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unlike the family of Kehat, 
detailed at the end of last 
week’s parshah, one of whose 
number, Korach, eventually 
instigated a rebellion against 
Moses and Aaron.
Likewise, the long account 
of the offerings of the princ-
es of the 12 tribes is a dra-
matic way of indicating that 
each was considered import-
ant enough to merit its own 
passage in the Torah. People 
will do destructive things if 
they feel slighted, and not 
given their due role and rec-
ognition. Again, the case of 
Korach and his allies is the 
proof of this. By giving the 
Levitical families and the 
princes of the tribes their 
share of honor and atten-
tion, the Torah is telling 
us how important it is to 
preserve the harmony of the 
nation by honoring all.
The case of the Nazirite 
is in some ways the most 
interesting. There is an 
internal conflict within 
Judaism between, on the 
one hand, a strong empha-
sis on the equal dignity of 
everyone in the eyes of God, 
and the existence of a reli-
gious elite in the form of the 
tribe of Levi in general and 
the Cohanim, the priests, in 
particular. 
It seems that the law of 
the Nazirite was a way of 
opening up the possibility 
to non-Cohanim of a special 
sanctity close to, though not 
precisely identical with, that 
of the Cohanim themselves. 
This, too, is a way of avoid-
ing the damaging resent-
ments that can occur when 
people find themselves 
excluded by birth from cer-
tain forms of status within 
the community.
If this analysis is correct, 

then a single theme binds 
the laws and narrative of 
this parshah: the theme of 
making special efforts to 
preserve or restore peace 
between people. Peace is 
easily damaged and hard 
to repair. Much of the rest 
of the book of Bamidbar is 
a set of variations on the 
theme of internal dissension 
and strife. So has Jewish his-
tory been as a whole.
Naso tells us that we 
have to go the extra mile 
in bringing peace between 
husband and wife, between 
leaders of the community 
and among laypeople who 
aspire to a more-than-usual 
state of sanctity.
It is no accident therefore 
that the priestly blessings 
end — as do the vast major-
ity of Jewish prayers — with 
a prayer for peace. Peace, 
said the rabbis, is one of 
the names of God himself, 
and Maimonides writes that 
the whole Torah was given 
to make peace in the world 
(Laws of Hanukah 4:14). 
Naso is a series of practical 
lessons in how to ensure, as 
far as possible, that every-
one feels recognized and 
respected, and that suspi-
cion is defused and dis-
solved.
We have to work for peace 
as well as pray for it. 

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks (1948-

2020) was a global religious leader, 

philosopher, the author of more than 

25 books and moral voice for our 

time. He served as Chief Rabbi of 

the United Hebrew Congregations 

of the Commonwealth from 1991 to 

2013. Rabbi Sacks passed away in 

November 2020. His series of essays 

on the weekly Torah portion, entitled 

“Covenant & Conversation” will con-

tinue to be shared and distributed 

around the world. This essay was first 

published in 2011.

SPIRIT

Room for Difference
J

udaism is all about 
the community. 
We celebrate as a 
community; we mourn as 
a community; we learn as 
part of a community, and, 
of course, we eat as part of a 
community. 
Additionally, 
Judaism has, for 
the most part, been 
uncomfortable with the 
idea of asceticism — 
the idea that physical 
pleasure stands in 
the way of spiritual 
enlightenment. In fact, 
in the Mishnah, Rabbi 
Chizkiah HaKohen, in 
the name of Rav, said, 
“
A person will have to 
give justification and 
accounting for any delight he 
saw but did not consume.” 
(Kiddushin 4:12)
But what happens when 
one is feeling the need to be 
alone, the desire to connect to 
God on a deeper or individual 
level or feels that they need 
to separate from all the 
materialism that can surround 
us and clutter our lives at 
times? This person recognizes 
and accepts the importance 
of the community and the 
joys of the world; yet they feel 
that they need something else 
— what can they do? Is there 
a place for them and these 
feelings in Judaism?
The answer is clearly “yes 
— and …” While it is not the 
accepted standard path, there 
is also a Mishnah that states, 
“This is the way of Torah: 
Eat bread with salt, drink 
measured amounts of water, 
and sleep on the ground … 
and toil in Torah.” (Pirkei Avot 
6:4)
The story of the Nazir that 

we read in this week’s parshah 
is a picture into how we might 
find a balance. The Nazirs 
decided that they needed to 
be closer to God and were 
permitted to take three vows 
that created a separation 
between them and the 
rest of the community 
— elevating their ritual 
practices to a higher level 
of holiness. They would 
vow that during the 
period they were to be a 
Nazir: 
• Not to consume any 
wine or grape product
• Not to cut their hair
• Not come in any 
contact with the dead 
(even their parents 
should they die)
The 19th-century 
commentator Rabbi Samson 
Raphael Hirsch teaches us 
that the basic definition of the 
Nazir means to “keep aloof or 
separate … This is no hermit-
like isolation, no shutting 
oneself in the wilderness. It is 
an isolation of one’s mind and 
spirit with God in the midst of 
the ordinary life.” 
In other words — the Nazir 
is saying, “I will not run 
away from the overwhelming 
crowd — but I will live and 
be a part of society. And I will 
also have a place of deeper 
connection I can go to when 
I need. For now, I need this 
escape — but I know that this 
will not last forever and when 
I return to the community in 
my totality, I will be that much 
stronger and connected as an 
individual and a member of 
my community.” 

Rabbi Shalom Kantor is the rabbi of 

Congregation B’nai Moshe in West 

Bloomfield.

TORAH PORTION

Rabbi 
Shalom 
Kantor

Parshat 

Naso: 

Numbers 

4:21-7:89; 

Judges 

13:2-25.

