Mem Moment 5785: Numbers

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The Jewish people are deeply intertwined with place, yet we exist in a liminal space between identities - people of the land, people of Jerusalem and people of wandering, people of diaspora. This dichotomy brings about one of the classic questions in all of our tradition that emerges in this week’s Torah portion, Bamidbar: Why was the Torah, one of the holiest pieces of our tradition, given in the desert?

Spoiler - Jewish tradition can’t decide. In fact, we are left with many options of why - meaning we get to decide. According to tradition the Torah was given in the desert because…

1. B. Sanhedrin 49a

2. Rashi on I Kings 2:34

3. Rabbeinu Bahya, Shemot 37:1:4

4. Yalkhut Shimoni Parshat Yitro 286:10

5. Exodus Rabbah 2:5

6. Kotzker Rebbe on Parshat Bamidbar

7. Rabbi Jackson’s take on Parshat Bamidbar

8. Gary Snyder, “The Etiquette of Freedom,” The Practice of the Wild: Essays by Gary Snyder (1990): 9, North Point Press, New York.

9. The “Wilderness” as Snyder describes it is “a place where the wild potential is fully expressed, a diversity of living and nonliving beings flourishing according to their own sorts of order… when an ecosystem is fully functioning, all the members are present at the assembly”. ibid., Pg. 8.

10. Rabbi Jackson’s take on Parshat Bamidbar

In Parashat Nasso, this week’s Torah portion, two seemingly unrelated topics appear right next to one another. The first topic is about giving gifts to the priests (Numbers 5:9-10) and the second topic is about a jealous husband who suspects his wife of cheating without any real proof (Numbers 5:11-31). Searching for literary continuity between these themes, our Talmud (B’rakhot 63a) asks what the relationship is between these two topics. It explains that one who separates taxes for the priest but does not give them will eventually need the priest to perform an elaborate ceremony to settle the issue of the jealous husband. It is not obvious from the Talmud if this is the result of Divine punishment for not giving taxes to the priest or a warning about souring a relationship on whom one might later come to rely.

I would like to suggest it is a lesson on the intertwined nature between the relationship of a community and its leadership and the relationship among the individuals of that community. The Talmud never assigns all or any of the blame on the non-priest. Perhaps both the priest and the non-priest share in the blame. It is the priest’s job to approach non-priests to collect taxes, and the non-priests are permitted to give their taxes to whichever priest they like. The priest cannot force people to give to him. Rather, the priest must cultivate the proper relationship with the people so that they give over their taxes willingly. The Torah’s lesson for us is that a leader who fails to properly cultivate relationships with the community has a partial hand in causing breakdowns in relationships among the group as well.

This sets a goal for those of us with leadership roles in the Jewish community: to recall the awesome responsibility the Torah puts upon religious leadership. A religious leader cannot take all the credit or the blame for the community they lead. Like the priest whose job it is to ensure people properly pay their taxes but is not permitted to force any hands, the job of a religious leader is neither to allow people to be remiss in their religious connections, nor is it to coerce people in their religious duties. Instead, it is to create relationships that encourage the community religiously. To do so can also help to create not just a strong religious community, but a strong community as a community. May God grant us the strength to live up to this awesome responsibility.

We are in the season of graduations!!! Middle schoolers get to step into the big leagues, high schoolers are going to find out how to do their own laundry and college graduates will soon learn that the real world doesn’t come with a syllabus and entry-level still requires 5 years of experience. What a time to be alive in these moments of transition. I look back myself and see what one year has brought in this wonderful organization as my fellow rabbinic students don their graduation garb today. It is an exciting time, it is an inspiring moment and in the same breath transitions can be overwhelming. We love the systems that we are used to, and the characters that shape our day-to-day. There’s a reason why NBA teams win 60% of their home games despite all things being equal. Familiarity breeds safety breeds comfort breeds consistency.

In this week’s portion, we read about a graduation in its own right. After camping at Mount Sinai for more than a year, it was time to get up and get going. Right at this pivotal moment, the Torah does something that it doesn’t do anywhere else, it writes a 2 sentence paragraph that speaks to G-d’s protection. What is unique, here is how this sentence sets itself apart with inverted nuns; like divine parentheses. This signals that this moment is more than a transition; it’s a launch. It’s as if the Torah is marking the moment with holy punctuation, saying: pay attention, something big is shifting. The rabbis of the Talmud (Shabbat 116a), unsure what to make of this anomalous lettering suggest something radical: that these two verses are actually their own book. The claim seems somewhat exaggerated. You mean to say that the blessing contained in these two verses packs the same punch as the entire book of Genesis? Really?!? Perhaps, it is not a whole book, “the 6 books of Moses just doesn’t have the same ring to it, but it is a document. In the hustle and bustle of transition, G-d gives us a diploma, so that we can hang on our wall, and as we go on our way, and let life take us wherever it may, we can be reminded of the ebullience, the inspiration and the charge we all had on the day that we were ready to leave.

When the twelve spies returned from Canaan, ten of them were overcome with fear. “We were like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and so we were in their eyes” (Numbers 13:33). These words reflect the deep doubts that can arise in each of us when we face the unknown. Fear of the new is natural. We doubt our abilities, exaggerate obstacles, and, like the spies, may feel small and powerless. But do others see us as we perceive ourselves? Or is this just our internal fear speaking?

Among the twelve, however, there were two—Joshua and Caleb—who remained courageous and faithful. They understood that true strength is not the absence of fear but the ability to overcome it, drawing support from faith and each other. In life, we can be “ten grasshoppers in a coat”—if we unite, support one another, and see ourselves through the eyes of those who believe in us. Together, we can become a giant, capable of overcoming any obstacle.

We are taught in Pirkei Avot (5:17):

“Any disagreement (מחלוקת/machloket) that is for the sake of Heaven will endure in the end. Any disagreement not for the sake of Heaven will not endure in the end. Whose disagreement is for the sake of Heaven? Rabbis Hillel and Shammai. Whose is not for the sake of Heaven? Korach and his supporters.”

The Babylonian Talmud further explains (Eruvin 13b) that Rabbi Hillel would teach the words of Rabbi Shammai before his own. Hillel was not worried about his own ego, but rather he cared about creating a Jewish discourse that held both the majority and minority opinions. All viewpoints were necessary and valued.

So, what is the deal with Korach, whose disagreements were “not for the sake of Heaven?” This week’s Torah portion, named appropriately Parashat Korach, begins with Korach and his congregation revolting against Moses and Aaron. We read:

“[Korach and his congregation] combined against Moses and Aaron and said to them, ‘You have gone too far! For all the community is holy, all of them, and God is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above God’s congregation?’” (Numbers 16:3).

A leadership battle ensues: Moses and Aaron versus Korach and his supporters! Each group is to bring an offering before God and whoever’s offering is accepted shall be declared leader. (Spoiler: Korach loses, and the earth opens and swallows them all.)

Korach’s claim that the entire community is holy is correct; we are all created in the image of the Divine. But the issue lies in Korach’s approach. One medieval commentator, Bartenura, writes that Korach only cared about elevating his own power, rather than actually finding holiness through community. He was concerned with his own ego.

It is tough work to give both our opinions and those with which we disagree equal weight. But we are reminded to emulate the qualities of Rabbis Hillel and Shammai and to not let our egos outweigh healthy discourse and thus world building.

I know this sounds dramatic, but I'm reading this week's parashah at my desk and crying.

The Torah portion opens with immense detail for a "chukat haTorah" (ritual law) about finding and ritually slaughtering an unblemished red cow to purify oneself from encountering a corpse. Impressively enough (huge thanks to the Torah for being weird), that's not what's disturbing me. The piece of this parashah that upsets me the most is that Moshe loses both of his siblings one right after the other, and just thinking about losing my sister is heartbreaking, but the difference in how Miriam and Aaron's deaths are talked about is hurting my heart.

The first line of Bamidbar/Numbers chapter 20 says:

The Israelites arrived in a body at the wilderness of Zin on the first new moon, and the people stayed at Kadesh. Miriam died there and was buried there.

That's her one-liner, followed by the community being without water and rebelling/contending with Moshe and Aaron. Then, at the end of the chapter, God says to Moshe and to Aaron:

“Let Aaron be gathered to his kin: he is not to enter the land that I have assigned to the Israelite people, because you disobeyed My command about the Waters of Meribah...

Moshe, Aaron, and Elazar proceed to go up Mount Hor, Moshe takes of Aaron's garments and he dresses Elazar in them, and then Aaron dies at the top of the mountain before Moshe and Elazar come down from the mountain. Then it's written that the whole community saw that Aaron had passed away, and they cried/mourned him for 30 days.

I know these blurbs are supposed to be short and sweet (and this one's already longer than it should be), so my request is just that you take a few minutes to think about the differences between what was said about Miriam's death and Aaron's death. There's a Jewish idea that someone's soul hangs out keeping us company until the last person forgets their name, and I think about that all the time - it's one of the reasons I tell stories about my grandparents, share random memories with my friends, and ask people about the people they've lost. This week, I hope that you can think about one person you love who has died. How did/do you mourn them? How do you talk about them? How do you keep their memory alive?

I don’t know if you’ve ever used a VPN, but they are truly remarkable. In a few clicks, you can watch a show that is only aired in Japan like a Tokyo local, you can avoid regional set-cost discrimination revealing the invisible hand of algorithmic price gouging and in countries with government censorship there are cases of folks using VPNs to share information that is otherwise trying to be suppressed; all without leaving your couch. Without getting too technical, what makes VPNs so incredible is that they help remove the invisible virtual walls that separate cultures and communities from one another and help realize the dream of a digital age. A world where ideas could cross-pollinate and opportunity could blossom in every which corner. When something gets too large, there is fear of losing control and so, over time, there have been attempts to reel in the unbridled force of the online world. VPNs are thus an attempt to swing back and give power back to the people. I mention this, because what VPNs are to the internet, I see in many ways Mem Global is to the physical world. In the last 100 years, Florida’s population has grown by 20x, through immigrant waves and city expansion our state’s population has truly exploded and yet never has isolation and loneliness been more prevalent. There is such starvation for human connection and these invisible barriers block us from bridging those gaps. This is not to say that we don’t find ourselves more susceptible towards tricky situations and challenges, but the erasure of community is far more dangerous than any one of those dangers and I believe it is worth it for us to pursue at great lengths this important mission we are on.

In this week’s portion, Balak, we see three instances of invisible barriers obstructing the Prophet Bilaam’s way. His mission is to understand the inner workings of the Jewish community and his first obstruction comes to him in a dream, where he is told that he cannot proceed, next his own donkey tells him that there is an obstruction in his path and finally he himself finds himself circling the camp, perplexed as to what the barrier to entry is blocking him from gaining access. There are thus three types of obstructions we can find ourselves confronting on our way to creating idealistic pluralistic spaces. The imperceptible blocks in our community may come from a dream source; us not living up to our own ideals. It may be a resource deficiency, or in other words, come from us not having the proper tools or finally it may just be that we ourselves aren’t willing to get out of our beds and take the first step. In the story of Balak, the prophet was blocked because he had an ulterior motive, and so too with VPNs or Mem Global communities, we lend ourselves to being vulnerable when we aspire towards opening up more generous channels of communication and yet there is no greater mission and need than unifying people together when division is so strong. When we do that, through deep introspective reckoning, supporting the resources necessary to make these dreams come true and empowering thousands of emerging leaders to take that first step, we can fulfill the blessing that Bilaam left as his own legacy: “How good are the Jewish tents and the Jewish communal dwellings.”

Parashat Pinchas brings us a rare, powerful story in the Torah. We meet a group of five sisters - Machlah, Noa, Choglah, Milkah, and Tirtzah - who approached Moses before the entire nation. We learn that their father, Zelophehad, had died. According to the law, if a man dies, then his sons were to inherit his property, a piece of territory once they enter the Promised Land. As Zelophehad had no sons, his five daughters turned to Moses and requested that they receive the land that would have gone to their father.

“Let not our father’s name be lost to his clan just because he had no son! Give us a holding among our father’s kinsmen!” Moses brought their case before G-d. And G-d said to Moses, “The plea of Zelophehad’s daughters is just: you should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen; transfer their father’s share to them.” (Bamidbar 27:4-7)

What makes this story so important and powerful? First, because of the case of Zelophehad’s daughters, the laws of inheritance changed and from then on, one who died without sons would have his daughters inherit his property. There are very few details about the five sisters, but the sources we have teach us that these women were intelligent, learned and pious women. We encounter their intelligence in their clear presentation of their case in front of Moses, and we hear G-d saying that the sisters have spoken correctly. An interesting detail about them is that in a few places where the sisters’ names are listed, they always appear in a different order, which shows us that they were all equal in their wisdom and righteousness.

What makes this story so important and powerful? First, because of the case of Zelophehad’s daughters, the laws of inheritance changed and from then on, one who died without sons would have his daughters inherit his property. There are very few details about the five sisters, but the sources we have teach us that these women were intelligent, learned and pious women. We encounter their intelligence in their clear presentation of their case in front of Moses, and we hear G-d saying that the sisters have spoken correctly. An interesting detail about them is that in a few places where the sisters’ names are listed, they always appear in a different order, which shows us that they were all equal in their wisdom and righteousness.


Parashat Matot-Masei "Tribes-Travels"July 24, 2025 | 28 Tammuz 5785 Keeping the Main Thing the Main ThingBy Rabbi Dimitry Ekshtut, Base Harlem

In his 2014 book Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less, Greg McKeown explains that “the word priority came into the English language in the 1400s. It was singular. It meant the very first or prior thing. It stayed singular for the next five hundred years. Only in the 1900s did we pluralize the term and start talking about priorities. Illogically, we reasoned that by changing the word we could bend reality. Somehow, we would now be able to have multiple “first” things. People and companies routinely try to do just that. One leader told me of this experience in a company that talked of “Pri-1, Pri-2, Pri-3, Pri-4, and Pri-5.” This gave the impression of many things being the priority but actually meant nothing was.”

Before crossing the Jordan River into the Land of Israel, the tribes of Reuven and Gad petitioned Moshe to let them remain east of the Jordan, outside of the Land, where there was more fertile pasture for their livestock. “Then they stepped up to him and said, ‘We will build here [east of the Jordan] enclosures for our flocks and towns for our children.’” (Bamidbar 32:16)

Moshe struck a bargain with Reuven and Gad - they would lead the conquest of the Land alongside their brethren, after which they would return to their homes east of the Jordan. But in confirming their pledge, Moshe notably switches the order of operations. “Build towns for your children and enclosures for your flocks,” Moshe instructs, “but do what you have promised.” (Bamidbar 32:24)

Rashi, the famed medieval French commentator, notes in this reordering an implied admonition. “[The tribes of Reuven and Gad] paid more attention to their property than to their sons and daughters, because they mentioned their livestock before their children. Moshe said to them, “Not so! Make the main thing (ikar) the main thing and what is subordinate (tafel) subordinate. First build cities for your little ones and afterwards enclosures for your flocks.”

In our fast-paced lives, with constant competing claims on our finite resources, it is crucial to identify for oneself what is ikar – what is core – and what is tafel – what is, at best, secondary. Then, the real work begins – to keep the main thing the main thing, and not let the tafel intrude on our ikar.