Dvar Matot-Masei

The medieval Spanish scholar Rambam said about “accounts in the Torah which many think serve no purpose:

When we come across narratives in the Torah which have no connection with any of the commandments, we are inclined to think that they are superfluous, or too lengthy, or repetitious, but this is only because we do not see the particular details, which make those narratives noteworthy. Of this kind is the enumeration of the stations of the Israelites in the wilderness. At first sight it appears to be entirely useless. To remove such a misconception, the Torah states

וַיִּכְתֹּ֨ב מֹשֶׁ֜ה אֶת־מוֹצָאֵיהֶ֛ם לְמַסְעֵיהֶ֖ם עַל־פִּ֣י יְהֹוָ֑ה וְאֵ֥לֶּה מַסְעֵיהֶ֖ם לְמוֹצָאֵיה׃

And Moses wrote down their departure points for their journeyings by the word of God, and these are their journeyings by their departure points.”

At the end of the book that chronicles 40 years of wandering through the wilderness, Moses, by Divine command, records the names of the places of the journey, 42 way stations that have led the Israelites up from Egypt to the threshold of their destination.

This is how Parshat Masei sets out – the second half of this year’s double parsha, Matot-Masei. The Book of Numbers, which begins with a census, ends with an inventory of places. A list we might feel inclined to merely skim, just as the lists of who begot whom throughout the generations, or how many members were counted in each tribe.

In fact, these lists carry enormous significance and meaning. What could be more important and meaningful than names and places? After all, one of the names of God is PLACE – מקום.

And when we think of our own lives’ narratives, we may remember stories and people and feelings and faces – yet don’t they all come down to names and places -- the backbones of our personal timelines?

Much as Judaism is a religion of time, it is also a religion of place. A religion that emphasizes the journeying, the going and coming – but also the dwelling, the settling: From pitching a tent under an oak tree to building a temple on a mountain plateau.

מה טבו אהליך יעקב משכהנתך ישראל– How beautiful are your tents, Jacob, your dwellings, Israel!

In Balaam’s blessing, both is evoked: the tents, symbols of wandering, and dwellings: more permanent abodes.

Each encampment of the Israelites that is mentioned in Masei, stands for a segment of the wandering, the story we have read until now – (and even some stories that we have not heard of at all) – all stations on the way to the place of places: the land.

Arguably, Judaism knows another place of places, the place of the place of places, as it were: And that’s the Temple -- the massive physical representation, the supposedly permanent dwelling place, of God/the Shechina; the space that held place, time, and the name, which only the High Priest was to invoke on Yom Kippur – and that has been gone for almost 2000 years.

Arguably, for some, Israel is the place with the most pronounced religious significance for Jews around the world (there is a wide range of opinions) – and the Kotel, the Western Wall of the Temple is a clear, constant reminder of that which is gone:

יהוה אהבתי מעון ביתך ומקום משכן כבודך- Adonai,I love(d) the abode of your house, the place of the dwelling of your glory.

Let us honor the memory and the significance of place. It is a Divine command after all. Today is Rosh Chodesh Av –the beginning of an intensified period of mourning over the next nine days, as we prepare for Tisha B’Av, the date that commemorates the loss of both temples in Jerusalem.

The cycle of Jewish holidays is an interplay between high and low tide, between the waxing and the waning of the moon. The three weeks of mourning we’re currently in are followed by seven weeks of building up our spirits in anticipation of Rosh Hashanah (yes, it’s only 2 months away, just saying J…). The three haftarot of admonition are followed by seven haftarot of consolation. And yet, intrinsic to our relationship with the Land (place) of Israel (name) is the continuous reminder of a (realistically, most likely) permanent loss. A loss whose commemoration is engrained in our liturgy, not only around Tisha B’Av.

NOTE

I am closing the oral dvar with a poem by Rodger Kamenetz that I won’t put online. If you want to hear it, find his amazing poetry, or zoom into Shomrei Torah’s Shabbat morning service on July 10. :)