Torah

The Gemara cites the Biblical source for the requirement of ten men to complete a minyan. Moshe Rabbeinu sent spies to scout out the Land of Canaan. Ten of them returned and issued a report concluding that it was not a conquerable land. Hashem was disappointed with their lack of faith in His abilities and tells Moshe and Aharon: “How long will this evil ‘assembly’ provoke to complain against Me?” From here it is deduced that an “assembly” is comprised of ten men. In Parshas Kedoshim, the posuk states: “I shall be sanctified among the children of Israel.” We explain the word ‘among’ here by reference to its use in another place: “Separate yourselves from ‘among’ this assembly.” Since the term “assembly” in our posuk refers to the ten spies, so too, the former posuk, “You shall be holy,” refers to an “assembly” -  in other words, a “minyan” of ten.

Sefer BaMidbar begins with Hashem commanding Moshe Rabbeinu to count the Jewish people: in essence, to conduct a census of the entire nation. For this reason, as well, Sefer BaMidbar is also referred to as “Sefer HaP’kudim” or “Numbers” as it is known in English. Rashi comments that Hashem counts the Jewish people many times in the Torah, but not because He does not know their full amount, chas v’shalom. Obviously, Hashem does not demand a census because He requires an exact count. Rather, the act of counting is demanded because of the incredible love Hashem has for us and He wishes to display this love by continuously enumerating our ranks. The Ibn Ezra adds a short yet poignant comment: Hashem only counts B’nei Yisrael, to the exclusion of the Eirev Rav, those people who joined our nation after the Exodus from Egypt, since only B’nei Yisrael are beloved in His eyes – not those rabble rousers who bring His people to sin.

Rashi writes: “Our Rabbis said (in the Sifrei) that the people cried in the desert over the matter of families, over the relationships that had become forbidden to them.” In the desert, there occurred a general breakdown in morality that became pervasive throughout the camp of B’nei Yisrael. Although the pasuk states that the people complained about a lack of meat to consume, many commentators infer that their real grievance was of a much more sinister and promiscuous variety, to which “the anger of Hashem flared greatly, and in the eyes of Moshe it was bad.”

The mitzvah of Sh’mitah is dependent on our level of belief. The Torah states: “If you will ask, ‘What will we eat in the seventh year? Behold! We did not sow nor gather in our crops.” I will ordain My blessing for you in the sixth year, and it will yield a crop sufficient for three years.” In other words, the Divine blessing that would enrich the soil as a result of the observance of Sh’mitah would compensate threefold for the perceived loss of revenue while the land was allowed to lie fallow. This takes great faith – not just pious words. Do we put our money where our mouths are? Do we place our trust in Him and follow His word to the fullest? Whether it’s keeping Shabbos, honesty in business, or going the extra mile to give tz’dakah, Sh’mitah reminds us that Har Sinai represents a bridge between theory and practice, faith and action, trust and resolve. Upon that mountain, the Almighty took us in as His partner in the business of creation. He wants a strong partner. Hashem wants us to succeed; He wants us to pass the test. He’s been imploring us ever since: “Don’t be a shvacher shutaf (a weak partner).”

The following story was brought to light by Rabbi Yerachmiel Tilles, associate director of Ascent-of-Safed, who received it from Chaim Berkowitz of Tzefas, who heard it from Yosef Hurwitz of Miami, who got it from the protagonist’s family. A young man named Avremel Greenbaum was a youth during the Holocaust, and although he managed to survive, he lost his entire family in the conflagration. Soon after the war, he immigrated to the United States and renounced his religion. He wanted nothing more to do with Judaism. He was no longer Avremel Greenbaum; he now called himself Aaron Green. Following opportunity, he moved to Alabama and happened to marry a Jewish woman there. They started a family and named their oldest son Jeffrey. They raised him devoid of religion and Jewish observance.

While I was in New York, I was approached by a prestigious chasidic rabbi who told me about a family that was searching for their long-lost daughter. She had been born and raised in Boro Park, and had married there. Unfortunately, the marriage ended badly, but her husband – for whatever reason – refused to give her a get (divorce document). After this went on for a period of time, the wife suddenly disappeared. Her family had since learned that she had gone to Australia, but they had no idea where. Since I was from Australia, the rabbi who approached me thought that maybe I could help them bring their daughter back to her people.