By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
SAN DIEGO — What counts in your life? Rather, what do you make count in your life? This week’s parasha may seem a bit “obsessed” with counting.
“When you take the sum of the children of Israel according to their numbers, let each one give to the Lord an atonement for his soul when they are counted; then there will be no plague among them when they are counted.”
“This they shall give, everyone who goes through the counting: half a shekel according to the holy shekel. Twenty gerahs equal one shekel; half of [such] a shekel shall be an offering to the Lord.
“Everyone who goes through the counting, from the age of twenty and upward, shall give an offering to the Lord.”
What’s so special about all this counting and what can we learn from it? We count what Hashem directs us to count. Yet so many of us count that which is unimportant, not what He directs us to count, but what we believe we’d prefer to count. For through the lens of Ki Tisa, we see that counting can be empty compared to the purpose of the count. Being counted is one thing, being counted upon to give an offering to Hashem is another. Some believe that they “must” be counted by, approved of by others. Others see more deeply and understand that being approved of, being counted by Hashem, has far more meaning.
The counting in this week’s parasha has unique importance because of the purpose behind what was counted – an offering to Hashem.
Do you count time, or do you make time count? Do you count your wealth, or do you make your wealth count? Ki Tisa teaches us to count wisely, to be sure that what counts, matters.
Much is written about leadership these days, especially in this election year. The parasha Ki Tisa reminds us that true leadership requires patience and humility. When Moses ascended Mount Sinai to receive the Ten Commandments, the Israelites grew restless. They pressured Aaron to construct a golden calf idol for them to worship, seeking tangible proof of the divine.
Though Aaron erred in yielding to the people’s demands, the parasha teaches us not to judge too quickly. Leadership is difficult, and we all falter at times. Moses exemplified compassion by imploring Hashem to forgive the people, showing that redemption is possible when we approach mistakes with an open heart.
In our fast-paced world where we crave instant results, Ki Tisa cautions against rash decisions that violate values. Progress takes time. When we feel impatient and doubt our path, we must summon patience and faith. Our vision will be achieved through daily perseverance, not golden idols.
Ki Tisa also conveys the importance of atonement. Hashem punished the Israelites for their transgression but ultimately forgave them and continued the covenant. We all make mistakes, but we can make amends through honest self-reflection and repairing harm done.
This parasha highlights the challenges of leadership and the human capacity for missteps. But it is also a source of hope, reminding us of the power of repentance, compassion, and grit. When we falter, we gain wisdom for the journey ahead.
Imagine: you commit a terrible mistake, but what truly dooms you isn’t the act itself, but your refusal to learn. This, Rabbi Simcha Zissel Ziv suggests, is the heart of Hashem’s message to the Israelites after the golden calf incident.
Sure, the idol worship was wrong, but Hashem seems more concerned with their “stiff-neckedness” – their stubborn resistance to admitting fault, listening to criticism, and repenting. It’s like Rashi explains, they’re sticking their necks out defiantly, refusing to open their ears to correction. This is the real roadblock, not the initial sin. Their inflexible, dogmatic, insistence that led to their defiant behavior.
Hashem’s forgiveness, we are taught, is always available, but only to those who choose to learn and grow. By staying closed-minded, rigidly dogmatic, the Israelites were essentially slamming the door on their own redemption.
So, the takeaway? While mistakes happen, it’s our response that truly defines us. Let’s choose to be open, receptive, flexible, accepting and willing to learn from our experiences. This is the path to true growth and, ultimately, to the forgiveness and grace we all seek.
Were the Israelites demanding, insisting, that life “must” go their way, that they “must see” Hashem? Did they think of circumstances unfolding around them as “awful and horrible,” not merely “unfortunate”? Were they believing, erroneously of course, that they “could not bear” the situation another moment longer? And worse, were they depreciating Hashem and Moshe, because of what they were doing, or not doing, in accord with their “musts”? My teacher, Albert Ellis, Ph.D., once observed, “When people change their irrational beliefs to undogmatic flexible preferences, they become less disturbed.”
Perhaps we all prefer – not demand – some assurance, some vision, come clarity of Hashem in our lives. And we have these, but we simply won’t see them because they are not present on our terms. We can find Hashem everywhere we look – but that requires that we look with our eyes, our hearts and minds wide open and thoroughly receptive.
In his Guide to the Perplexed, Maimonides teaches us, “It is the object and center of the whole Torah to abolish idolatry and utterly uproot it.” Our mitzvot bring us closer to Hashem, and while we all have a yetzer hara, an evil inclination, to build a golden calf for example, it is another cow, the miscalculated red heifer, that helps us rid ourselves of our impurities. When life turns in ways that we insist it doesn’t, when we think Hashem is not with us, our inability to maintain steadfast faith becomes a step towards idolatry.
We can think about what we are doing, what our priorities and values are, and not be swept up by contemporary idol makers, or our rigid, extreme demands that life unfolds the way we claim it must. With faith and trust, not ultimatums, seeing His hand in our lives with every breath we take becomes clear. He is there. With overflowing continual chesed.
After all, He tells us, וַיֹּ֣אמֶר יְהֹוָ֔ה הִנֵּ֥ה מָק֖וֹם אִתִּ֑י And the Lord said: “Behold, there is a place with Me…” Not sometimes. Always. Where is that place especially? Says the parasha, “Thus shall the children of Israel observe the Sabbath, to make the Sabbath throughout their generations as an everlasting covenant.” Hinei makom iti, on this, Rashi and the Midrash in Bereishit Rabbah 68:8 explain that makom is another name for Hashem’s presence, “the place is with me,” not “I am the place.” In other words, the Midrash tells us, “G-d comprises the universe, but the universe does not encompass G-d.” Unless our eyes and hearts are open, unless we are prepared to encompass Him and see the place that He creates for us to be near to Him in our lives, we miss seeing Him in our world. But He continually invites us, Hinei makom iti, to see that there is a place near to Him for each of us.
Hashem is telling us clearly where each week, we can be with Him. It is not a physical place, but a place in time that He directs us to, “V’shamru V’nei Yisrael et HaShabbat.” Here we can experience and be present with Hashem if we but open our minds and our hearts to this remarkable experience. Nothing takes place without Him, yet we blind ourselves when we do not see that place in which he lives in our lives.
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares a weekly D’var Torah for Young Israel of San Diego, where he and his family are members. They are also active members of Congregation Adat Yeshurun. He may be contacted via michael.mantell@sdjewishworld.com