This week’s Torah portion opens the fourth of the Five Books of the Torah, Bamidbar (Numbers), known by our sages as Humash Hapekudim (“the book of countings”) because it describes two central censuses of the people of Israel: one at the beginning of the book (Chapter 1), and another toward its end (Chapter 26).
The name “Bamidbar” (“in the wilderness”) reflects its focus on the period of wandering in the Sinai desert.
These two names capture the book’s central themes: the counting of the people, and their journey through the wilderness.
Thus it is written: “Take a census of the entire congregation of the Children of Israel, by their families, by their fathers’ houses, according to the number of names, every male, head by head” (Numbers 1:2).
Interestingly, in the annual cycle of Torah readings, parashat “Bamidbar” is always read close to the festival of Shavuot. Why is it that specifically on the eve of the festival of the giving of the Torah, we deal with the counting of the people of Israel?
To understand this, we must first ask a more fundamental question: Why does the Creator need to count the people of Israel at all? Does He not already know their number? Even if we assume that a census is needed for practical reasons, why is it conducted at this particular moment, when no immediate practical need seems to require it?
Rashi addresses this: “Out of His love for them, He counts them at every moment” (Rashi on Numbers 1:1).
Beneath this expression of love lies a deeper idea.
One of the most prominent trends in modern culture is the pursuit of individuality. A person seeks to express himself, to develop a unique path, to break free from frameworks, and to challenge conventions. The proliferation of opinions and the emphasis on independence have created a reality in which many avoid belonging to broader frameworks, preferring instead to shape a detached personal identity. In the language of social researchers, this is a world of billions of individuals, lacking a shared ideal that unites them – aside from the pursuit of self-fulfillment.
Regarding this tendency, King Solomon said: “He who separates himself seeks his own desire” (Proverbs 18:1).
When materialism and personal ambition take center stage, division increases. A shared ideal connects people; but when each person seeks only self-realization, the points of connection diminish. The individual’s place within the collective becomes more complex; and community, once a central value, gradually weakens.
Unity and individuality
In contrast, the Torah presents a different model. On the eve of the giving of the Torah, it is written: “And Israel encamped [vayihan] there opposite the mountain” (Exodus 19:2).
The verb is written in the singular, and our sages expounded: “like one person with one heart” – a profound unity that does not erase the individual but integrates each person into a greater whole. Here, the delicate balance between individual and collective is revealed: many individuals who preserve their uniqueness yet act together as one.
This idea is expressed in the counting of the people of Israel. The census is not merely a technical act but a statement of values.
As Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explains: “Edah (community) – from the root ya’ad – denotes people united for a shared purpose, whose common mission binds them together.” Individuals become a community not through an external command but through a shared inner calling that beats within their hearts. This is not a population count meant to determine numbers but an effort to know how many are committed to the Torah of Israel. This is the unique quality of Jewish nationhood: The entire nation is always seen as one household, yet within it exist distinct units. Within this fundamental unity, a diversity of traits is preserved and cultivated – unique to tribes and families. Thus the single shared purpose is realized through each individual, despite his or her uniqueness, through a rich diversity of talents, character traits, professions, and life paths. This realization serves as a model for all humanity. Each tribe, in its distinctiveness, and each family, with its particular qualities, contributes to the shared mission of the House of Israel; they shape it, educate their children toward it, and pass it on to future generations (see Commentary of Rabbi S.R. Hirsch on the Torah. Exodus 12:3).
When the Torah counts the people by tribes and families, it teaches the art of integration: Each individual is counted on his or her own, yet as part of a larger structure. A person’s uniqueness is not lost within the collective. On the contrary, it gains deeper meaning through belonging to it.
Similarly, the Kli Yakar (Exodus 30:11) writes: “Every number points to the individual significance of each and every person. That which has no importance, like straw or chaff, is not counted. The counting is surely due to their worth, for certainly the Holy One, blessed be He, knows their number.”
The count is not for the sake of knowledge but for the expression of value: Every person matters; every individual is an inseparable part of the whole.
Thus, the deep connection between parashat “Bamidbar” and the festival of Shavuot becomes clear. The giving of the Torah cannot take place without a consciousness of unity. However, this unity is not the erasure of individuality but a harmonious integration of personal uniqueness within a collective belonging.
This is the great challenge of the human being: not to flee from the collective in the name of independence or to lose oneself within the system but to cultivate a rich personal identity that operates within a broader framework. When a person succeeds in this, he is not diminished. He is elevated.
This outlook is the most fitting preparation for receiving the Torah, and it is also the secret of the Jewish people’s endurance throughout the generations: the ability to combine personal uniqueness with communal commitment, diversity with unity, and thus preserve values and pass them on from generation to generation.■
The writer is the rabbi of the Western Wall and holy sites.