Pierced by Names (Bamidbar)
The Book of Bamidbar sets the stage for the rest of our journey as a people. It channels everywhere that we’ve been and ensures that we tell the story of our time in the desert. This story spans two generations but encompasses countless lifetimes and an infinite number of lessons to be learned.
It begins with a profoundly important act: counting people. The census is a complicated one, intended for the purpose of defense. We need to know our numbers to determine the size of our defending forces. This necessity speaks volumes about our existence in this world, especially when the world resembles a wilderness, a wasteland, as T.S. Eliot phrased it. In such indeterminate times, then and now, knowing who stands with us is crucial.
Reading these verses from the first chapter of Bamidbar, we see Moses and Aaron taking a census of those who were to fight, designating one name at a time. The Hebrew word “nikvu/designated” in the verse (Num. 1:17) is significant. While it can mean “to indicate,” it also carries a deeper connotation of being pierced, derived from “nkv,” which means to create a hole (to ‘ap-point’). This imagery of piercing is powerful. When we are counted, we are marked deeply.
Every morning, I put on a necklace that reads in Hebrew, “Our hearts are captive in Gaza.” As I prepare to fasten it around my neck, I mark the number of days it’s been since October 7 (today is day 245) and recite a blessing: “Bring them home now, Amen.” I recall as many names as I can, feeling them pierce me every time.
This past week, I spent time with numerous survivors from communities in Southern Israel that have suffered terrible attacks and losses. I spoke with families of Jewish and Muslim hostages held captive by Hamas since October 7th. The news we received three days ago that five people we thought were hostages had already been killed was devastating, penetrating our hearts with pain again.
Moses and Aaron took these warriors, who were pierced by their names. Are we saying the names of our beloveds? Are we calling out for Agam, Hersh, Muhammad, and Keith? Omer, Ariev, and Noa? Citizens of 23 countries and at least four faiths are being held in terrible conditions by terrorists who have shown — and broadcast — their inhumanity through ruthless sexual assault, mass murder, and psychological torture. In the face of this, let us all say their names and share this prayer: “Bring them home now, Amen.”
Yesterday, an Israeli whose cousin is being held hostage shared something profound with me. He said he grew up thinking he didn’t need Diaspora Jews, believing the diaspora itself wouldn’t last, a belief held by others I’ve known. But when he saw 100,000 marchers supporting Israel and the hostages at this past Sunday’s “Israel Day on Fifth,” he cried, realizing he was not alone.
Friends, our work is to ensure that no member of our people, no member of our family, feels alone. If only we could send our emotional support, love, and fierce embrace tunneling through the ground to where our beloveds are held. Maybe we can. Maybe right now, we need to let their names pierce us, let them in.
Perhaps this kind of piercing can also serve as a way of securing them in our very being, and that through this kind of effort, we can grip more fiercely our end of the invisible thread that connects our souls.
Please God, when we recite our beloveds’ names, may our prayerful intention follow the trail piercingly anchored in their hearts and ours. May they know that we love them and that they are not alone. May they be restored to our loving embraces, whole and safe.
Bring Them Home Now. Amen.