{Originally posted to Rabbi Weinberg’s website, The Foundation Stone}
It was as if we were speaking two different languages. In the process of being vetted by a rabbi, I became momentarily confused when asked if I pray three times a day. I pray tens of times each day, and don’t count the morning, afternoon, and evening prayers as, 1-2-3, but as individual prayers. He might as well have asked me whether I recited the 57 blessings that equal the total of reciting the Amidah – The Eighteen Blessings – no, my math isn’t off – there are 19 blessings in the Prayer of Eighteen. No wonder counting the blessings confuses me.
When very young, upon learning that we should recite 100 blessings each day, I kept count on a piece of paper, something which distracted me from focusing on each blessing. Every morning, I count the strings and knots of my Tzitzit and Tallit, and I need to readjust my thinking from numbers to the lessons and benefit of those Mitzvot. My observances are filled with numbers, and I do not enjoy counting.
Unfortunately, technology is imposing numbers throughout my day. My phone informs me of how many calls I miss and how many messages I have to hear, so I close my phone, open my computer, and, again, am immediately attacked by numbers: 29000 emails, 4698 unread, and 765 drafts of unfinished responses. Even the emails force me to count. I have this many subscribers, this many have read the most recent newsletter. Google Analytics will momentarily lift my spirits as it reports how many people have clicked on our website, but then, the frustrating part begins, as I’m taken to reports on each individual post, the countries from which people are reading, etc. I then have to monitor the usage of each device. More numbers! Arggh!
My reaction to numbers reminds me of a teacher’s, who, when observing a bus driver counting the perfectly well-behaved children on his bus, seemed to lose his mind. He was a concentration camp survivor, and the counting reminded him of the mornings he stood in Auschwitz waiting to be counted.
I’m slightly relieved when I recall that even the famous Daniel, who read the writing, or shall I say, the counting, on the wall for King Belshazzar, “Mene mene tekel upharsin (Daniel 5:25),” “God has counted and counted, weighed, and broken up,” becomes frustrated by the counting he had so confidently spoken of to the Babylonian king. “I, Daniel, contemplated the calculations, the number of years about which the word of God had come to the prophet Jeremiah (9:2).” Daniel, confused by the count of a 70-year exile, lost hope.
I worry that Daniel and I, and all those not mathematically inclined, are in trouble, when I read this week’s portion that joyfully celebrates numbers, “And all the persons who emerged from Jacob’s loins were seventy souls (Exodus 1:5),” and speaks ominously when describing numbers being lost, “The Children of Israel were fruitful and swarmed (7),” triggering, “Behold! The people, the Children of Israel, are more numerous and stronger than are we (9).” When the census reported a swarm rather than a specific number, Pharaoh panicked.
The situation worsens for Daniel and me when God speaks of Redemption in terms of counting, “Pakod pakad’ti, (4:16),” which, although translated as, “I have surely remembered,” also means, “I have surely counted,” echoing Joseph’s deathbed promise of redemption, “Pakod yifkod (Genesis 50:25),” God will indeed count you!
Pharaoh ingenuously uses counting to head off the first rumblings of redemption, and the message that his days are numbered, by insisting, “The quota of bricks that they were making yesterday and before yesterday you shall impose on them (Exodus 5:8).” The morning head count in Auschwitz, and Pharaoh’s quotas were used to crush hope, ironically sending a message that their victims did not count as individuals. They did not matter.
I find it equally ironic that those making all sorts of calculations to count the years till Redemption, those who measure others by the number of children they produce, and those vetting rabbis, fail to understand what even Pharaoh and the Nazis understood; Redemption cannot be counted unless we first master, Pakod, nurturing the individuality of each person. The Redemption counters are so wrapped up in their calculations that they have lost sight of our responsibility to allow each child to celebrate his or her individuality, that each has a unique place in the classroom and the community. Silenced questions, crushed creative insights, threats to be cut off from a community, all send the same message as Pharaoh’s, “We are interested in quotas, not Pakod, allowing each individual to develop a strong sense of identity.”
The first to develop such a sense of identity, is Moses, who storms back to God, “Why have You done evil to this people (5:22),” a demand that took far more courage than arguing with God whether he was the one to lead the people. The minute the words came out of his mouth, Moses realized that he was the right person. He discovered himself. The counting of Pakod began, and so too, the redemption.
Shabbat Shalom