Parshat Bamidbar7 min read

Twelve Dry Staffs Lay in the Tent and Only Aaron's Bloomed

Twelve princes each believed the priesthood should have been his. Moses cut all twelve staffs out of one beam so nobody could argue afterward.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Chamber Where Quarrels Were Supposed to End
  2. Moses Cut One Beam Into Twelve
  3. The Night in the Tent of the Testimony
  4. What the Centre Could Not Fix
  5. What Was Kept and What Was Passed On
Twelve Dry Staffs Lay in the Tent and Only Aaron's Bloomed Click for full size

The Chamber Where Quarrels Were Supposed to End

At the middle of the Temple, in the Chamber of Hewn Stone, seventy men sat in a curve like half a round threshing floor and gave judgment on the arguments of Israel.

They called that chamber the navel. Not as a compliment about location. A navel is the mark of a cord, and while a child lies in its mother the cord is the whole of its life, and if you cut it the body fails. Israel drew its living from the men in that room the same way. So the room was placed dead center, the way a navel sits at the center of a body.

They sat from the morning offering to the offering at dusk and nobody left to see to his own affairs. When a judge did need to step outside he counted heads first. Twenty-three still on the benches and he could go. Fewer, and he stayed where he was. A cup of wine is mixed one part wine to two parts water and it must never run thin, and neither could they.

Grain gets counted into a storehouse by measure because somebody values it. Straw and stubble nobody counts. Israel is counted, over and over, all the time.

Moses Cut One Beam Into Twelve

Then the count itself came under attack.

After the rebellion in the wilderness, twelve tribal princes each held the private conviction that the priesthood had been handed to the wrong family. Not one of them said it in those words. They did not have to. Aaron was serving at the altar and eleven other houses were watching him do it.

Moses was told to collect a staff from every prince and lay them all in the Tent of the Testimony overnight.

He went further than he was told. He took a single beam and cut it into twelve planks and handed them out, one to each man, and said take your staffs from this. Nobody was going to walk out of that tent in the morning saying the Levite's stick had been green wood while the rest of them brought dry. Refraining from a quarrel is an honor to a man, and Moses closed the argument before it could be made.

Twelve identical lengths of dead wood went in and the flap came down.

The Night in the Tent of the Testimony

In the morning Moses went in and picked them up one at a time.

Eleven were exactly as they had gone in. The twelfth had put out a blossom, and a bud, and ripe almonds, all of it at once, a whole season of an orchard compressed into one night in a dark tent. Aaron never opened his mouth. The wood argued for him.

The Name that stood engraved on the priest's golden frontplate was found on that staff. And it bore almonds, which the ear catches, because the word for what it bore is the word for repaid and the word for almond is the word for those who had striven, and the staff paid back every man who had come at the house of Levi.

They put it inside the ark and kept it there. Anybody minded to reopen the question in a later generation would have to come and look at the almond blossoms first.

What the Centre Could Not Fix

Not everything that reached the middle of the camp could be settled there.

The children of Reuben and the children of Gad came to Moses with a proposal and put it in the wrong order. We will build sheep pens for our livestock here, they said, and cities for our little ones.

Moses heard the sentence and turned it around in front of them. Build the cities for your children, he said, and then the pens for your flocks. Put first things first. They had made the secondary thing primary and named it out loud in the presence of the man who had led them out of Egypt.

The verdict came down anyway. You valued your cattle above lives, they were told. As you live, there will be no blessing in it.

And some cases that arrived in the Chamber of Hewn Stone could not be mended at all. A thief returns what he took and the matter is closed. A robber pays and the matter is closed. But a man who goes to another man's wife has taken out a loan that no court on earth can make him repay, and he is counted out of the tally of the righteous, and nobody walks into that room in his right mind. A spirit of folly gets in first.

What Was Kept and What Was Passed On

When Solomon built the House he cut his windows backwards. Every builder narrows a window on the outside and widens it inward to catch as much light as the room can get. Solomon narrowed his on the inside and splayed them wide toward the street, so the light went out of the building instead of into it. The One inside is all light. He never needed the lamp. He asked for it so that the people who lit it would have something of their own to bring, and He said that if they were careful with those lamps He would light a great light for them later.

Nor did the men who did the work always get their names on it. Betzalel was filled with a divine spirit and wisdom and skill, and Betzalel built the Tabernacle with his own hands, and it is called by the name of Moses, who did not build it.

Two students came out to Pekiin to greet Rabbi Yehoshua, and he asked them what new thing had been taught in the study hall that day. We are your students, they said, we drink your water. He pressed them. There is no such thing as a study hall with nothing new in it. So they told him what Elazar ben Azarya had taught, that the men come to learn and the women come to listen, and the children come so that whoever brings them is rewarded. Rabbi Yehoshua looked at them. You had a pearl like that in your hands, he said, and you tried to keep it from me.

The staff kept blooming its way through history. It was in the hand of every king of Israel until the Temple came down, and then it was hidden. It is waiting for the king who is still coming.


← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

9 sources

The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Bamidbar Rabbah 1:4Bamidbar Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Bamidbar Rabbah, the rabbinic commentary on the Book of Numbers, dives right into this question with a surprisingly poetic starting point.

The verse But instead of jumping straight into legal interpretations, the Rabbis take a detour through the Song of Songs (7:3), a book filled with love poetry: "Your navel is a moon-shaped goblet." What’s going on here?

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), in its characteristic way, sees hidden connections. That "moon-shaped goblet" isn't just a pretty image. It's an analogy for the Sanhedrin, the ancient Jewish high court! This court was situated in the Chamber of Hewn Stone within the Temple itself. And the connection to the navel? Just as the navel is located in the center of the body, the Sanhedrin was located in the center of the Temple. A center of wisdom, judgment, and spiritual life.

There's more. The verse continues, "May it not lack blended wine [al yeḥsar hamazeg]" (Song of Songs 7:3). This phrase, al yeḥsar hamazeg, is interpreted in a couple of interesting ways. First, it's taken to mean that the Sanhedrin always had to have a minimum number of members present – never less than one-third of the total. The Sanhedrin had seventy members. Therefore, there could not be less than twenty-three.

The Midrash then offers a practical explanation for al yeḥsar hamazeg: it refers to the proper way to dilute wine. A good blend, according to the Rabbis, is one-third wine and two-thirds water. This image is connected to the work of the Sanhedrin. The members would convene daily, from the morning offering until the afternoon offering, fully dedicated to their task. No one would leave to tend to his own affairs unless a count revealed that at least twenty-three members were still present.

So, why this emphasis on numbers and presence?

The verse shifts again: "Your belly is a pile of wheat" (Song of Songs 7:3). Here, Israel is likened to a pile of wheat. And just like wheat is carefully counted and measured when it enters the storehouse, God wants Israel to be counted at all times. The Bamidbar Rabbah sees this as a sign of importance. Something valuable is always worth counting.

The commentary then draws a sharp contrast. Straw and stubble? They aren't counted or measured. And, according to the Midrash, the nations of the world are likened to straw and stubble. We find this comparison in verses like "Like stubble before the wind" (Psalms 83:14) and "The house of Esau to stubble" (Obadiah 1:18). Why this seemingly harsh comparison?

That God derives no pleasure from straw and stubble, as it is stated: "All the nations are as nothing before Him" (Isaiah 40:17). But Israel? The Holy One, blessed be He, derives pleasure from them. They recite the Shema, they pray, and they bless the name of the King of kings every day. That's why they are counted at all times, and that's why they are likened to wheat.

So, what’s the takeaway here?

This passage from Bamidbar Rabbah isn't just about numbers or agricultural metaphors. It's about value, purpose, and the relationship between God and His people. Are we striving to be wheat, carefully measured and valued? Or are we content to be like stubble, blown away by the wind?

Full source
Bamidbar Rabbah 9:6Bamidbar Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Bamidbar Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Numbers, dives deep into the concept of actions that leave irreparable damage. what it means to create a "distortion that cannot be repaired.”

" Ouch. It doesn't pull any punches. It then ties this idea to (Ecclesiastes 1:15): "A distortion that cannot be repaired [and a lack that cannot be restored]." What exactly constitutes such an irreparable distortion?

The Rabbis, in their insightful way, offer several interpretations. One teaching suggests that failing to recite the Shema, the central Jewish prayer, morning and evening, or neglecting the Amidah (the standing prayer), creates such a distortion. Another suggests that missing out on a mitzvah, a good deed or commandment, when others are joining together for it also creates an imbalance. It's like a cosmic team effort, and you missed the memo!

Then, the text shifts to a more concrete example: festival offerings. If you miss bringing your offering on the first day of Sukkot (the Feast of Tabernacles), you can still bring it throughout the festival, even on the eighth day, which is considered a separate festival. But if the entire festival passes? Well, then, according to this teaching, the opportunity is lost. That’s the distortion.

Rabbi Shimon ben Menasya takes it even further, to the heart of interpersonal relationships. He says that the ultimate “distortion that cannot be repaired” is engaging in forbidden relations with an unmarried relative or with a married woman. He emphasizes that while most transgressions in the Torah have a remedy – you steal, you return; you rob, you make restitution – adultery is different. It creates a wound that seemingly can’t be healed.

The text uses the verse "The wicked man borrows and does not repay.." (Psalms 37:21) to illustrate this point. You might think, "Everyone repays their debts eventually. " But the Rabbis are speaking metaphorically. If someone steals money, the court can force them to return it. But what happens when someone sleeps with a married woman? How do you "repay" that debt? You can't give the husband your own wife in return – that would create a whole new set of problems, resulting in mamzerim (illegitimate children). The "debt" is simply unpayable, the damage irreversible.

This act, according to Bamidbar Rabbah, renders the woman forbidden to her husband and the adulterer is banished, lost, and can never truly repair the situation. He has taken a loan he can never repay.

The passage concludes by connecting this "irreparable distortion" to a lack of heart, using the Hebrew words to draw a parallel. "Veḥesron that cannot be restored [lehimanot]" is linked to being called "heartless [ḥasar lev]" and not being "counted [yimaneh]" among the righteous. It’s a powerful connection, suggesting that this type of transgression stems from a fundamental lack of empathy and understanding.

The text even explores the mindset of the adulterous woman, suggesting that she doesn't commit the act until "a spirit of folly enters her." The word "tiste" (stray) in the verse "If the wife of any man will stray" (Numbers 5:12) is interpreted as "tishte," meaning "shall go out of her mind." It's as if she loses her senses, her judgment clouded by something beyond her control.

So, what are we to take away from all this? This passage from Bamidbar Rabbah isn’t just about adultery. It’s about the weight of our actions and the potential for irreversible damage. It's a sobering reminder that some choices have consequences that ripple far beyond ourselves, leaving scars that may never fully heal. It challenges us to act with intention, with empathy, and with a deep awareness of the impact we have on the world around us. Are we creating distortions that cannot be repaired, or are we striving to build a world of wholeness and healing? It’s a question worth pondering.

Full source
Bamidbar Rabbah 12:10Bamidbar Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

It turns out, it’s a feeling that resonates even within the stories of our most revered figures.

Bamidbar Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Numbers, dives into this very idea. It uses a verse from Ecclesiastes – a book known for its reflections on the often-perplexing nature of life – to illustrate a fascinating point: "For there is a man whose toil is in wisdom, in knowledge, and in skill, but he will leave his portion to a man who did not toil in it" (Ecclesiastes 2:21).

Who are these men? According to Bamidbar Rabbah 12, the first is Betzalel.

Betzalel was no ordinary craftsman. He was the artisan divinely appointed to construct the Mishkan – that is, the Tabernacle, the portable sanctuary that accompanied the Israelites in the desert. (Exodus 31:3) tells us, “I have filled him with a divine spirit, with wisdom, with understanding and with knowledge…” He poured his heart, soul, and skill into every detail. Every piece was imbued with his expertise.

But, the text continues, “he will leave his portion to a man who did not toil in it” – and that man is Moses.

Wait a minute... Moses? The same Moses who led the Israelites out of Egypt, received the Torah at Sinai, and spoke directly with God? Why him? Well, the text points out that while Betzalel built the Tabernacle, it was ultimately called "That Moses concluded." Even though Moses wasn't physically crafting the Tabernacle, its significance was tied to his leadership and vision. Moses’ spiritual leadership and vision were the driving force behind the entire endeavor.

Betzalel's work was essential, indispensable. And yet, the narrative frames Moses as the one who ultimately receives the "credit," or at least the association, because he was the leader who made the whole project possible.

The text goes on to say that the same is true of Solomon and David. We can infer that even though David laid the groundwork and yearned to build the Temple in Jerusalem, it was ultimately his son, Solomon, who completed the task and had it attributed to him.

So, what does this all mean? It's not about diminishing Betzalel’s contribution, not at all. Rather, it’s about the complexities of leadership, legacy, and how we attribute success. Sometimes, the person who does the hands-on work doesn't always get the recognition, and sometimes the leader gets the credit even if they weren't in the workshop hammering away.

Perhaps the takeaway is this: true leadership isn’t just about being in the spotlight. It's about inspiring, enabling, and empowering others to bring their gifts to the world – even if their names aren’t always the ones remembered first. And maybe, just maybe, it's a reminder to appreciate the Betzalels

Full source
Bamidbar Rabbah 14:4Bamidbar Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

” Intriguing. What does it all mean?

The text then tells a story about Rabbi Yoḥanan ben Beroka and Rabbi Elazar Ḥisma visiting Rabbi Yehoshua. Rabbi Yehoshua, ever the curious mind, asks them what novel idea was taught in the study hall that day. They initially demur, but he presses them, emphasizing that every study hall must produce something new. They then share an insight from Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya regarding the portion of assembly: if men come to learn, and women come to hear, why bring the children? The answer? To reward those who bring them! Rabbi Yehoshua is delighted, exclaiming that they had a "fine pearl" and shouldn't have kept it hidden.

The story is just the springboard. The passage then dives deep into the verse from Ecclesiastes, unpacking its rich layers of meaning.

So, what's with the goads and nails? The text explains that Torah, like a goad (a pointed stick used to guide animals), directs our hearts from paths of death to paths of life. It guides us, prods us in the right direction. But it's not just a fleeting prod. It's also like an implanted nail, something firm and lasting.

Now, things get interesting. What about all the disagreements and debates within Jewish tradition? One scholar says something is ritually impure, another says it's pure. One prohibits, another permits. How do we navigate this? The Bamidbar Rabbah offers a powerful image: “They were given from one shepherd.” Meaning, all these diverse opinions ultimately come from one source – God. We’re encouraged to open our minds, to listen to all sides, and to develop a heart that can hear all the different perspectives. "You, too, render your ears like a funnel," the text urges, "and acquire for yourself a heart that hears the statements of those who rule it ritually impure and the statements of those who rule it pure..."

Rabbi Tanhuma bar Abba adds to the metaphor, explaining that the marde’a (another word for goad) imparts knowledge, causes understanding, and teaches us the ways of the Holy One. The words of the wise, like roots of a tree, take hold throughout our being when we truly observe them.

The text also touches on the delicate balance between Torah law and rabbinic law, suggesting that rabbinic law, while seemingly "lesser," is actually vital for understanding and applying Torah properly. Why? Because Torah is often vague, full of symbols. The Sages, through their interpretations, make it accessible and relevant to our lives. As the text says, "from statements of the Sages one can issue halakhic rulings properly, because they explain the Torah."

And there's a warning, too: "More than that, my son, be careful." Be careful not to get lost in endless books and contemplation. There's a point where it becomes "weariness of the flesh." Rabbi Abba of Sadronanya even suggests that the statements of the scribes weren't written down precisely because it would be impossible to capture them all! The sheer volume would be overwhelming.

But what if you heard something insightful from someone you consider "insubstantial?" Is it still valuable? Absolutely! The text emphasizes that hearing from any member of the community is like hearing from a Sage, and ultimately, like hearing from Moses, and even from God. It all comes from the same source.

The passage concludes with powerful imagery from the Song of Songs (7:5), comparing our leaders to eyes, pools of wisdom, and towers of strength. If we fulfill the Torah, we can aspire to the wisdom of Elijah the prophet.

So, what’s the takeaway? This passage from Bamidbar Rabbah is a reminder that the pursuit of Jewish wisdom is a lifelong journey. It requires openness, humility, a willingness to engage with diverse perspectives, and a deep appreciation for the tradition that connects us all. It's about letting the "goads" of wisdom guide us, and anchoring ourselves with the "implanted nails" of enduring truth. And, perhaps most importantly, remembering that all these teachings, no matter how varied, ultimately come from "one shepherd."

Full source
Bamidbar Rabbah 15:2Bamidbar Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

We flip a switch and flood a room with light without a second thought. But millennia ago, kindling a flame was a precious act. So why did God command it in the Mishkan, the Tabernacle?

The verse in Isaiah (42:21) says, “The Lord is desirous of him because of his righteousness; he will render the Torah great and glorious.” It seems like a roundabout way to But the Bamidbar Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Numbers, offers a fascinating perspective.

It suggests that God doesn't need our lamps. "And the light rests with Him," says Daniel (2:22). And (Psalm 139:12) reminds us, “Even darkness does not darken for You, and night, like day, illuminates. Darkness and light are the same.” So, according to the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), He's not sitting up there in the heavens, fretting about the electric bill.

The text gives a beautiful analogy. When we build a house, we usually make windows that are narrow on the outside and wide on the inside, to maximize the amount of sunlight coming in. But Solomon, when he built the Beit Hamikdash, the Temple in Jerusalem, did the opposite! The windows were narrow on the inside and wide on the outside, so that the light would shine out from the Temple. As it says in I (Kings 6:4), "He made for the House recessed narrowing windows.” The point? To show that God is all light, and doesn't need our meager illumination.

So, if God doesn’t need our lamps, why the commandment? That’s where the heart of the matter lies. According to the Bamidbar Rabbah, God said to Moses: 'It is not because I need the lamps that I cautioned you regarding the lamps, but rather to accord them merit.' In other words, it's for our benefit! The act of kindling the lamps is an opportunity for us to connect, to participate in something sacred, to earn zechut, merit. "That is why it is stated: 'When you kindle the lamps.' That is, 'The Lord is desirous of him because of his righteousness.'"

And there's even more to it. The text continues, “[God said:] ‘If you are vigilant in kindling the lamps before Me, I will illuminate for you with a great light in the future.’” It connects this act of lighting lamps in the Mishkan to a future time of ultimate redemption. It quotes (Isaiah 60:1), 3: “Arise, shine, for your light has come…. Nations will walk by your light and kings by the radiance of your shining.”

So, the next time you light a candle – whether it's a Shabbat (the Sabbath) candle, a Hanukkah menorah, or just a simple tea light – remember this story. It’s not just about chasing away the darkness. It's about participating in something much bigger than ourselves. It’s about earning merit and anticipating a future illuminated by an even greater light. A light that we, in our small way, help to bring into the world.

Full source
Bamidbar Rabbah 18:23Bamidbar Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Sometimes, the solutions to those disagreements come in the most unexpected forms… like, say, a blossoming staff.

We find this story in Bamidbar Rabbah 18, which elaborates on the biblical story in Numbers chapter 17. Remember that moment? The Israelites are grumbling, AGAIN, this time questioning Aaron's authority as High Priest. So God tells Moses to collect a staff from each of the tribal princes, including Aaron's, and place them in the Tent of Meeting. And what happens next is, well, miraculous.

"And Moses spoke to the children of Israel, and all their princes gave him a staff for each prince… twelve staffs, and the staff of Aaron among their staffs." (Numbers 17:21). Then, overnight, Aaron's staff miraculously blossoms, sprouts buds, and produces almonds!

Whose staff was it, exactly? The text immediately dives into a bit of debate. Bamidbar Rabbah presents differing opinions: "And Aaron's staff… some say it is the staff that was in Judah's hand," referencing the staff mentioned in (Genesis 38:18). Others believe it was the very staff Moses himself used, which blossomed on its own accord. Either way, it’s clear that this wasn't just any old piece of wood.

Here’s something interesting: some say that Moses, in his wisdom, took a single beam and cut it into twelve planks, giving each prince a piece. Why? "Refraining from a quarrel is honor for a man, and every fool will be exposed" (Proverbs 20:3). The idea is brilliant. By using a single source, Moses ensured that no one could claim their staff was inherently better or more prone to blossoming. It leveled the playing field, preventing accusations of favoritism or trickery. Very clever, Moses.

The text goes on to say that the very tzitz, the ineffable name of God that appeared on the frontplate, was found upon it. The word tzitz also means "blossom" or "bud," so this is a beautiful play on words.

And then there are the almonds. Why almonds? Vayigmol shekedim meaning "and bore almonds." But the words themselves are significant. It "repaid" (gamal) everyone who had "striven" (shoked) against the tribe of Levi. A cosmic reward, perhaps, for those who remained faithful. The text also suggests that Israel was likened to almonds, pomegranates and nuts. In this way, what happened to Aaron's staff was meant as an admonition for the people of Israel.

And the story doesn’t end there. According to Bamidbar Rabbah, this miraculous staff wasn’t just a one-time wonder. It was preserved, passed down from king to king until the destruction of the Temple. A tangible link to divine authority, a reminder of God's choice.

And even more fascinating? "That staff is destined to be in the hand of the messianic king soon, in our day." Citing (Psalm 110:2), "The Lord will send your rod of strength from Zion; rule in the midst of your enemies," the text connects the blossoming staff to the future messianic era. A symbol of hope, leadership, and divine intervention, waiting to reappear when it's needed most.

So, what does it all mean? Perhaps it's a reminder that solutions can come from the most unexpected places. That even in the driest, most barren situations, there's the potential for growth and renewal. And maybe, just maybe, that the seeds of redemption are always present, waiting for the right moment to blossom.

Full source
Bamidbar Rabbah 22:9Bamidbar Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Our exploration begins with the verse, "Much livestock..." a seemingly simple phrase that Bamidbar Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Numbers, uses as a springboard for a much deeper dive.

The rabbis connect “much livestock” to another verse, this time from Ecclesiastes (10:2): “The heart of the wise is to his right, and the heart of the fool is to his left.” But what does "right" and "left" mean in this context?

One interpretation offered in Bamidbar Rabbah equates the "right" with the yetzer hatov, the good inclination, and the "left" with the yetzer hara, the evil inclination. The yetzer hatov guides us toward righteousness, while the yetzer hara tempts us toward immediate gratification. So, are we listening to the angel on our right shoulder, or the one on our left?

Another interpretation sees the "right" as representing those who devote themselves to Torah, which Deuteronomy (33:2) describes as, "From His right, a fiery law to them." Conversely, the "left" represents those focused on wealth, echoing Proverbs (3:16): "On its left, wealth and honor." It's not that wealth is inherently bad, but rather, where does our focus lie? What do we truly value?

But perhaps the most compelling interpretation involves Moses and the tribes of Reuben and Gad. Remember their story? They saw the fertile lands east of the Jordan River and, prioritizing their livestock, asked Moses if they could settle there. "We will build sheep enclosures for our livestock here, and cities for our children," they said (Numbers 32:16).

Moses, however, saw the inherent flaw in their request. They were prioritizing their possessions over their commitment to the community and the conquest of the Promised Land. He rebuked them, saying they should first build cities for their children (Numbers 32:24), and then enclosures for their flocks.

In this reading, Moses embodies the "heart of the wise" on the right, while Reuben and Gad represent the "heart of the fool" on the left. They valued their property more than the lives and the mission of the Israelite people. Bamidbar Rabbah drives home the point: prioritizing material possessions over spiritual and communal obligations ultimately leads to a lack of blessing. God effectively tells them that since they valued their livestock more than lives, there would be no blessing in it. This connects to Proverbs (20:21): "An estate seized hastily at the start, its end will not be blessed."

The passage concludes with a powerful reminder: "Do not weary yourself to become rich; based on your discerning, cease" (Proverbs 23:4). True wealth, it suggests, isn't about accumulating possessions but about finding contentment with what we have. "Who is wealthy?" the text asks. "It is one who rejoices in his share," echoing Psalms (128:2): "When you eat of the labor of your hands, you are happy and it is good for you."

So, where does this leave us? Perhaps the key takeaway is this: life is a constant balancing act. We are always faced with choices that pull us in different directions. Are we prioritizing the "right," the things that truly matter – our values, our community, our spiritual growth? Or are we being swayed by the allure of the "left," the fleeting pleasures and material possessions that ultimately leave us empty? It's a question worth pondering, a question that resonates just as powerfully today as it did when these words were first written.

Full source
Midrash Tanchuma Buber, Ki Tisa 1:2Midrash Tanchuma Buber, Ki Tisa

Translation of the source text.Midrash Tanchuma (Buber), Public Domain, on Sefaria · CC-BY-SA

Another interpretation of YOUR NAVEL (Song of Songs 7:3): just as in the case of the navel, all the time that the infant is set in its mother's womb its navel comes from it and through it he lives, so Israel lives from the Sanhedrin. Therefore they were compared, in the matter of the Sanhedrin, to a navel.

What is A ROUND BOWL (aggan ha-sahar)? It is the explanation of a piece of merchandise (a trader's dish), the sahar being like the soher (merchant), for whatever one needs comes out of it. And this term is nothing but a term of explanation, as it is said: "And Moses took half of the blood and put it in basins (agganot)" (Exodus 24:6).

Another interpretation of YOUR NAVEL IS A ROUND BOWL: Abbin bar Rav Chisda said: What is A ROUND BOWL? Like the half of the moon, for they call the moon sihara (in Aramaic), A ROUND BOWL. Our Rabbis taught: The Sanhedrin was like the half of a round threshing floor.

LET NOT MIXED WINE BE LACKING (Song of Songs 7:3), that they should never be lacking one of the three of them. "Mixed wine" (mezeg) is one who mixes properly: he mixes one third of the cup wine and two parts water. So too the Sanhedrin would sit from the morning daily-offering until the daily-offering of twilight, so that not one of them would turn aside for his need. And what would they do? When one of them wished to go out, he would count: if there were twenty-three, he would go out; and if not, he would not go out, as it is written, LET NOT MIXED WINE BE LACKING, and they would never be lacking one of the three of them. Therefore: LET NOT MIXED WINE BE LACKING.

Full source
Midrash Tanchuma Buber, Ki Tisa 1:1Midrash Tanchuma Buber, Ki Tisa

Translation of the source text.Midrash Tanchuma (Buber), Public Domain, on Sefaria · CC-BY-SA

"When you take up (lift the head of) the sum of the Children of Israel," and so forth (Exodus 30:12). This is what Scripture says: "Your navel is a round goblet that lacks not the mixed wine" (Song of Songs 7:3 [7:2]). It speaks of the Sanhedrin of Israel, which was set in the middle of the Temple, in the Chamber of Hewn Stone, which is likened to a navel. Just as this navel is set in the middle of the body, so was the Sanhedrin of Israel set in the middle of the Temple.

Full source