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The sins of the sons
Torah study
RABBI SHLOMO RISKIN
Naso/Numbers 4:21 - 7:89
The year was 1953, and the day was one of the most important days in the life of this then-young Jewish boy in Brooklyn - the day when he goes out with his parents to buy his first suit in honor of his impending bar mitzvah.
We traveled by bus and by train to Chinatown, where the famed Louis Levy ran his low-priced clothing establishment on Elizabeth Street. The store was having a special sale, and we spent what seemed the entire afternoon, exhausting the inventory as well as the salespeople, until my mother was finally convinced that the perfect suit for her son, who was not quite a perfect fit, had indeed been found.
Heading home, we passed a well-known knish place, and my father suggested we stop for a bite. Now, since I was a yeshiva boy already studying Talmud, I saw it as my religious duty to make inquiries about the kashrut (official kosher status) of the restaurant. Without hesitation, the cashier directed me to a door in the rear where I could find the boss. I immediately noted that the room had no mezuzah, and the tall man sitting behind an official-looking desk sported a very bald pate, bereft of any head-covering.
I repeated to him my question as to whether the restaurant had kosher certification. He looked at me sharply. "Young man, you see that picture hanging on the wall?" he asked, pointing to a black-and-white photo of an elderly Jew with a long white beard, a large black hat, and a long rabbinic coat. "That man," he continued, "was my father. He started this business, working very hard, making knishes right here on the lower east side. Do you still dare to ask your insolent question?"
I was feeling very sure of myself, very important with my brand new bar mitzvah suit. Without hesitating I replied, "If you were hanging on the wall, and your father was sitting in front of me, I wouldn't ask any questions. But since your father is hanging on the wall, and you are sitting in front of me as you are, unless you have kashrut certification, I am afraid I can't eat here."
Perhaps I was little glib, but the point being made was a crucial one: far more important than who or what our ancestors were, is who and what we and our children shall become! This is likewise one of the most important lessons of our Torah reading this week.
Levi's sons Kehat and Merari are presented in the Book of Numbers similarly to the rest of the tribes - first by their "clan" and secondly by their "ancestral houses." This is in contrast to the Gersonites (also sons of Levi), who are introduced and taken census of "by their ancesteral house and by clan" (Numbers 4:22).
The Targum Onkelos translates the word "l'mishpechotam" (here translated as "clan") as "the children." Thus the usual census formulation, found no less than 17 times in our passage, means that each individual is numbered by their children and by their parents' house. An individual is to be judged first by who he/she is and by that which he/she has produced; only afterwards and secondarily do we pay attention to his/her forbears.
However, a Kohen-priest or Levite serves in the Temple and performs special ritual duties not by virtue of merit, but only by virtue of ancestry - I am a Kohen only because my father was a Kohen. Hence, the Bible insists that their census is "by their ancesteral house and by clan (their children)," the parents coming first. The Gershonites were satisfied to rest on their laurels; they remained in essence Levites, dependent on their "ancestral house" for their status and function.
In contrast, the children of Kehat were in charge of the much heavier items, such as the menorah and the Ark. These children of Levi were anxious to be their own people. As a result, the Torah counts them in accord with "their clan (children) and their ancestral house," with themselves and their children coming first.
A seemingly slight difference in word order reveals a world of attitude and psychology. When each of us is counted and assessed, when the Almighty conducts his census, the most important criterion in our judgement will not be who our parents were, but who and what we, and our children, developed into. All too often, the descendant has descended too far down!
Rabbi Shlomo Riskin is the spiritual leader of the Jewish community in Efrat, Israel.
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