In chapter 11 the people complain to Moses: מִי יַאֲכִלֵנוּ בָּשָׂר – if only we had meat! זָכַרְנוּ, אֶת-הַדָּגָה, אֲשֶׁר-נֹאכַל בְּמִצְרַיִם, חִנָּם – we remember all the fish that we ate in Egypt for free! וְעַתָּה נַפְשֵׁנוּ יְבֵשָׁה, אֵין כֹּל–בִּלְתִּי, אֶל-הַמָּן עֵינֵינוּ – And now, our souls are dried out…we have nothing except for the manna. And so, God gives them slav – quail. Okay, so the people are about to travel, and they complain about food…does that remind us of anything?

Look back in Exodus, as the Israelites arrive in the desert. Despite their horrific experiences in Egypt, despite God having just rescued them, they complain: “If only we died in Egypt! כִּי-הוֹצֵאתֶם אֹתָנוּ אֶל-הַמִּדְבָּר הַזֶּה, לְהָמִית אֶת-כָּל-הַקָּהָל הַזֶּה בָּרָעָב – You brought us to the desert to die of hunger!”
Both stories take place at the beginning of Israel’s travels in the desert – in Exodus, from the Sea of Reeds, and in Numbers, from Sinai. And in both stories, the people long for food.

God gives the people manna in response to their hunger, but He also gives them something else: וַיְהִי בָעֶרֶב–וַתַּעַל הַשְּׂלָו, וַתְּכַס אֶת-הַמַּחֲנֶה – at night, the quails came up and covered the camp. And those same two foods are the focus in Numbers too.
At some point after the story in Exodus, the quail stops. In Numbers, the people complain that all they have is manna, and in response, וַיָּגָז שַׂלְוִים מִן-הַיָּם, וַיִּטֹּשׁ עַל-הַמַּחֲנֶה – the wind brought forth quails from the sea and they fell by the camp. And YeHoVaH seems angry with their greediness.

Not only is the content of the complaints similar, but they both follow the same structural formula.
There are also some jarring differences. In Exodus, they actually have no food. They’re scared they’ll die of starvation. But in Numbers, that’s not true at all, they’ve had manna since that Exodus story!
In Exodus, God seems to understand the people. He simply provides them with what they ask for. But God’s reaction in Numbers couldn’t be more different. וַיִּחַר-אַף יְהוָה מְאֹד – God was enraged. And ultimately, וַיַּךְ יְהוָה בָּעָם, מַכָּה רַבָּה מְאֹד – God struck the people with an extremely severe blow.

What’s going on here in Numbers?

In Exodes they had an encounter with YeHoVaH’s power, but not His loving caress much. They had no idea what a loving God was! YeHoVaH says, I’ll show you I’m with you, that I love you. I’ll provide for you, tenderly, lovingly – with food. I’ll give you manna, and quail. And then I’ll be with you at Sinai, and we’ll spend a year getting close to each other.

When YeHoVaH provided the manna, it was given with two restrictions. First, when they collected each day, v’laktu davar yom b’yomo, they could only take exactly the amount they’d need for that one day. And secondly, viheichinu et asher yavi’u, v’haya mishneh – they would collect double on Friday, but would not collect at all on the Sabbath. But…why?

Could it be that this is a test about if we are able to let YeHoVaH be in control?
Can we let go of our control?

We have a natural desire to be in control, control is security. We don’t have security when we’re not in control. We’re utterly vulnerable.
In this new relationship YeHoVaH is building with us, YeHoVaH says, this isn’t going to work unless you’re completely open to being in this relationship with Me.

In Numbers there’s no worry of starvation…YeHoVaH has been providing them with food.
There’s something odd here. Right after the complaint, the verses go into great details about how people would prepare the manna. וְטָחֲנוּ בָרֵחַיִם, אוֹ דָכוּ בַּמְּדֹכָה- they’d grind it and pound it. וּבִשְּׁלוּ בַּפָּרוּר, וְעָשׂוּ אֹתוֹ עֻגוֹת – they cooked it and made cakes. The people are trying to process the manna…to put their own stamp on it, it looks like.
But at its core, could it be that the people just don’t want to rely on heavenly bread?
They don’t want to be completely vulnerable to YeHoVaH.

That’s why, I think, YeHoVaH responds so harshly. He provided for them. He gave them rules to help them learn that they can give up control, they can rely on Him!

When He gave them food in the desert for the first time, He said, if you follow My ways — if you put your trust in me — כל המחלה אשר שמתי במצרים לא אשים אליך – all the destruction that I brought upon Egypt I won’t bring upon you. I will take care of you, you just have to let yourself be vulnerable.

This is the challenge we also face….can we totally let Him be in control? I now that I really do struggle with this. Sometimes i just need security …to know where I am going or heading towards….
But YeHoVaH says trust ME i know what is best. Not always easy!

This part of torah seems like a duplicate of Ex.16 when they first came into the land.

Both stories take place at beginning of Israel’s travels in the desert – in Exodus, from the Sea of Reeds, and in Numbers, from Sinai. And in both stories, the people long for food.

But in the first portion YeHoVaH was a loving Father who understood their concern. He provided them with Manna and Quails.

In Numbers 11 they are mourning again that they don’t have meat. It looks like the quails had stopped from falling the first time.
But in this portion YeHoVaH is furious with them. and rains down His destruction. Why?

The people complain that all they have is manna – which has continued to feed the Israelites since that very first story. And in response, וַיָּגָז שַׂלְוִים מִן-הַיָּם, וַיִּטֹּשׁ עַל-הַמַּחֲנֶה – the wind brought forth quails from the sea and they fell by the camp.
Both chapters follow the same structural formula.

There are also some jarring differences. In Exodus, they actually have no food. They’re scared they’ll die of starvation. But in Numbers, that’s not true at all, they’ve had manna since that Exodus story! And yet, they complain as if the situation is the same: We’re dried out! אֵין כֹּל– we have nothing. בִּלְתִּי, אֶל-הַמָּן עֵינֵינוּ – except for this manna.

What is going on here? Why is YeHoVaH angry this time?

The key may be in one last difference between the two stories. In Exodus, after the people complain, God says to Moses: שָׁמַעְתִּי, אֶת-תְּלוּנֹּת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל – I’ve heard the complaints of the people. דַּבֵּר אֲלֵהֶם לֵאמֹר בֵּין הָעַרְבַּיִם תֹּאכְלוּ בָשָׂר, וּבַבֹּקֶר תִּשְׂבְּעוּ-לָחֶם – tell them that at night, they’ll eat meat, and in the morning, bread. וִידַעְתֶּם, כִּי אֲנִי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵיכֶם – so that they’ll know that I’m God.
What does that mean, so that they’ll know I’m God?

They had seen that YeHoVaH was powerful, but…loving? They had no idea what a loving God even was! YeHoVaH says; I’ll show that you I’m with you, that I love you. I’ll provide for you, tenderly, lovingly – with food. I’ll give you manna, and quail. And then I’ll be with you at Sinai, and we’ll spend a year getting close to each other.

When God provided the manna the first time, it was given with two restrictions. First, when they collected each day, v’laktu davar yom b’yomo, they could only take exactly the amount they’d need for that one day. And secondly, viheichinu et asher yavi’u, v’haya mishneh – they would collect double on Friday, but would not collect at all on the Sabbath. But…why?

We humans have a natural desire to be in control, because in our minds, control is security. When we don’t have security, when we’re not in control, we’re exposed. Unprotected. We’re utterly vulnerable.
So when they complained back in Exodus, it wasn’t only about a lack of food and it isn’t this time either.

This time, there’s no worry of starvation…God has been providing them with food. But there’s something odd. Right after the complaint, the verses go into great details about how people would prepare the manna. וְטָחֲנוּ בָרֵחַיִם, אוֹ דָכוּ בַּמְּדֹכָה- they’d grind it and pound it. וּבִשְּׁלוּ בַּפָּרוּר, וְעָשׂוּ אֹתוֹ עֻגוֹת – they cooked it and made cakes.

They say that the issue is lack of food choice, but at its core, the people just don’t want to rely on heavenly bread. We don’t want to be completely vulnerable to God.

That’s why God responds so harshly. God says: I knew you were nervous to be completely vulnerable, to cede all control. So I was patient. I provided for you. I gave you rules to ease you into it, to help you learn that you can give up control, you can rely on me! When I gave you food in the desert for the first time, I told you, if you follow in My ways — if you put your trust in me — כל המחלה אשר שמתי במצרים לא אשים אליך – all the destruction that I brought upon Egypt I won’t bring upon you. I will take care of you, you just have to let yourself be vulnerable. But after all that, you still reject me.

At the heart of the issue, both of these stories are about being vulnerable in our relationship with YeHoVaH. And that’s a challenge we can certainly relate to. At least I can.

Shabbat Shalom

I heard a teaching of the priestly blessing which explained that this blessing is also a guide for parent hood. I find this very intriguing.

The Fist; “YeHoVaH bless you and keep you” is all about compassion!
The parent has two fundamental obligations towards a child: to build that child, to increase his or her strength, and to safeguard that child. This obligation is a lifetime obligation, but it begins when the child is in the womb. Indeed, the womb is the paradigmatic case of building and sheltering a child.

These two things, sheltering and building, which we sometimes call compassion, rachamim, these are not the only obligations that a parent has. They open the door for a new way that a parent can relate to a child, a new way that a parent can bestow love. In fact, love really is what “birkat kohanim” is all about.
All three verses are really about three different kinds of love that a parent can express to a child, the very first of which we can call rachamim. But there are two others as well.

The three kinds of love encased in birkat kohanim itself. The first kind, rachamim, compassion. The second is; “Ya’eir Hashem panav eilecha v’yechuneka”, how should we translate those words? Ya’eir means to shine or to illuminate. Now a little puzzle presents itself. Ya’eir is a verb; what is the direct object of the verb? One way to read the verse is that the direct object is eilecha, you, which is to say let G-d shine His face upon you. But there is another possible way to read the verse. What if the direct object of the verb was not you, but is panav, G-d’s face? What if you read the verse this way, “ya’eir Hashem panav”, let G-d illuminate His own face towards you. Let G-d light up His face when He sees you.

V’yechuneka”, let Him grant you grace. What does grace mean? The Hebrew word chein comes from the word lechanein, also related to chinam, for free; to give for free. It’s completely undeserved love. It’s what we might call unconditional love. It’s different than rachamim, compassion. Compassion is the love that I bestow in order to attain something. It is conditional. I’m trying to build you up. I have a goal. Theoretically, if a parent would see that a child has absolutely no potential, there would be no room for compassion kind of love. It’s impossible to build. Indeed, a womb is very discerning about the rachamim that it bestows. It bestows this compassion, this nurturing, only if it perceives potential. If it does not perceive potential, there will be a miscarriage.
It’s love for its own sake. It’s love because you are my child, and I can’t help but smile when I look at you.
This kind of love truly fuels the child’s growth. It’s what a child lives on. Once you have bestowed rachamim, once you’ve bestowed compassion, once you’ve cared for your child, safeguarded them, invested in them, built them up, then you can’t help but feel chein. The giving of chein is the second kind of love that a parent gives a child.

The third kind of love is built on the first two. Once you have invested in your child with rachamim, with compassion; once you have spent years bestowing chein, grace upon him, just enjoying the child; you are finally in a position to be able to offer a third kind of love, a much more difficult kind of love to offer. “Yisa Hashem panav eilecha v’yaseim lecha shalom”, let G-d lift up His face towards you, and let Him grant you peace. Interesting. The last two verses of birkat kohanim speak of G-d’s face; the first did not.

In the first 2 forms the child is defenceless. He can do nothing. Indeed, this love is undeserved. It comes completely from the parent. It is top-down love.
But there is another kind of love, too, another way to meet the gaze of your child. It’s not when you look down at your child; it’s when you look across at him and you meet his gaze.

“Yisa Hashem panav eilecha”, let G-d pick up His face. It’s as if G-d’s face is downcast. Why would G-d’s face be downcast? It’s a moment later in life, after child has become someone that I can look across at horizontally, equal to me. Someone who can choose just like I, parent, can choose. There is, of course, the possibility then that he will choose differently than me.

When we are separate from G-d, even when we have sinned before G-d, at the end of the day when all the words have been spoken, let G-d lift His eyes from the floor and meet our gaze as equals look across at us. When our eyes meet it’s a moment of love. It’s a much more difficult love for a parent to give, but to truly be a parent, it means to be able to let go. It means able to accept your child, even in moments when they disappoint us. It is one thing to look down at a child and to meet his gaze; that is chein. It is a much harder thing to look across at a child and meet his gaze and give him shalom, give him peace.

If the Mishkan is G-d’s face, as it were, in the world, then the Menorah is the light, the light that G-d shines towards us. “Ya’eir Hashem panav eilecha v’yechuneka”, it’s the grace that G-d bestows, the unconditional love.

There are three kinds of love that birkat kohanim speaks of: rachamim, compassion; chein, unconditional love; and then love between equals. Love when I let you go your separate way, when I grant you the gift of peace with me.
Once the Mishkan was complete, the blessing of Aaron’s children was that G-d’s love should continue forever to radiate into our lives, and that we would pass this love on to our own children….as an everlasting blessing!

This is an explanation of Aleph Beta which gives very nice insights!
Hope you enjoy this.

Parshat Bamidbar is all about counting. G-d commands Moshe to count the people and Rashi remarks strangely enough; Mitoch chibatan lefonov moneh otam kol sha’ah – because G-d has a sense of love for Israel He counts them all the time. It’s a very strange statement by Rashi because it sounds almost like a billionaire who rubs his hand in glee and keeps on counting his money, what does it mean that G-d can’t stop counting us, and that’s somehow an act of love?
I’d like to discuss that with you today and I’d like to get under way by talking about the two words that are used most often in our Parsha for the idea of counting; Nasah and Pakad – those are the root words. You’ll see them over and over again in our Parsha. But what’s particularly interesting about these words is this, the words mean something else besides counting too. Take a look for a minute at these two remarkable verses where these words appear. Here’s the first verse. Vayedaber Hashem el Moshe leimor – G-d says to Moses; Ach et mateh Levi loh tifkod – do not count the tribe of Levi. So Levi is going to be separated from the community, they’re not going to be counted along with them. Then it says; V’et rosham loh tisah – and also don’t count their heads. Here we have these two words Pakad and Nasah being used for counting, which we might expect.
But look at the very next verse. V’atah hafkeid et haLevi’im al mishkan ha’eidut – do you see that? Hafkeid comes from the very same Shoresh as Pakad – count, but it doesn’t mean count, it means appoint the Levites upon the Tabernacle. They’re going to be in charge of the Tabernacle and all of its associated utensils. Then, as if on cue, look at the next verb you have. Heima yisu et haMishkan – they’re going to carry the Mishkan, but the word for carry is Yisu which is that same Shoresh as Nasah. So you have these same words that used to mean to count in a verse right after they’ve been used to mean to count but now they don’t mean count anymore, they mean something else entirely; appoint and carry. Leading to the great question, are the two meanings for each of these words related to one another? Is there a connection between counting and appointing? Is there a connection between counting and lifting?
Let’s examine each word and its double meanings a little bit more closely. Let’s start with Nasah – to count or to lift up. It turns out that whenever our Parsha uses the word Nasah in the sense of count it’s always paired with; Se’u et rosh benei yisrael – lift up the heads of the children of Israel. What a strange way of thinking about counting. Because you can play a little game here, you know if I’m lifting up heads then where were the heads before I lifted them? Presumably they were looking down – which I think gives a really interesting kind of spin to the notion of what it means to count heads. There seems to be something affirming in some way about counting. It’s almost like someone has gone from feeling downcast and now they’re looking up and counting somehow is the thing that made it happen. And if that sounds entirely farfetched to you, just think about the English word count, it really has two meanings. One in the sense of numerically counting things, the other in terms of self-worth; when somebody has self-worth they feel like they count. That’s kind of interesting.

• 
  Judith Damminga
  February 26, 2019 at 7:30 am  /

  Now let’s talk about that other word, Pakad. We said before that Pakad can mean to count, it can also mean to appoint. But actually rather than the word appoint I would say more precisely it means to entrust. It’s related to the Hebrew word Pikadon. A Pikadon is an object that I give you that I own that I entrust you with, I give it to you for safekeeping. In a way that’s what happens when you get appointed to carry out some sort of responsibility, you’re actually entrusted with some sort of responsibility, it’s like you’ve been given a Pikadon to watch over, to safeguard. So somehow then maybe this idea of being counted also has to do with the idea of being entrusted in some way.
  Maybe the two meanings of Pakad – entrust/count, and the two meanings of Nasah – lift up/count, are kind of connected to each other. Maybe the idea of Pakad explains the idea of Nasah. In other words, if you ask what is it about being counted that makes me feel meaningful? That makes be able to lift up my face? The answer is it’s the idea of being entrusted, having some sort of responsibility with reference to a goal that’s much larger than myself. When I feel entrusted with that goal I really do feel like I count.
  You see, at the end of the day what makes me feel as if I can lift my face up in the morning? What makes me feel like my life counts for something? Most people would say the answer to that is in living for something that is larger than yourself. If the only meaning of my life is self-preservation then it’s like I live in order to live, that doesn’t seem very meaningful, I need to live for something that’s larger than myself, that will continue to exist, that will be noble and good and right even when I, little me, goes away. This idea of meaning is one of the reasons why people join communities. [I’m going to 6:05] ask you this, why not just be a solitary individual? A rugged individual, [let’s say] cowboy off in Never-Never Land. Why be a part of a group at all? So yes there’s all sorts of reasons, there’s self-preservation, we can band together and protect ourselves better if we’re part of a group. But there’s actually a positive reason for joining a group as well, I might want to join a community if there was some sort of large, overarching goal that I could not achieve just by myself. One person can’t solve poverty in Africa, one person can’t ensure that battered children have a place to go on a dark and cold night. We join together with others when the projects we are trying to achieve exceed the grasp of any one individual.
  But there’s also a danger here. Sometimes I join together with a group of individuals but the individuals don’t really form a group, there’s no real cohesion, it’s just a whole bunch of people living together and I feel alone and isolated even though there is zillions of people around me. Each individual has very fine ideals, but one doesn’t really connect to another and there’s no overall purpose for the group. That’s one kind of failed community. But there’s another kind of failed community too, which is a community whose sense of community is so dramatic, so pronounced, that it squashes all sense of individuality from among its members. The Western complaint against Communism was essentially that, it’s a faceless kind of community, there is no room for the individuality in a community that swallows everything.

  • 
    Judith Damminga
    February 26, 2019 at 7:32 am  /

    But there’s a third kind of community, the kind of community that actually works, where people actually can find meaning. Every individual has a part of them which is their own individual identity, but there’s a communal identity as well, and these things harmonize with each other, they work together. Each member of the community has a vital role to play in actualizing the mission of the whole.
    These three kinds of communities can kind of be symbolized by the three painters I was talking to you about in the very beginning. Take a look at the art of Jackson Pollock for example. Every individual element is recognizable, but there’s no sense that it’s coming together in any kind of way that makes this thing a whole, it just all looks random. That’s one kind of failed community, the individual is there but there is no sense of community, no sense of shared purpose here. Then at the other extreme take a look at a painter like Monet. Monet creates a very beautiful scene when you look at it as a whole, but when you try to identify the individual elements they’re not there. When you look carefully at the people you notice that they really aren’t even people at all, they’re just little, indistinguishable brushes of paint. There is no individually carved out identity. So that’s another model of community, that’s the community that swallows all.
    But then there’s Georges Seurat the founder of Pointillism. When you look at his paintings from afar there is a grand scheme, it all comes together, but the theme does not come at the sacrifice of the individual. If you zoom in at its closest level, every little mark of paint is its own individual dot, everything is distinguishable. Each defined dot has its role to play in the execution of the whole. The painting works because the dots come together to make something grand, they all count. And, in being counted they are entrusted with the sacred purpose of the whole picture.
    You see, what is it like to be part of the middle kind of community? That community where individuality is prized but communal purpose is sacred. In that kind of community as an individual I want to lend my unique capabilities and gifts towards a great communal goal that I can believe in. I want to contribute to the grand communal enterprise, because by contributing I count. It’s probably why elsewhere in the Torah when Israel is counted each person is meant to contribute something physical, a half-Shekel. It’s by contributing to a communal endeavor that we count. And we count because we feel that we have a stake in the great mission of the community, that we are entrusted with that mission. That we are somehow personally responsible for it. It is through that sense of being entrusted with goals that are larger than myself, that I get real meaning in life.

    I found this inspiring;-)