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Elazar Carried the Tabernacle Without Seeking Honor

Elazar son of Aaron receives the full Tabernacle inventory. Bamidbar Rabbah says holy objects turn lethal the moment the carrier thinks they belong to him.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Priest Was Given a Terrifying Inventory
  2. The Priest Had to Shrink Himself
  3. Kings of the Earth Recognized What Elazar Carried
  4. Moses Was the Measure of Sinai
  5. Manasseh's Prince and the Tension of the King's Order

The Priest Was Given a Terrifying Inventory

Elazar son of Aaron stood before Moses and received his charge: oil for the menorah, incense spices, the daily meal offering, anointing oil. The whole Tabernacle and everything in its sacred vessels. Not to build, not to design. To oversee. To carry. To be responsible for the entire physical structure through which Israel's worship happened.

Bamidbar Rabbah reads Numbers 4:16 as more than a job description. Elazar's charge was a test of character at the highest possible altitude. The closer a person stands to the vessels of God, the less room he has for self-display. A king may tolerate ceremony around himself. Heaven does not tolerate inflated pride before the Ark. The inventory Elazar received was not power. It was weight.

The Priest Had to Shrink Himself

Proverbs 25:6 says: do not glorify yourself before a king, and do not stand in the place of the great. Bamidbar Rabbah raises the stakes immediately. If humility is required before a king of flesh and blood, how much more before the Omnipresent. The principle scales upward without limit.

Elijah teaches, in the tradition Bamidbar Rabbah preserves, that a person who increases the glory of Heaven while minimizing his own glory receives both. His own honor returns because he gave it up. A person who minimizes Heaven while inflating himself loses his own honor while Heaven remains untouched. The math is exact. Sacred authority is held, not owned. The moment a priest mistakes the Tabernacle for a possession, the possession begins to judge him.

Kings of the Earth Recognized What Elazar Carried

The nations were watching. Bamidbar Rabbah says that when the kings of the earth saw the orderly structure of Israel's camp, the Tabernacle at the center, the Levites and priests arranged around it in their assigned positions, they recognized something they could not produce by their own authority. Their kingdoms rested on force and inheritance. Israel's camp rested on a structure given at a mountain by a God who could be neither bought nor negotiated with.

The kings of the earth who recognized this were not necessarily praising Israel. They were acknowledging a kind of power that their own power could not account for. When Elazar carried the Tabernacle's inventory correctly, without seeking honor, without drawing attention to himself, the structure remained legible to the nations as evidence of something that came from outside human ambition.

Moses Was the Measure of Sinai

Moses stands as the comparison point for Elazar in Bamidbar Rabbah. Moses had climbed the mountain and received the Torah and descended with fire on his face. He was the model of someone who carried divine content without letting it become personal glory. He had been offered the priesthood and let it go. He had been the channel of the Ten Commandments and remained the most humble man on earth, at least according to the tradition Numbers itself preserves.

Elazar carried the Tabernacle the way Moses carried the Torah. Not as a possession. Not as a credential. As a burden that required the person carrying it to be smaller than what he carried, so that what he carried could remain visible as something that did not originate with him.

Manasseh's Prince and the Tension of the King's Order

Not everyone in Israel's camp resolved the tension between personal loyalty and sacred order as cleanly as Elazar. Bamidbar Rabbah includes the case of Manasseh's prince and the pressure of obeying a king whose orders conflicted with what the Tabernacle required. The prince had to decide whose authority came first: the human king's command or the divine structure of the camp.

The principle that governs the answer is the one already established by Elazar's inventory. Sacred authority does not bend to human hierarchy. A king who orders something that disrupts the structure of the Tabernacle is not obeying the order he was given when he was made king. His kingship exists within the covenant, not above it. The prince who understands this is the one who can hold sacred charge and political loyalty without letting one corrupt the other.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 4:20Bamidbar Rabbah

We can see this theme beautifully illustrated in Bamidbar Rabbah (Numbers Rabbah) 4, which draws a powerful lesson from the seemingly straightforward verse, “The charge of Elazar, son of Aaron the priest, is the illuminating oil, and the incense of the spices, and the meal offering of the daily offering, and the anointing oil: the charge of the entire Tabernacle, and of everything that is in it, in the sacred, and in its vessels” (Numbers 4:16).

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) doesn’t just take this at face value. It asks: what does this verse REALLY teach us?

It begins by quoting (Proverbs 25:6): “Do not glorify yourself before a king, and do not stand in the place of the prominent.” If we must be humble before earthly rulers, how much more so before the Omnipresent, HaKadosh Baruch Hu – The Holy One, Blessed be He! Are we sometimes tempted to puff ourselves up, to seek recognition? The Mishna Avot (5:20) teaches us to be bold like a leopard, nimble like an eagle, run like a deer, and be strong like a lion… but all this strength is "to perform the will of your Father in heaven," emphasizing that there is no room for haughtiness before HaShem.

The prophet Elijah weighs in, explaining that whoever increases the glory of Heaven while minimizing their own, increases both the glory of Heaven AND their own. But minimize Heaven's glory and inflate your own? Heaven's glory remains unchanged, and your own is diminished. Ouch.

The Midrash then shares two powerful stories. The first is about a man in a synagogue who fails to correct his son’s frivolous behavior during prayer. The consequences? A tragic downfall for his entire family. The second is about a man who, regretting his lack of Torah study, loudly proclaims God’s holiness during a service. This act, born of humility and newfound understanding, leads to his rise and honor in the Land of Israel.

These stories serve as stark warnings and inspiring examples. They highlight the importance of recognizing our place before something greater than ourselves.

The Midrash then brings David, king of Israel, as an example. David, despite his power, debased himself before HaShem like a commoner. We learn that when he brought up the Ark from the house of Avinadav, he consulted with leaders and gathered the entire community, ensuring the event was public and celebratory.

The text dives into the details: David appointed ninety thousand elders (according to Rabbi Yirmeya ben Elazar and Rabbi Berekhya in the name of Rabbi Abba bar Kahana!), and meticulously planned the procession. It even clarifies a seeming contradiction in verses about where David and the people went to retrieve the Ark, explaining the logistics of moving the Ark from Giva to Kiryat Ye’arim.

But here's the rub: they didn’t carry the Ark as prescribed in the Torah. Instead of the Kohanim (priests) carrying it on their shoulders, they put it on a wagon. Why? Because, the Midrash suggests, David had called matters of Torah "songs," and so he was punished by forgetting a basic rule: "But to the sons of Kehat he did not give [because the sacred service is upon them, they shall bear on the shoulder]" (Numbers 7:9).

The Ark, seemingly angered by this disrespect, threw the priests around! David, distressed, consulted with Ahitofel, who advised him to slaughter offerings. But HaShem rebuked Ahitofel: a matter so simple that "children say in the synagogue each day" you did not mention!

The story then recounts the tragic death of Uza, who reached out to steady the Ark when the oxen stumbled. He was struck down for his actions. Why? Because, the Midrash explains, the Ark carries its bearers; surely it could support itself! Rabbi Yoḥanan even suggests that Uza will have a place in the World to Come because of his association with the Ark.

After this, the Ark was diverted to the home of Oved Edom, a Levite. And here's a beautiful twist: The Ark stayed in Oved Edom's house for three months, and the Lord blessed him and his entire household!

The Midrash highlights that both the incense and the Ark were mistakenly believed to be "harsh." The incense was associated with the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, the burning of Korah's assembly, and Uzziah's leprosy. Similarly, the Ark was linked to the Philistines' suffering, the deaths in Beit Shemesh, and the demise of Uza.

To counter these misconceptions, the Torah emphasizes the blessings associated with both. The incense saved Israel from a plague (Numbers 17:12–13), and the Ark blessed Oved Edom's house. As the Midrash concludes, "incense and the Ark do not kill, but rather sins kill." Rabbi Yosei says that Oved Edom was blessed with many children because he kindled a lamp before the Ark each morning and evening, performing a “great action [peula] on behalf of the Torah.”

Upon hearing of Oved Edom's blessings, David finally brought the Ark to Jerusalem with great rejoicing, this time carried properly by the Levites. He danced before the Ark “with all his might” (II (Samuel 6:1)4), debasing himself for the glory of HaShem. But his wife, Mikhal, daughter of Saul, scorned him for his behavior, accusing him of exposing himself before the maidservants.

David rebuked her, declaring that he was reveling before the King of kings, who had chosen him over her father. He even suggested that the women she scorned were mothers, and he would be honored to have a portion with them in the future. As a result of her scorn, Mikhal remained childless until her death.

The Midrash concludes by emphasizing David's humility and contrasting it with the actions of flesh and blood. While a cook might wear fine garments to the marketplace but tatters to cook, the priest dons excellent garments even when sweeping the altar. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi points out that Elazar himself, despite being a prince among priests, personally carried the sacred objects. “This is to inform you that there is no haughtiness before God.”

So, what's the takeaway?

It’s a powerful reminder that true greatness lies not in exalting ourselves, but in humbling ourselves before something greater. It's about recognizing that every task, every act of service, is an opportunity to connect with the Divine.

Are we willing to set aside our egos, embrace humility, and serve with all our might, knowing that true honor comes not from self-aggrandizement, but from dedicating ourselves to the glory of Heaven?

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Bamidbar Rabbah 8:4Bamidbar Rabbah

It turns out, even ancient texts confront these questions, offering surprising insights into universal ethics. to Bamidbar Rabbah, specifically section 8. This isn't your typical dry, theological treatise. It’s a vibrant conversation about divine justice, the importance of ethical behavior, and the surprising way even non-believers can recognize truth.

Rabbi Pinḥas suggests that the kings of the world – the non-Jewish world – actually stood up from their thrones and praised God upon hearing certain commandments. Why? When God said, "I am the Lord your God" (Exodus 20:2), the kings thought, "Well, that's what a king would say." Makes sense. And when God commanded, "You shall have no other gods" (Exodus 20:3), they figured, "No king wants rivals!" Similarly, "You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain" (Exodus 20:7) seemed like a king protecting his reputation, and "Remember the Shabbat (the Sabbath) day" (Exodus 20:8) resonated as a ruler wanting his day of rest honored.

Then came "Honor your father and your mother" (Exodus 20:12). Suddenly, the kings were stunned. "Wait," they thought, "according to our protocols, when you swear allegiance to the king, you renounce your parents! But this God commands the opposite?" That's when they rose and praised Him. The Bamidbar Rabbah argues that they were even more impressed by prohibitions against murder, adultery, stealing, lying, and coveting. Basic human decency, elevated to divine command.

It gets even more interesting. When God declared, "For what he misappropriated from the sacred he shall pay" (Leviticus 5:16), the kings were again surprised. According to their customs, stealing from the emperor meant a far harsher punishment than stealing from a commoner. Yet, God’s law treated both offenses with a similar level of seriousness. In some ways, sins against a commoner were even more serious! As we find in Leviticus (5:15, 5:21), the Torah emphasizes the trespass against the commoner, almost suggesting it's intentional, even when it's unwitting.

This section of Bamidbar Rabbah isn't just about ancient history; it’s about the essence of morality. It suggests that true justice isn’t about power or privilege, but about fairness and compassion for all.

The text then shifts to a story about King David and a famine that plagued the land. The famine, David learns through consulting the Urim ve-Tumim (a sort of ancient oracle), was a consequence of Saul's actions against the Gibeonites – descendants of converts to Judaism.

The story unfolds, revealing a interplay of justice, compassion, and the importance of treating even marginalized members of society with respect. David learns a powerful lesson: that mistreating those who are "distant" from the community can ultimately lead to the alienation of those who are "near." It's a stark reminder that inclusivity and fairness are not just ideals, but essential pillars of a just society.

The narrative highlights the actions of Ritzpa, daughter of Aya, who tirelessly protected the bodies of Saul’s descendants from scavengers. Her dedication impressed David so much that he finally gave Saul and his sons a proper burial. This act, in turn, appeased God and brought an end to the famine. This, according to Rabbi Aha bar Zevina in the name of Rabbi Hoshaya the Great, demonstrates that sanctifying God’s name is greater than avoiding its desecration. Even though Jewish law dictates that a body shouldn’t remain unburied overnight (Deuteronomy 21:23), allowing the bodies to hang for an extended period ultimately sanctified God’s name because it led to widespread repentance and conversion.

The Bamidbar Rabbah emphasizes that God "draws the distant near," valuing converts and outsiders. This idea is beautifully summarized at the end: "Peace, peace, for the distant and the near" (Isaiah 57:19). It's a call for radical inclusivity, a reminder that everyone deserves respect and compassion, regardless of their background or origin.

So, what does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder to examine our own values, to ask ourselves if we truly treat everyone with fairness and compassion. Are we creating a society where justice prevails, not just for the powerful, but for the marginalized? The ancient rabbis of Bamidbar Rabbah challenge us to do better, to strive for a world where even the "kings of the earth" would stand up and praise the principles of justice and compassion.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 11:2Bamidbar Rabbah

Bamidbar Rabbah 11, a section of a Midrash, a collection of rabbinic commentaries on the Book of Numbers, and we'll find some surprising and hopeful insights.

The passage starts with a beautiful line from the Song of Songs (2:9): "My beloved is like a gazelle or a fawn [ofer ha’ayalim]…" Rabbi Yitzḥak sees this as Israel speaking to God. They're saying, "Master of the universe, You came to us first!" It’s a reciprocal love story.

The gazelle image is striking. Just as a gazelle leaps, so too, the text suggests, did God "leap and bound" towards Israel. The Midrash maps this onto key moments in the Exodus story: from Egypt to the sea, and from the sea to Sinai. In Egypt, God says, "I will pass in the land of Egypt…" (Exodus 12:12). At the sea, the Israelites proclaim, “this is my God and I will exalt Him” (Exodus 15:2). At Sinai, "He said: The Lord came from Sinai" (Deuteronomy 33:2). It's like God is actively pursuing a relationship, making these incredible movements to be close to us.

The text then shifts to the image of a "fawn." Rabbi Yosei ben Rabbi Ḥanina clarifies that ofer ha'ayalim means a fawn, not just any type of deer. A young, vulnerable creature. The verse continues, "Behold, he is standing behind our wall" (Song of Songs 2:9). This "wall," we learn, is the wilderness of Sinai. "Watching from the windows" (Song of Songs 2:9) refers to when "the Lord descended upon Mount Sinai…" (Exodus 19:20). And "Peering through the cracks" (Song of Songs 2:9) symbolizes "God spoke all these matters…" (Exodus 20:1). Finally, "My beloved spoke up and said to me" (Song of Songs 2:10) – "I am the Lord your God" (Exodus 20:2). This is such an intimate portrayal of revelation!

But there's more. Rabbi Yitzḥak offers another interpretation of the gazelle image: just as a gazelle appears and then is concealed, so too, the initial redeemer, Moses, appeared and was then concealed. Rabbi Berekhya, quoting Rabbi Levi, says that the ultimate redeemer, the Messiah, will follow a similar pattern.

How long was Moses concealed? Rabbi Tanḥuma says three months, based on (Exodus 5:20). And the Messiah? Rabbi Tanḥuma, in the name of Rabbi Ḥama ben Rabbi Hoshaya, says forty-five days. This is derived from the Book of Daniel (12:11-12), where the numbers 1290 and 1335 appear. The difference of 45 days represents a period of concealment before a reappearance.

Where will people be during those forty-five days? Some say the Judean desert, others the wilderness of Siḥon and Og. Those who follow the redeemer will endure hardship, eating "roots of the broom tree and saltwort leaves" (Job 30:4). But those who don't will be killed. Rabbi Yitzḥak bar Maryon adds a hopeful note: after the forty-five days, God will provide manna, just like in the desert after the Exodus. This is tied to (Hosea 12:10) and (Deuteronomy 16:6), linking the future redemption to the past. It’s a powerful promise of sustenance and renewal after a period of testing.

The Midrash then returns to the fawn image, connecting it to the Western Wall of the Temple in Jerusalem, which is said to never be destroyed because the Divine Presence resides in the west. "Watching from the windows" is linked to the merit of the patriarchs, while "peering through the cracks" is linked to the merit of the matriarchs. There’s a distinction, a nuance, between these merits. God promises, "As I live… that you will don all of them like jewelry, and you will tie them like a bride" (Isaiah 49:18).

But another interpretation surfaces: just as a gazelle leaps from place to place, so too does God leap from synagogue to synagogue, blessing Israel. This is supported by (Exodus 20:21), "In every place I mention My name, [I will come to you and I will bless you]." This blessing is attributed to the merit of Abraham.

The text then explores the story of Abraham and the three angels (Genesis 18:1). God appears to Abraham, who is sitting after his circumcision. God tells him to remain seated, making him a "paradigm" for his descendants. When Jews enter synagogues and study halls and recite the Shema, they sit, while God "stands [nitzav] in the assembly of the Almighty" (Psalms 82:1) – always ready to answer prayers, as (Isaiah 65:24) promises.

The passage further explores the priestly blessing (Numbers 6:27). Israel desires God's direct blessing, not just the priests' intermediary blessing. God reassures them that He stands with the priests, blessing them directly. The priests’ outstretched hands become windows and cracks through which God's blessing shines.

Finally, the Midrash unpacks the seven blessings God gave to Abraham (Genesis 12:2-3), linking them to the seven times "that it was good" is written in the Creation story. These blessings are: "I will render you a great nation," "I will bless you," "I will make your name great," "you will be a blessing," "I will bless those who bless you," "one who curses you, I will curse," and "all the families of the earth will be blessed in you."

These blessings, Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish suggests, are reflected in the opening blessings of the Amidah prayer: God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob. We conclude with "The Shield of Abraham," highlighting Abraham's unique role.

Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Ze’eira adds that Abraham's blessing precedes God's, as we recite "Shield of Abraham" before "Who revives the dead." And "You will be a blessing [berakha]" means you will be a "pool [berekha]" – purifying the impure and drawing people closer to God.

The Midrash emphasizes that God created Abraham as a new entity, enabling him to be fruitful and multiply. Abraham questioned how he could become a great nation when Noah had already produced seventy nations. God's response? The nation that Abraham would produce would be the one "For who is a great nation" (Deuteronomy 4:7) – a nation defined by its relationship with God.

Rabbi Pinḥas HaKohen (a priest) bar Ḥama says that Abraham became a great nation when the Israelites left Egypt, received the Torah, and entered the Land of Israel. Moses recognized that they had become the nation God promised.

Rabbi Berekhya points out that travel can diminish procreation, expenditure, and reputation. But God's blessings ensured that Abraham would not suffer these losses. And Rabbi Eliezer explains that God delegated the power of blessing to Abraham. However, Abraham, like a wise sharecropper, deferred the ultimate blessing to God, who blessed Isaac after Abraham's death. Isaac blessed Jacob, and Jacob blessed the twelve tribes. From then on, the priests would bless the people, fulfilling God's promise to Abraham.

So, what can we take away from this interplay of interpretations? Maybe it's this: the relationship between God and Israel is a dynamic, ever-evolving dance. It involves moments of closeness and distance, revelation and concealment. But through it all, the promise of redemption, of blessing, remains constant. And perhaps, like Abraham, we too are called to be pools of blessing, drawing others closer to the Divine Presence. What do you think?

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Bamidbar Rabbah 13:2Bamidbar Rabbah

It’s a story rich with symbolism, divine presence, and,

In Bamidbar Rabbah, 13, it all began on the 23rd of Adar, and culminated on the first of Nisan. Rabbi Yosei tells us that for seven days, Moses himself erected and dismantled the Tabernacle each morning, making sacrifices. Finally, on the eighth day, the first of Nisan, the Tabernacle was permanently erected. As (Exodus 40:17) states plainly: “It was in the first month during the second year, on the first of the month, the Tabernacle was erected.”

That Sunday, Aaron and his sons officially began their priestly service, washing their hands and feet, and performing their duties in the prescribed order. The entire nation of Israel participated, offering daily sacrifices, vow offerings, gift offerings, sin offerings, guilt offerings, firstborn offerings, and tithes. It was a day of immense significance, a true inauguration of the sacred space.

Here's where it gets really interesting: this moment is then connected to the (Song of Songs 4:16): "Arise, north, and come, south…"

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) beautifully interprets this verse, seeing the "north" as the burnt offering slaughtered on the north side of the altar, and the "south" as the peace offering slaughtered on the south side. "Blow upon my garden" refers to the Tent of Meeting, and its perfume spreading is the incense of the spices. “Let my beloved come to his garden” – that's the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence itself. And the delicious fruits? The offerings, of course!

It continues, drawing parallels between the verses in Song of Songs and the events surrounding the Tabernacle’s dedication. "I have come to my garden, my sister, my bride" (Song of Songs 5:1) symbolizes the eighth day, the culmination of the dedication. The myrrh and perfume are the frankincense of the incense and meal offering. The honeycomb and honey? Those are the limbs of the burnt offering, consumed on the altar. Wine and milk? The libations and the parts of lesser sanctity.

"Eat, friends," the Midrash says, refers to Moses and Aaron. And "Drink and become intoxicated, beloved ones," that's the congregation of Israel, celebrating this momentous occasion.

But the Midrash doesn't stop there. It then explores a fascinating debate between Rabbi Elazar and Rabbi Yosei bar Ḥanina about what sacrifices were offered before the giving of the Torah. Did the descendants of Noah offer only burnt offerings, or peace offerings as well?

Rabbi Elazar argues for peace offerings, citing Abel's offering in (Genesis 4:4), which he interprets as a peace offering because its fat was offered on the altar. He also points to (Exodus 24:5), where the children of Israel offered both burnt offerings and peace offerings before the Torah was given.

Rabbi Yosei ben Rabbi Ḥanina, however, interprets these verses differently. He suggests that Abel's offering was the choicest burnt offering, and that the peace offerings in Exodus were burnt offerings that were complete, without flaying or quartering. He even suggests that Jethro, Moses' father-in-law, offered burnt offerings after the giving of the Torah.

Rav clarifies that the disagreement between Rabbi Elazar and Rabbi Yosei ben Rabbi Ḥanina hinges on whether Jethro came before or after the giving of the Torah.

Rabbi Abba son of Rav Papi and Rabbi Yehoshua of Sikhnin, in the name of Rabbi Levi, support Rabbi Yosei ben Rabbi Ḥanina, citing (Leviticus 6:2) which states "This is the law of the burnt offering, it is the burnt offering," implying that only burnt offerings were offered by the descendants of Noah.

Rabbi Elazar reinterprets the "Arise, north, and come, south" verse in a completely different light – as a prophecy about the exiles! He sees it as a promise that when the exiles in the north arise, they will return and encamp in the south, and that even Gog, who is located in the north, will ultimately fall in the south. He even connects it to the messianic king who will arise from the north and build the Temple in the south.

The Midrash then explores the idea of the winds bringing jealousy among themselves, with the north wind bringing the exile of the north and the south wind bringing the exile of the south. But ultimately, the Holy One, blessed be He, will institute peace between them, bringing all the exiles together.

Rabbi Ḥoneya, in the name of Rabbi Binyamin ben Levi, even envisions a future where the north and south winds combine to sweep through the Garden of Eden, spreading the fragrance of all its spices.

The Midrash culminates in a beautiful image of the Holy One, blessed be He, joining the righteous in the Garden of Eden, partaking in the feast and delighting in their devotion. It emphasizes that the righteous, even in exile, sanctified the name of Heaven, and that they will be rewarded with wine preserved since creation and bathed in streams of milk.

Rabbi Azarya, in the name of Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Simon, offers another beautiful analogy, comparing the Tabernacle to a palace built for a king. Just as the residents of the province eagerly awaited the king's arrival in the palace, so too did the Israelites long for the Divine Presence to dwell in the Tabernacle.

Rabbi Yishmael ben Rabbi Yosei adds a fascinating detail: the Divine Presence had originally been in the lower worlds, walking in the Garden of Eden. But due to humanity's sins, it ascended higher and higher, only to be brought back down to earth by the righteousness of individuals like Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and ultimately, Moses.

The Midrash concludes by highlighting the special offerings of the princes, even when they deviated from the norm. It points out that they brought incense, a sin offering without knowing of their sin, and offerings that overrode Shabbat – all of which were accepted by the Holy One, blessed be He, demonstrating the immense love and favor He had for them.

So, what do we take away from all this? The dedication of the Tabernacle wasn't just a historical event. It was a profound moment of connection between the Divine and the human, a evidence of the power of devotion, and a glimpse into a future where all will be reconciled and the Divine Presence will dwell among us once again. It’s a story that continues to resonate, reminding us of the importance of sacred space, ritual, and our own individual journeys to bring the Divine back down to earth.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 14:6Bamidbar Rabbah

Bamidbar Rabbah turns to Manasseh's Prince and the Tension of Obeying the King.

The Midrash clarifies that respecting authority is crucial. After all, we read in (Deuteronomy 17:15), "You shall set a king over you" – implying that this king should command respect. And (Joshua 1:18) warns, "Any man who will disobey your directive… will be put to death!" Strong stuff. The text uses Pharaoh's words to Joseph, "I am Pharaoh," (Genesis 41:44) to illustrate this point. What does Pharaoh mean when he says, "I am Pharaoh?" According to the Midrash, Pharaoh is reminding Joseph to respect his authority, even after elevating Joseph to a position of power.

Similarly, when God says to Moses, "I am the Lord" (Exodus 6:2), the Midrash explains that God is reminding Moses that even though He has made Moses "a god to Pharaoh" (Exodus 7:1), Moses must still remember God's ultimate authority.

So, we're obligated to respect earthly authority. But is that the whole story? Absolutely not.

The verse in Ecclesiastes includes a crucial caveat: "…and in regard to the word of an oath to God." This, the Midrash emphasizes, takes precedence. The will of flesh and blood, meaning human commands, must be nullified before the will of God. We are bound by our oath to fulfill all the commandments in the Torah, as (Deuteronomy 29:11) reminds us, "To pass you into the covenant of the Lord your God and into His oath…"

It's like the classic dilemma: do you listen to your parents even if they tell you to do something wrong? (Leviticus 19:3) teaches, "Each of you shall fear his mother and his father…" But the very same verse continues, "And you shall observe My Shabbatot (the Sabbath)." So, if your father tells you to violate Shabbat, the obligation to God comes first.

What if a king threatens you? (Ecclesiastes 8:3) says, "Do not be frightened; leave his presence." The Midrash interprets "panav," presence, as referring to the king's anger. Don't be swayed by his anger into violating the Torah. Don't remain in his path, bedavar, following it blindly. Don't fear his threats of punishment. As the story of Hananya, Mishael, and Azarya in the fiery furnace (Daniel 3:15) reminds us, sometimes you have to stand up to earthly power to uphold your faith.

But what's the reward for standing firm in your beliefs? The Midrash promises that if you prioritize God's will, then when God decrees calamity upon the world, your prayers for mercy will be heard. Because you nullified the decree of flesh and blood, God will nullify His own decree.

(Ecclesiastes 8:5) says, "One who observes a mitzva [will know no evil matter]." The Midrash interprets this as measure for measure: because he did not remain in a bad situation, therefore, "he will know no evil matter."

Now, the Midrash shifts gears, offering a second interpretation of these verses, focusing on the story of Joseph in Egypt. Joseph, who never flouted Pharaoh's command, exemplifies "I keep the king’s directive." And despite his high position, he never abandoned his fear of God. This is "the word of an oath to God." He even resisted the advances of Potiphar's wife, demonstrating his commitment to holiness.

The Midrash highlights Joseph's unwavering commitment to righteousness, even when faced with temptation and threats. He fled from Potiphar's wife, leaving his garment behind, rather than succumb to sin. This act of self-control, the Midrash argues, is the key to his ultimate success.

The reward for Joseph's righteousness? He was elevated to a position of immense power in Egypt. Pharaoh himself declared, "Go to Joseph; what he says to you, you shall do" (Genesis 41:55). This, the Midrash says, is because Joseph observed the mitzvot (commandments).

The Midrash even connects Joseph's actions to the future offerings brought by the princes of Ephraim and Manasseh, his descendants, during the dedication of the altar in the Tabernacle. Because Joseph observed both "You shall not commit adultery" and "You shall not steal," his grandsons were honored in a unique way.

So what's the takeaway here? It’s a delicate balance. We must respect authority, but not blindly. Our ultimate allegiance is to God and to the principles of righteousness. And sometimes, that means standing up, like Joseph, even when it's difficult, even when it's scary. Because ultimately, as the Midrash suggests, that commitment is what truly brings reward.

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