T
he word Naso that gives its name to
this week’s parshah is a verb of an
extraordinary range of meanings,
among them: to lift, to carry and to forgive.
Here though, and elsewhere in the wilderness
years, it is used, in conjunction
with the phrase et rosh (“the
head”) to mean “to count.
”
This is an odd way of speak-
ing, because Biblical Hebrew is
not short of other verbs mean-
ing to count, among them lim-
not, lispor, lifkod and lachshov.
Why then not use one of these
verbs? Why not simply say “count” instead of
“lift the head”?
The answer takes us into one of the most
revolutionary of all Jewish beliefs. If we are
each in the image of God, then every one
of us has infinite value. We are each unique.
None of us is substitutable for any other. This
may well be the single most important con-
sequence of monotheism. Discovering God,
singular and alone, our ancestors discovered
the human individual, singular and alone.
This was simply not a value in the ancient
world, nor is it one in tyrannical or totalitarian
societies today. The ruler might be deemed
to have infinite value; so might some of the
members of his or her court; but certainly
not the masses — as the word “mass” itself
implies. Most people were simply regarded as
part of a mass: an army, a work force or a gang
of slaves. What mattered was their total num-
ber, not their individual lives, their hopes and
fears, their loves and dreams.
That is the image we have of Egypt of the
Pharaohs. It is how the Sages understood the
builders of Babel. They said that if a brick fell
from the tower they wept. If a worker fell and
died, they paid no attention.
Almost 100 million people died in the 20th
century in Stalin’s Russia, Mao’s Communist
China and Cambodia under the Khmer
Rouge. We say of such regimes that people
became “just numbers.
” That is what the Torah
is rejecting as a matter of supreme religious
principle.
At the very moment when one might be
maximally tempted to see people as “just
numbers” — namely, when taking a census, as
here — the Israelites were commanded to “lift
people’s heads,
” to raise their spirits, to make
them feel they counted as individuals, not
numbers in a mass, ciphers in a crowd.
In the course of my life, I have had several
deep conversations with Christians, and there
is one aspect of Judaism that they find very
difficult to understand. The conversation usu-
ally turns to the central figure of Christianity,
and I am often asked, do I believe that he was
the son of God.
“I do indeed,
” I reply, “because we believe
that every Jew is a son or daughter of God.
”
What Christianity applies to one figure in
its faith, we apply to all. Where Christianity
transcendentalises, Judaism democratises. My
conversation partners often think I am being
evasive, finding a polite way to avoid answer-
ing the question. In fact, though, the opposite
is true.
The first words God commands Moses to
say to Pharaoh were, “My child, My firstborn,
Israel.
” In Deuteronomy, Moses reminds the
Israelites, “You are children of the Lord your
God.
” “Beloved are Israel,
” said Rabbi Akiva,
“for they are called God’s children.
” One of the
key phrases of prayer, Avinu Malkenu, “Our
Father, our King,
” encapsulates this in two
simple words. We are all royalty. We are each
children of the King.
All of
Us Count!
Rabbi Lord
Jonathan
Sacks
46 | JUNE 9 • 2022
SPIRIT
A WORD OF TORAH