Parashat Naso: What is the Connection Between External Order and Fulfilling our Inner Mission?

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Parashat Naso
What is the Connection Between External Order and Fulfilling our Inner Mission?  

What is Preferable: External Order and Stability or Inner Warmth and Care?

I grew up in a highly functioning, law-abiding country where all the external frameworks operated like clockwork. The streets and sidewalks were clean, green, and beautifully maintained; the public systems – from libraries to healthcare – were well-funded and reliable. In fact, I recently noticed that according to U.S. News & World Report, Denmark ranks #1 in the world for quality of life, based on education, healthcare, political transparency, economic security, and general societal well-being. Growing up in such an efficient and stable environment should have brought a deep sense of contentment. Yet, I never felt truly fulfilled in what might be called ‘The Dreamland of Denmark.’

Despite its polished exterior and near-perfect punctuality – where trains always arrive precisely as announced – something essential was missing. I find myself far more at home in a land of constant challenge and unpredictable rhythms. Even during times of conflict and uncertainty, I choose to live in Israel – a place bursting with soul. While Israel may lack the external order of Denmark, it overflows with purpose, connection, and vibrancy. Yes, I may have to stoop to pick up stray candy wrappers on the sidewalk – a sight unimaginable in suburban Denmark – but I do so with joy, knowing I walk streets rich with meaning, history, and heart. A society may be perfectly orderly on the outside yet lacking in inner meaning and mission. In Israel, it’s not about appearances – it’s about essence. The laughter of children, the warmth of strangers, and the shared sense of mission here speak to something far deeper than surface-level perfection ever could.

Why Does Parashat Naso Mention the Suspected Adulteress, the Nazarite, and the Thief?

Parashat Naso seems to continue the national themes introduced in Parashat Bamidbar: the census of the tribes, the inauguration of the Mishkan, and the offerings of the tribal leaders. While reading HaRav Aharon Lichtenstein’s article, The Embedded Message, on Parashat Naso, I was struck by his observation that even within the structured and clearly defined national order of the wilderness journey – with its census, banners, and division of Levitical roles – the Torah does not lose sight of the moral and spiritual development of the individual. Interwoven in this narrative are seemingly personal and unrelated topics – the thief who confesses and repays (Bamidbar 5:5-10), the suspected adulteress (5:11-31), and the Nazir who abstains from wine and seeks higher holiness (6:1-21). Why are these inserted here, interrupting the flow of collective preparation for the sanctification of the Mishkan and entry into Eretz Yisrael?

Precisely because the Torah is teaching us that a nation’s spiritual destiny is only as strong as its individuals. In the midst of grand national missions – the revelation of the Shechinah in the Mishkan, and the historical march into the Land – the Torah zooms in on personal struggles: betrayal, longing, inner restraint, and restitution. The message is clear. The sanctity of the Mishkan depends not only on the proper placement of tribes or ritual service, but on the moral integrity of each individual. Without a foundation of personal fidelity, integrity, and spiritual yearning, the collective cannot sustain its calling.

The Torah thus ensures that no soul is forgotten. The lonely convert, the wayward woman, the aspiring ascetic – each has a place in the unfolding destiny of Am Yisrael. A society striving for holiness must care not only for its national structure but also for its moral fiber, woven one soul at a time.

What is the Ideal Relationship between Outer Details and Inner Refinement?

The ultimate goal is a radiant soul in a healthy body on both an individual and a national dimension. We don’t have to sell ourselves short, we can aspire toward the highest spiritual content encased in the most organized external parameters. For any community to thrive, we need law and order. Role divisions need to be clearly defined, and all community members must carry out their responsibilities and know who to turn to for questions and directions. Parashat Naso highlights the meticulous arrangements needed for the Israelites’ journey on their way to settling in the land.  It provides details about preparations for entering the Land of Israel, particularly focusing on the organization of the camp and the Levites’ responsibilities in carrying the holy vessels. When it comes to the G-d given mitzvot, even physical structures and external order become spiritual and infused with inner meaning and mission. The many details and even repetitions of the sacrifices of the princes of each tribe become infused with meaning, as they are intended not only to provide the external particulars but to teach us an inner lesson about character development.

Parashat Naso is the longest parasha in the entire Chumash because it repeats word for word the offering of each of the tribes instead of just paraphrasing that all the tribes offered the exact same such and such. This demonstrates that although the princes brought the same precise offering, none of them copied their friend. Each had his own personal relationship with his offering. Because of each tribe’s original intention, excitement, and awareness, the Torah described each of their offerings in its own section. Another reason for the repetition of the tribal sacrifices word by word is due to Hashem’s great pleasure with their identical offering of unity that rectified the sibling jealousy of Kain and Hevel. When external details are infused with inner refinement, then even otherwise tedious repetition becomes meaningful.

How Do We Carry the Sanctuary Within Our Unique Spiritual Mission?

The census in Parashat Naso, which continues the census begun in Parashat Bamidbar, moreover alludes to the inner spiritual intention within the exterior positions and roles. The designated roles of the families within the tribe of Levi in carrying and assembling the Mishkan hint at how each family had a unique portion of the holy structure to bear upon their shoulders, not just physically, but also spiritually.

במדבר פרק ד פסוק מז

מִבֶּן שְׁלֹשִׁים שָׁנָה וָמַעְלָה וְעַד בֶּן חֲמִשִּׁים שָׁנָה כֹּל הַבָּא לַעֲבֹד עֲבֹדַת עֲבֹדָה וַעֲבֹדַת מַשָּׂא בְּאֹהֶל מוֹעֵד:

“From thirty years old and up to fifty years old, all who come to serve the service of service and the service of carrying in the Tent of Meeting” (Bamidbar 4:47).

While Ha’amek Davar emphasizes the transition from supernatural guidance in the wilderness to a more hidden Divine providence in the Land, Parashat Naso moreover suggests that the service of carrying the Mishkan was not merely a physical duty – it was a spiritual apprenticeship. This desert service trained each individual to become a vessel for the Shechinah – a sacred preparation for dwelling with Divine presence in Eretz Yisrael. Each person had their role, their burden, and their sacred responsibility, just as each soul in Eretz Yisrael today has a unique spiritual mission to carry.
The Sefat Emet explains that just as each angel has a unique root and mission, so too each member of Am Yisrael longed to know their soul’s root and place of rectification. Though we cannot see this with our physical eyes, through the Torah, each person can find their spiritual origin. Some rare individuals may ascend entirely through their deeds, but even those who are not on that level can leap beyond their natural rung through longing and will alone. “Each man by his camp and under his banner” represents this dual path of fixed service and spiritual aspiration. In this way, every individual’s unique role in the camp mirrors their deeper mission in the Divine structure of the nation, especially as it manifests in the holiness of Eretz Yisrael (Sefat Emet, Bamidbar, year 5639).

Carrying Our Sacred Responsibility in the Land
The Levites carried the Mishkan in the desert. Today, we carry the sanctity of the Land in our own way. Living in Eretz Yisrael is not always easy – there are physical challenges, bureaucratic obstacles, and moments of loneliness. But just as each Levi had to bear his assigned portion – whether it was the heavy planks, the shimmering curtains, or the sacred vessels – each of us carries our piece of the collective inheritance.
Living in Bat Ayin, we can perceive how every soul brings a different panel, a different curtain, a different vessel to the collective sanctuary of our people. Each student who comes to learn Torah, plant a garden, raise children, or simply breathe in the holiness of the Land is carrying their part of the Mishkan – their avodat hakodesh. Each of us, with our unique contribution and role in the community, reflects our deeper spiritual mission, aligned with our soul’s root and place of rectification within the Divine structure of the nation.

Parashat Behar/Bechukotai: How does Keeping the Sabbatical and Jubilee Years Bring About Redemption?

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Parashat Behar/Bechukotai
How does keeping the Sabbatical and Jubilee Years Bring About Redemption? 

Why is it a Great Challenge to become a Guest in “Your Own” Garden?

Keeping the Sabbatical year in Israel can be challenging, especially for farmers, and even for very small-scale gardeners like myself. Being a workaholic, I find it difficult to let go of improving my surroundings. It’s not simple to abstain from working the land and truly let go, letting G-d take over. Rather than noticing which plants are unhappy, which one needs compost, or more water or light, the Sabbatical year – Shemitta – is about completely releasing ownership and appreciating what is.

It took me several seven-year cycles to finally reach a place where I could feel like a guest in “my own” garden. Truly internalizing that I don’t own it – that I am merely an eternal renter with a contract from the true Landlord, who reclaims His ownership every seven years – was not immediate. I still remember my first Shemitta year in Bat Ayin and how uncomfortable I felt when, from my kitchen window, I saw a neighbor casually trampling into my garden and helping himself to the ripest cherry tomatoes – the very ones I had planned to harvest the next day in honor of Shabbat.

It was a great challenge to silence my inner voice: “These are my tomatoes! I worked so hard to prepare the soil, plant the seeds, raise the stakes, and ensure they had enough water. How could he have the nerve… without even asking permission?!” While I was able to intellectually accept that the laws of Shemitta grant equal access to all produce growing in the Land of Israel, that inner voice still kept whispering in the back of my mind each Shemitta year – until my fourth Shemitta cycle in Bat Ayin.

Finally, during the most recent Shemitta, I learned to let go and truly relax. After living on the land for over 30 years, I was finally able to completely silence the voice of ownership, even letting go of concern for the fallen fruits that, if left too long, would become infested. No longer did I feel compelled to pick up every single fruit, rinse, inspect, mash, and add to preserves of every kind. For the first time, instead of noticing all the things that needed improvement in my garden, I could simply delight in its beauty.

How Does the Shemitta Year Parallel a Husband-and-Wife Relationship?

Living in Eretz Yisrael grants us a relationship with the land that mirrors the depth and sanctity of marriage. Just as a husband and wife must count seven days of separation following a woman’s cycle, so too do we release physical interaction with the Land every seven years. Just as Shemitta teaches us to relinquish our sense of ownership over the land, the laws of taharat hamishpacha (family purity) train a husband to let go of any illusion of ownership over his wife.

The Shemitta year ingrains within us the truth that we never fully possess the Land – we are only its caretakers. Likewise, the marital cycle of withdrawal and reunion emphasizes that a woman is not an object of possession, and that marriage is a partnership of mutual respect. Our relationship with the Holy Land is similar: it requires reverence, space, and time off for recharging. Stepping back for a time allows for renewal and reconnection. Coming together again breaks the feeling of entitlement and opens the door for deeper love.

The same is true in marriage. Stepping away from physical contact can break stale patterns, the pause offers fresh possibilities for growing together, and opens the heart to rediscovery – new pathways into each other’s souls. Keeping the hands-off laws of the Shemitta year, approaching the Land with humility, reverence, and gratitude, empowers us to reach new levels in the Land. As the Talmud teaches: “In the year following the conclusion of the Sabbatical Year, the son of David will come” (Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 97a). It is through letting go that we prepare the ground – and ourselves – for redemption.

Why is Exile the Consequence of Neglecting Shemitta Observance?

Since keeping the Shemitta year prepares us for redemption, it makes sense that neglecting fulfilling the mitzvot of Shemitta causes exile, as it states, “Because of the sin of neglecting the Sabbatical and Jubilee years, exile comes to the world...” (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 33a). This Talmudic statement is based on the following verses in Parashat B’Chukotai:

ספר ויקרא פרק כו פסוק לד אָז תִּרְצֶה הָאָרֶץ אֶת שַׁבְּתֹתֶיהָ כֹּל יְמֵי הָשַּׁמָּה וְאַתֶּם בְּאֶרֶץ אֹיְבֵיכֶם אָז תִּשְׁבַּת הָאָרֶץ וְהִרְצָת אֶת שַׁבְּתֹתֶיהָ: (לה) כָּל יְמֵי הָשַּׁמָּה תִּשְׁבֹּת אֵת אֲשֶׁר לֹא שָׁבְתָה בְּשַׁבְּתֹתֵיכֶם בְּשִׁבְתְּכֶם עָלֶיהָ:

“Then, the land will be appeased regarding its sabbaticals. During all the days that it remains desolate while you are in the land of your enemies, the Land will rest and thus appease its sabbaticals. It will rest during all the days that it remains desolate, whatever it had not rested on your sabbaticals, when you lived upon it (Vayikra 26:34-35).

Rashi explains that the seventy-year Babylonian exile was a measure-for-measure punishment – one year of exile for each Sabbatical year (Shemitta or Yovel) that the Israelites failed to observe. Over 436 years during which the people consistently sinned and neglected Shemitta, there should have been seventy sacred years of rest for the land. Because these years were disregarded, Hashem exiled the people to allow the land to “rest” in their absence. As it states: “Until the land was appeased for its Shabbatot… until the completion of seventy years” (II Divrei Hayamim 36:21).

The Torah teaches us to keep Shemitta to absorb the Infinite Light within Eretz Yisrael. The holiness of the land is reserved for those willing to meet the conditions to access this Infinite Light. Only by following this practice do we deserve to live in the Holy Land. This explains why the consequence of neglecting to observe Shemitta results in the severe punishment of exile from the Holy Land.

The Netivot Shalom deepens this understanding: The Shemitta year imbues the Land with holiness. When the laws of Shemitta are not upheld, the נְשָׁמָה/neshama – ‘soul’ of the Land departs. And with the departure of its soul, exile from the Holy Land inevitably follows (Netivot Shalom, Vayikra, p. 106).

Why Does Resting Bring About Restoration?

Shemitta applies only in Eretz Yisrael, revealing the land’s elevated spiritual stature and the unique sanctity of its fruits. The produce of the Holy Land contains a distinctive energy and holiness, as reflected in the blessings we recite over the seven species native to it. Rebbe Nachman teaches that ascending to the highest levels of spirituality is not linear – it often involves being pushed back. Yet if we accept these setbacks with simcha (joy), we actually expand our capacity to receive greater Divine light (Likutey Moharan 24). His student, Rav Nachman of Tcherin, explains that this process is foundational: learning how to face pauses and delays with joy becomes essential for progress in all areas of life (Yekara d’Shabbat on LM 24).
This idea is mirrored in many physical disciplines, where the rest between exertions is what brings about the deepest restoration. One of our meditative movement teachers used to say, “Let the pause do its good work.” In moments of stillness, we shift shape – we let go of who we were to become something new. In the process of meditative movement, the pause is essential to transformation – the shedding of the old habit of being. Likewise, after six years of working the land and drawing the spiritual dimension from within the Holy Land and its fruit, Shemitta invites us to stop. Only by letting go – by pausing completely – can we truly internalize the light of the Land.
In today’s fast-paced world, where we are constantly rushing and overextended, the mitzvah of Shemitta offers a powerful spiritual remedy. Taking a break isn’t easy; we fear losing ground. But relentless movement without renewal can lead to burnout. Shemitta teaches us how to pause before we collapse – how to breathe and become whole again. This seventh-year rest is not only agricultural – it is a Divine prescription for spiritual and emotional healing.
(Inspired by Rabbi Meir Elkabas, The Restraint of Shemittah)

The Return to Our Source During the Jubilee Year
Parashat Behar introduces the mitzvah of the Jubilee year – a spiritual milestone that challenges us even more than the Sabbatical year. After observing seven full Shemitta cycles, the Torah calls upon us to sanctify an additional year – the fiftieth – and to refrain from working the land for a second consecutive year:

ספר ויקרא פרק כה פסוק ח וְסָפַרְתָּ לְךָ שֶׁבַע שַׁבְּתֹת שָׁנִים שֶׁבַע שָׁנִים שֶׁבַע פְּעָמִים וְהָיוּ לְךָ יְמֵי שֶׁבַע שַׁבְּתֹת הַשָּׁנִים תֵּשַׁע וְאַרְבָּעִים (ט) וְהַעֲבַרְתָּ שׁוֹפַר תְּרוּעָה בַּחֹדֶשׁ הַשְּׁבִעִי בֶּעָשׂוֹר לַחֹדֶשׁ בְּיוֹם הַכִּפֻּרִים תַּעֲבִירוּ שׁוֹפָר בְּכָל אַרְצְכֶם:(י) וְקִדַּשְׁתֶּם אֵת שְׁנַת הַחֲמִשִּׁים שָׁנָה וּקְרָאתֶם דְּרוֹר בָּאָרֶץ לְכָל ישְׁבֶיהָ יוֹבֵל הִוא תִּהְיֶה לָכֶם וְשַׁבְתֶּם אִישׁ אֶל אֲחֻזָּתוֹ וְאִישׁ אֶל מִשְׁפַּחְתּוֹ תָּשֻׁבוּ: (יא) יוֹבֵל הִוא שְׁנַת הַחֲמִשִּׁים שָׁנָה תִּהְיֶה לָכֶם לֹא תִזְרָעוּ וְלֹא תִקְצְרוּ אֶת סְפִיחֶיהָ וְלֹא תִבְצְרוּ אֶת נְזִרֶיהָ:

“Then you shall count for yourself seven sabbatical years, seven times. The days of these seven sabbatical years shall amount to forty-nine years for you. You shall proclaim with shofar blasts... on the Day of Atonement... You shall sanctify the fiftieth year and proclaim freedom throughout the land for all its inhabitants. It shall be a Jubilee for you, and you shall return, each man to his property, and each man to his family. The fiftieth year shall be a Jubilee for you; you shall not sow, nor reap its aftergrowth, nor pick its grapes [for yourself] ... (Vayikra 25:8-1).

In this sacred year, we not only observe the agricultural release of Shemitta – refraining from planting and allowing the produce of the fields to be available to all – but we also witness a full societal reset. Land holdings return to their original families. All Hebrew slaves go free. The Yovel year represents a collective return to the roots of our truest self, reconnecting with what is most essential in our lives.

This is why the Torah emphasizes that Yovel is proclaimed specifically on Yom Kippur. As the Maharal explains, Yovel and Yom Kippur are intrinsically linked. Both are about return – whether of land, people, or soul. Just as the Jubilee returns land to its ancestral owner and releases the slave to freedom, Yom Kippur returns the sinner to innocence, restoring us to our original state of purity and perfection (Maharal, Gur Aryeh, Vayikra 25:9).

This return is not only personal but cosmic. The fiftieth year alludes to the Fiftieth Gate – the level of transcendent Divine light that lies beyond the bounds of human logic and limitation.  To let the land lie fallow for two full years – Shemitta followed by Yovel – is the ultimate act of emunah. It demands that we fully surrender all ownership and rely entirely on Hashem. Yet in that very restraint lies the seed of ultimate restoration. The more fully we let go, the more space we create for something infinitely greater to return.

May we merit to reach this sacred return – to come back to our highest selves, and be restored to our rightful portion in the Holy Land, aligned with the essence of our souls.

Here We Keep Shemitta