Buck Education Center in Haifa and is also the director of the center's community department. Ariella was born in Israel, is married to Menashe, and they have three children. She is the daughter of the late Rabbi Michael Gratz and Naomi, who were among the founders of the traditional movement in Israel. Ariella defines herself as an Israeli product of liberal and pluralistic Judaism.
The desert, the desert speaks
The desert says
Ancient secret things
The desert speaks from our past
Things happened in the desert
Voices were seen from the desert
The secret was given in the desert
Silence was in the desert
Desert”
(HaBrira HaTivit (The Natural Selection)/ Shlomo Bar)
It is from a place without permanence, property, land, or security that the human ability to create a moral, sensitive, and compassionate society is tested. In a settled land, one might think that power, abundance, and land are what define a person.
In the desert, everyone depends on one another, and everyone depends on God’s grace — on the manna, the water, and the clouds of glory. The desert dismantles hierarchies of power and wealth and forces the people to understand that society cannot exist without mutual responsibility. One could even say that God does not immediately give Israel a state, an army, and land. First, God sends them to learn how to be humane to one another. In the desert, everyone eats the same manna. There is no true rich or poor.
In our parashah, the arrangement of the camp teaches that each tribe has its place. Every person has a banner, an identity, and a sense of belonging:
"The Israelites shall camp each [household] with its standard, under the banners of their ancestral house;” (Numbers 2:2)
The desert creates a society in which every group has a place without erasing its uniqueness.
The desert teaches interdependence and compassion. In the desert, one cannot survive alone. There is no agriculture, no stability, and no readily available natural resources.
Human vulnerability becomes visible, and therefore the Torah repeatedly emphasizes responsibility toward the weak through the memory of the desert: “You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Deuteronomy 10:19). The experience of being strangers in Egypt is also the experience of being “strangers in the desert.” It is meant to cultivate moral sensitivity. One who has been homeless should not humiliate other homeless people. One who has needed kindness should know how to extend kindness.
An exemplary society is born out of deprivation. Surprisingly, the Torah is not given in a palace but in the desert. The sages asked why the Torah was given specifically there, and one answer is that the desert belongs to everyone. It is ownerless. No one can say, “The Torah belongs only to me.”
This may be one of the greatest social teachings of the Book of Numbers. True holiness is not created through ownership and power but through openness and sharing. The Tabernacle, too, stands at the center of the camp:
“The Israelites shall encamp troop by troop… The Levites, however, shall camp around the Tabernacle of the Pact” (Numbers 1:52–53).
The center of society is not the king, the army, or wealth, but holiness and shared responsibility.
The Book of Numbers is full of figures who are “outside the camp,” and the response to them teaches much about social morality. For example, the book presents a revolutionary principle: “the same ritual and the same rule shall apply to you and to the stranger who resides among you.” (Numbers 15:15). The same law applies to everyone. There is here a statement of fundamental equality before the law, even for strangers.
Perhaps this is the secret of the desert. The desert is an empty place, and therefore something new can be built there.
In Egypt, the Israelites were slaves.
In the land, they may become people of power. But in the desert, they learn the hardest lesson of all: how to become a nation without forgetting the vulnerable. Perhaps this is why the Book of Numbers is also filled with failures, complaints, and crises. The Torah does not portray a perfect model society, but rather a long journey of human beings learning compassion, responsibility, and boundaries.
To conclude, I would like to bring a short quotation from an article by my late father, Rabbi Michael Graetz z”l:
“The side that refuses compassion exists and is present in the national and personal consciousness of many Jews, at least from the Middle Ages until today. We have become accustomed to activating a sense of lack of compassion as an almost instinctive response toward ‘non-Jews.’ Perhaps because our existential condition in so many places in the world was horrifying and frightening. Hatred of Judaism and Jews creates defensiveness, and this is more understandable when there truly are enemies who wish to destroy us. As Woody Allen says, ‘Even paranoids have enemies.’ But our tradition is very careful about judgment and deep, reasoned moral thinking whenever people believe compassion must be withheld. Thus we learn from the midrash about the rescue of Ishmael when Abraham cast him and Hagar into the desert.In order to move forward from the position of a persecuted people in exile, we must restore the positive attribute of compassion to the high and important status it held in the Bible and in the early rabbinic literature. We must emphasize it in our religious thought and practice toward every human being simply because they are human. Compassion is one of the clearest and strongest qualities connecting God and the divine image implanted within every person. Let us elevate and dedicate compassion as a national project for the State of Israel.”
With the hope that compassion will rise up and fill all our people and leaders, for only through it can we once again become a leading society — an exemplary society that safeguards the humanity of every person.
Shabbat Shalom!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rabbi Ariella Graetz Bartuv was ordained to the rabbinate at Hebrew Union College in Jerusalem. She serves as Rabbi of the Ohel Avraham Congregation at the Leo Buck Education Center in Haifa and is also the director of the center's community department. Ariella was born in Israel, is married to Menashe, and they have three children. She is the daughter of the late Rabbi Michael Gratz and Naomi, who were among the founders of the traditional movement in Israel. Ariella defines herself as an Israeli product of liberal and pluralistic Judaism.