We find one such moment in Bamidbar Rabbah 12, nestled within the Book of Numbers. It's a story about offerings, divine reassurance, and the enduring nature of service.
The passage opens with a verse from Numbers 7:4-5: "The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Take from them, and they shall be to perform the service of the Tent of Meeting, and you shall give them to the Levites, each according to his service." The context is the dedication of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, and the princes of the tribes are bringing offerings – specifically, carts and oxen – to help with its transport.
But here's where it gets interesting. "They brought their offering before the Lord," the text notes (Numbers 7:3). But, according to Bamidbar Rabbah, God didn't immediately accept the offering! The princes brought the carts and oxen, presented them before the Tabernacle, but nothing happened until God explicitly told Moses, "Take from them." Why the hesitation?
This leads to a fascinating question. What was the significance of God saying to Moses, “lemor: Take from them…” (Numbers 7:4)? Lemor is a Hebrew word that doesn't just mean "saying," but implies something more. Rav Hoshaya, quoted in the Midrash, suggests that God was instructing Moses to offer words of conciliation and comfort to the princes. Perhaps they were feeling insecure about their role, or perhaps Moses needed to reassure them that their contribution was truly valued.
Moses himself seems to have had some anxieties. "Take from them," God commands. And at that moment, Moses was concerned. "Perhaps," he worried, "the Divine Spirit has departed from me and rested upon the princes." Imagine the scene! Moses, the great leader, wondering if he was being superseded.
But the Holy One, blessed be He, reassures him. "Moses," God says, "had I wished to tell them that they should bring, I would have said it to you so you would say it to them. Rather, 'take from them' – this matter was from them, and their thought accorded with the thought on High." In other words, the princes' initiative was divinely inspired; their hearts were in the right place. Their offering wasn't just accepted, it was validated as coming from a place of pure intention.
Moses had another concern: "Say that, perhaps, one of the carts broke or one of the oxen died, the result being that the offering of the princes would be disqualified." It’s a practical worry! What if something goes wrong? But God reassures him again: "They shall be to perform the service of the Tent of Meeting." This wasn't just about a one-time donation; God granted them a kind of eternal existence, ensuring their continued service.
So, how long did these carts and oxen last? The Midrash offers several opinions. Rabbi Yuda, in the name of Rabbi Shmuel ben Rabbi Naḥman and Rabbi Ḥoneya in the name of bar Kappara, suggest they lasted until "at Gilgal they slaughtered bulls" (Hosea 12:12). Other rabbis pinpointed different locations where the sacrifices might have taken place: Nov, Givon, or even the eternal Temple itself, referencing King Solomon's offerings (II Chronicles 7:5).
But the most astonishing teaching comes in the name of Rabbi Meir: "Until now the carts and the oxen are in existence. They have not been blemished, have not aged, have not been mauled, and have not been broken." Think about that! The carts and oxen used for the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary in the desert, are still around today, perfectly preserved. It seems incredible, doesn't it?
And what's the takeaway from all this? The Midrash draws a powerful a fortiori argument, a "how much more so" conclusion. If these carts, associated with the labor of the Tent of Meeting, were granted eternal existence, then surely Israel, who cleave to the Holy One, blessed be He, are even more deserving of eternal life, as it is stated: "But you, who cleave to the Lord your God, [all of you are alive today]" (Deuteronomy 4:4).
Finally, the passage concludes with the practical application of distributing the carts and oxen to the Levites, "each according to his service" – ensuring that those with heavier burdens received more assistance.
So, what do we learn from this little-known passage in Bamidbar Rabbah? It's a reminder that even the smallest details in the Torah can reveal profound truths. It's about the importance of intention, the reassurance of divine validation, and the enduring nature of service to God. And perhaps, most importantly, it's a testament to the eternal bond between God and the people of Israel. It makes you wonder, doesn't it, what seemingly small acts of service in our own lives might have far-reaching and even eternal consequences.