Naso 5786
“Those who trust in יהוה are like Mount Zion: they cannot be moved; they will endure forever.” Psalms 125:1
Parashat Naso (נָשֹׂא) is the longest single parashah in the entire Torah, with 176 verses. Naso means to lift up, raise up, or take a census. Among the topics developed here are: the census of the Levites by family, detailing their responsibilities. We learn about the Sotah (the woman suspected of adultery), about the Nazirite vow, the Birkat HaKohanim (the priestly blessing), and the offerings of the princes of each tribe (Nisim).
Before we begin, I would like to discuss how our ancestors and the world at that time experienced relationships. Relationships were very predictable, like the seasons, jobs, and family activities. In this sense, the world was more stable, the future more predictable. With information technology, the world has been transformed at every level, and its influence on our thinking has transformed our relationships. For example, I remember my grandfather saying that my grandmother knew their schedules and what activities they all had during the day; waking up, mealtimes, and bedtimes were very regular. At my house, we had breakfast at 6:00 AM, lunch at 12:30 PM, dinner at 6:00 PM, and went to bed at 8:00 PM. My father arrived home at 5:00 PM sharp; we all left the house at 6:45 AM, and were home for lunch. We went outside to play between 3:00 and 5:00 PM so we could be there to greet my father when he came home. And on weekends, we listened to the radio. Even the seasons were very regular: the winds began on October 1st, the cicadas came out in February announcing the heat, and the rains started in May, allowing the land to stabilize so that the harvests could begin in November. Even relationships seemed more uniform, with desserts for special occasions such as birthdays, weddings, or graduations; in marriage, relationships were very stable within the traditional family, having defined roles, and new clothes appeared when there was a change of secular year, or gifts appeared on birthdays.
In the so-called “progressive” world, consumerism and the gratification of endless desire have been introduced, where human beings cease to have limits and give free rein to the immense creativity of the mind. This way of thinking has led to a situation where people place no limits on their consumption, and we have begun to overexploit the world. Now everyone wants a car, new clothes every week, and to eat out every day. By focusing on pleasure and novelty, we are polluting the planet with smog from vehicle emissions and even from the energy required to manufacture electric-car batteries; cities are plagued by traffic congestion, and suburbs are lined with parked cars. This excessive and limitless consumption has led to desserts being eaten not just on special occasions but three or four times a day, contributing to overweight and even obese populations. Meat consumption led to the destruction of forests, not only for grazing livestock but also for grain production to generate animal feed, simply to satisfy the desire to eat meat 3 to 4 times a week.
The desire for technology and social media has led us to neglect outdoor activities, family movie nights, and the cinema or theatre as truly enjoyable family activities. We crave entertainment lasting from 30 seconds to 2 minutes (the famous clips). Simultaneously, overproduction has created an environmental imbalance, contributing to the greenhouse effect and creating “super kids” for climate change. So, when I observe this imbalance, I find a glimmer of hope in the words of Parashat Naso.
If we read carefully, searching for the mosaic within the passage, we notice highly repetitive activities that are designed to be enduring and predictable over time; they are actions contrary to today’s world of desires that seek extravagance. The first action was to “count one by one”. Each Levite, each man, was assigned very specific tasks (lifting, carrying, serving) for a specific period of time (30 to 50 years). Then, it addressed the limits of a man doubting his wife’s integrity, presenting “creative” ways to resolve his “spirit of jealousy.” In that era, women were very vulnerable, and if a man, due to his doubt based on jealousy, wanted to divorce his wife, he could abandon her. Socially, a woman thus abandoned and divorced under suspicion was vulnerable socially and economically, and also susceptible to abuse that could even harm her physical well-being. So, the portion of the Sotah focused on protecting women and bringing reason to men’s jealousy. Similarly, God, knowing the hearts of men who are often driven by impulse and impetuously want to feel close to God, formulated vows.
How many twisted tales have we heard of vows made to God by men throughout human history that ended in disaster! For example, Tomás de Torquemada, with his Dominican vows, Joan of Arc (in the war with England), Pope Urban II (with the Crusades), Louis XIV (who took vows to legitimize slavery), Isabella I of Castile (initiating the Inquisition), and Henry VIII of England (the creation of Anglicanism, leading to wars), to name a few. We read how Jephthah made a vow that committed his daughter’s life, something God never asked for, because we should not commit the lives of others as a vow to God. So, God provided a way out that involved a temporary vow, personal in nature and well-defined in its roles and limits: the Nazirite vow.
Next, Naso teaches us how we should bless, setting limits that don’t necessarily restrict us from blessing people. Nowadays, people tend to bless based on their mood, the day, or their affinity for others. It’s interesting that the blessing functions as a priestly blessing, in addition to being an eternal one. It is complete; it doesn’t need to add or take away words. It didn’t depend on the priest’s mood, whether he liked the person, or whether he was having a good day. There’s no room to add our own “flavor” to the blessing. I appreciate Alejandro blessing the congregation every Shabbat because that same blessing in each service touches different moments in the lives of the hearers, at various stages of maturity, and in various moods. On some days, it comforts the soul seeking refuge, on others when we need light, and on others when we are seeking peace.
The parashah concludes with the princes presenting voluntary offerings before God. They all present the same offering, and it is interesting that the Torah could have summarized it as follows: “…and on the twelve subsequent days each prince presented: a gold and silver bowl full of fine flour with oil, and a gold bowl full of incense; then they offered a burnt offering consisting of a young bull, a ram, and a yearling lamb. Afterward, they made atonement and presented peace offerings.” But the Torah describes the exact same action twelve times, once for each tribe and once for each day. This is what is precious about the Torah: it gives us a glimpse that, although outwardly the offerings were the same, inwardly, for God, they were unique.
So, Naso teaches us to rise above our mere existence; to transform an offering that does not seem so different from what others might offer into something special; to serve others daily without anyone possibly noticing; to bear a responsibility without being publicly acknowledged for it; or to bless with the words that God left for others with the right intention. Our parashah abounds with many names, lists, and repetitions. Similarly, our spiritual life sometimes seems very routine, very repetitive: We work, we serve, we study the same things, we repeat the siddur, or we begin reading the Torah again, but the important thing is that God sees each repeated act, done faithfully and with the right intention, as something unique.
The priestly blessing is always the same, but it doesn’t necessarily touch the soul in the same way. Modernity often thinks that what is authentic must be spontaneous, creative, and emotionally new. How many people get divorced because there’s no spark in their relationship! They divorce because of “monotony,” as the Shakira song says, or because they are so predictable. However, the Torah often teaches the opposite: Depth is born from returning to the origin and starting anew. We see how we have many repetitive actions, such as gathering the manna each morning, the Korban Tamid that were offered in the morning and in the evening, the Shabbat that returns every week, the Festivals every year, and so the Priestly Blessing returns again and again, perhaps to help us align ourselves and build firm spiritual foundations.
We read in the Birkat Kohanim: “May God bless you and keep you.” These words are seemingly fixed, but they convey a different message to a child who hears them, to a confused young person, to a weary adult, to someone who is ill, or to an elderly person filled with gratitude. The text can console today, correct tomorrow, sustain in the future, or heal the soul. Thus, repetition does not imply redundancy; it implies guidance, establishing or building identity.
Spirituality depends not only on inspiration but also on faithfulness, on meaningful repetition. The cohen does not create the blessing; he only channels it. Therefore, the siddur states before reciting the blessing: “who commanded us to bless His people Israel with love.” Just as a river with a stable course constantly renews its water, and it is not the same once it has flowed, so too is the channeled blessing.
The Priestly Blessing also bestows upon us “May He make His face shine upon you,” granting clarity, understanding, and favor in this ever-changing world. In changing times, the Priestly Blessing is also an anchor for the soul. If we consider what happens between each Shabbat, so many things occur: sometimes wars break out, catastrophes happen, illnesses or pandemics arise, losses occur during the week, and doubts or victories arise. And yet, the same voice from Heaven appears: “May YHVH lift up His countenance upon you and grant you shalom.” It is a blessing that gives us permanence in moments of exhaustion, even when we feel nothing or are traversing spiritual deserts.
So let us not fall into the current human illusion, peddled by Hollywood, that only the new has life, that what is changeable, even if not lasting, generates pleasure, and that is what is important. What is truly important is to be anchored and bring stability to life, because the Torah teaches that the eternal lives precisely because it remains, and the soul matures when it discovers depth in what seemed like repetition. It is like the sea, always the same, yet never the same.
Psalm 125 teaches us that those who trust in the Eternal One do not move. Not moving is not the same as being rigid, nor is it the absence of change. It is the permanence of identity. Mount Zion changes externally with the seasons; it has seen generations come and go, its landscape evolve, but it remains. Modernity seeks intensity, as we see reflected in Samson—exciting, novel, and rooted in spiritually intense experiences. However, the Torah highly values repetition, continuity, and daily faithfulness. Permanence creates a dwelling place where one can rest; it removes the nomadic aspect of life. The psalm says, “They will remain forever,” because it implies continuity, rootedness, and transcendence. Samson was a Nazirite who lived back and forth between Zorah, in the territory of Dan, and Philistia, suggesting instability. However, another Nazirite, Shmuel, says that he remained serving in the house of God, and we read of him: he grew. I would like to conclude by saying that the Priestly Blessing does not need to be reinvented every week, because its power does not come from human creativity, but from Divine faithfulness. Like Mount Zion, the words remain. And precisely because they remain, they can sustain entire generations. Over time, we come to understand that it is not the blessing that needs to be renewed, but rather that we are the ones who need to be renewed by it. My prayer is that we seek what is permanent, not what is changeable; being grounded is equivalent to living in stability and, therefore, is blessed.
Shabbat Shalom
Mauricio Quintero