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NASO 5785
Don’t Miss Out
Did you notice? Today’s Torah portion—Naso—is the longest in the Torah. The only time we have longer readings is in non-leap years when there aren’t enough Shabbatot and we have to double up on some Torah portions. To understand the reason for the length of our parsha, we need to back up—all the way back to Parshat Teruma we read in March. There, Gd tells Moses to raise the funds and material need to build the Mishkan/Tabernacle—the portable Temple which served the Jewish People until King Solomon built a permanent Temple to Gd in Jerusalem hundreds of years later.
Moses tells the people (Ex. 25:2): “Take for Me a portion from every person whose heart motivates him.” The princes of the 12 tribes—the leaders who should be models for their tribesmen—apparently had a meeting and debated what and how much they should give. They told Moses, in effect, “Let the penny pinchers write their $10 and $18 checks. We princes will see how much they fall short, and then we’ll write the big checks to cover what’s still needed.”
Sounds like a good plan, no? I’m sure the congregation would love it if, when we had a fundraiser, our board would meet and decide to wait to give till they see what will still be needed in the end and then pay it. That surely would take the stress off any such fundraising campaign.
However, in what was probably the 1st and last time in Jewish History a rabbi (in this case Moses) tried to raise money for the shul and was given too much. The craftsmen had to beg Moses to tell the people to stop giving. They soon had more than enough material for the job. Wow!
Now the princes’ faces must have turned red because they were locked out of this huge, once-in-a-lifetime mitzvah of building a house to Gd. In their arrogance, they lost the merit of donating money to the construction of the Mishkan.
Fast forward to today’s Torah portion. The Mishkan has now been built and consecrated. Job well done. The embarrassed tribal princes were determined to make some kind of contribution—even though everything Hashem asked for and more was already given.
The princes met again and decided to chip in to provide 6 covered wagons and 12 oxen to pull them. This was a thoughtful gift, even though it was not commanded because when the Mishkan was disassembled for travel till they reached the Promised Land, wagons would certainly help ease the burden of the Levites who were charged with carrying all its components.
Would these gifts be acceptable to Gd? It seems so because He commanded Moses to give 4 of the wagons and 8 of the oxen to the Levite clan of Merari—tasked with carrying the hard goods of the Mishkan like boards, planks and bars. The remaining 2 wagons and 4 oxen were allotted to the Levite clan of Gershon—tasked with transporting the soft goods like curtains and the coverings of the Mishkan.
But to the clan of Kehat no wagons or oxen were allotted because they carried the holy vessels of the Mishkan—items so holy and precious like the Holy Ark and the Menorah— they had to be carried by hand. It would be highly inappropriate to just “throw them in the trunk” before a long trip.
And, in addition to the combined gifts of the wagons and the oxen, each tribal prince—as an act of contrition—assembled private offerings of gold and silver items that were befitting use in the Mishkan plus sacrificial offerings of cattle, rams, sheep and goats.
Moses again asked Gd if these unrequested gifts were to be accepted. Gd—Who alone sees in our hearts and souls, Who examines our innermost thoughts—told Moses to accept the princes’ gifts, and that their contrition was sincere. Gd also told Moses that each prince’s gifts should be paraded through the encampment one per day for 12 days as a sign of Gd’s acceptance of their teshuva/repentance for their earlier arrogance. To everyone’s surprise, each of the prince’s private gifts were identical! To emphasize the importance of each one’s individual gift, however, the Torah records each one—even though they were exactly the same. This repetition 12 times resulted in the great length of this parsha.
Growing up in Brooklyn, one of my favorite uncles was Abe Tepper—my father’s best friend and business partner, who married his sister Ruthie—whom I affectionately called “Uncle Tep.” We lived in attached brick homes on E 29th Street, and saw each other every day. Uncle Tep had a sweet, resonant voice, and we loved to sing together the songs of the shul and the Seders with some Sinatra thrown in. We would talk sports and Torah in the same long conversations. He was like a 2nd father to me.
He and my father retired to the same condo building in Florida and so when I visited my parents I, of course, would spend time with him every day as well. Uncle Tep was a staple in my life.
And then 10 years ago—at the age of 95—while spending time with his children in NJ, he became ill. The doctors said it was serious. His daughter Elaine called me and, of course I said I would come and do the funeral, if necessary.
However, this was not a convenient time. I was at the beach in northern Florida with Cheryl and some of our children and grandchildren, and there was no direct flight. Getting there would take at least 6 hours! It was a Thursday, and I decided to wait till Sunday when everyone from the beach would go home. I could then be dropped off at the Jacksonville airport. That way I could help with the grandchildren over the weekend, and we wouldn’t be down a car that I would have taken to the airport. I would see and, if necessary, say goodbye to Uncle Tep on Sunday.
I never got the chance. As fate would have it, uncle Tep died Friday afternoon, and with no flight after Shabbat Saturday night … and with no early flight on Sunday, there was not way I could make it to the funeral.
From this I learned a profound and bitter lesson—the same lesson the tribal Princes learned. Never pass up an opportunity to do a mitzvah when Hashem sends it to you!
Think about all the times we pass someone with their hand out asking for money. We pass them by not even looking at them—thinking that they’re only going to use the money for drugs or alcohol anyway. I think of Cheryl’s father Harold Goodman, whose Yahrtzeit is in a couple of weeks. Cheryl and I are sponsoring Kiddush next week in his memory. Harold always carried dollar bills with him in the glove compartment—or as he would say in his South African jargon, “the cubbyhole”—of his car. Why? So that he would have money to give if asked. If you’d ask him, “Don’t you think it might be used for drugs or alcohol?” He would say, “That’s none of your business. Your job, if asked, is to help.” Because of what Harold taught me, I now carry an envelope of dollar bills in my car as well. And when I give, I often say, “This is in honor of Harold Goodman. Gd bless you.”
My friends, over and above the “ordinary” mitzvot of everyday life like davening, eating kosher food, making brachot, Gd occasionally tosses a special mitzvah our way—sometimes barreling straight at us. It might be inconvenient and disruptive; it might ruin your vacation; it might even be expensive. But understand that Hashem sent it to YOU for a reason.
Some people say that Gd is mute—that He doesn’t talk to us. But Gd indeed does talk to us. That special mitzvah you never saw coming, that’s Hashem knocking on your door. And when you hear Hashem knocking on your door, you’d better open it. Amen!
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