Counting the Uncountable (Bamidbar)

The Book of Bamidbar, known in English as the Book of Numbers, sets the stage for the rest of our journey as a people. It channels everywhere we’d been and ensures we recount our time in the desert — two generations, countless lifetimes, and an infinite number of lessons to be learned. It begins with a crucial task: counting people. Jewish tradition hesitates to count individuals directly, so let us delve into the significance of this census and its implications.

The census in Bamidbar is a complicated one. It serves the pragmatic purpose of defense; we need to know our numbers to gauge the strength of our defending forces. This act of counting shapes our understanding of what it means to walk through the world, especially when the world resembles a wilderness (or a ‘wasteland,’ as T.S. Eliot framed it). In such indeterminate times, knowing who is with us becomes vital.

Consider the verses in chapter one of Bamidbar, where Moses and Aaron take a census of those indicated by name. One of the Hebrew words used to describe the process of counting, “nikvu besheimot/designated by name (Num. 1:17),” suggests a profound act of indication — one that pierces through to the essence of each individual. This notion of being pierced, from the root “nkv,” signifies how deeply we are affected by being counted, recognized, and named.

Every morning, as I put on my #BringThemHome necklace, I am reminded of the blessings and responsibilities that come with being counted. Just this week, UJA hosted countless meetings with survivors from communities in Southern Israel devastated by the attacks of October 7, facilitated a panel for family members of Muslim and Jewish hostages held by Hamas since that terrible day. (The news this week that five believed hostages had already been killed was devastating, piercing our collective heart once more.)

Moses and Aaron counted these warriors, pierced by their names. Are we, in our modern lives, saying the names of our beloveds? Are we acknowledging the pain and hope carried in each name — whether it be Yitzhak, Omar, or Muhammad? Citizens from twenty-three countries and four faiths are bound in this shared struggle, held and hurt by terrorists for 244 days as of this writing. To honor them, we must align with the work of peace and demand their safe return.

A true warrior for good does not seek the triumph of one tribe over another but strives for a world where we are pierced by the names of all who suffer, recognizing our shared fragility.

There is much to say, but the essential message is clear:

Bring Them Home Now. Amen.