“These are the journeys of Bnei Yisrael, who left Mitzrayim, in their legions, under the charge of Moshe and Aharon.” (Bamidbar 33:1)

Throughout the generations, numerous civilizations have risen up to attack us. They’re all long gone. Even the vaunted, mighty Roman Empire has disappeared, relegated to the dustbin of history. However, there’s a relic attesting to the heyday of this ancient civilization that has survived for 2,000 years — the Arch of Titus. Commemorating Titus’s victory over Klal Yisrael, this monument still stands today.

Why has Hashem allowed this symbol of our defeat to survive all these years?

Furthermore, of all the numerous vessels that were looted from the Beis Hamikdash, only a select few were chosen to be engraved into the arch as a representation of Rome’s great victory over the Jews. It’s interesting to note that one of these engravings is the two chatzotzros, the trumpets that were used in the Beis Hamikdash.

It’s obvious, viewing the arch’s unnatural survival throughout the millennia of galus, that its existence must’ve been decreed from Above. Therefore, any engravings depicted must be more than a sculptor’s random decisions; they carry a timeless message from Hashem for the Jewish People. So why were these seemingly mundane instruments chosen to be portrayed for posterity? (Rabbi Weinberg, Kol Yisrael)

Avraham is a distant cousin of mine through marriage. I haven’t heard from him in over 14 years, but I think of him often, especially at this time of year.

Avraham lived in the Midwest, and raised his family there as proud frum Jews. He merited seeing them all marry and build their own homes throughout the US. Then his daughter surprised them all by picking up her whole family and making aliyah. This was in the 1980s, way before such mass emigrations were popular. They settled in a small yishuv far from the heart of the country and began to put down new roots, despite missing their extended family.

Sheim MiShmuel explains that the 42 travels listed in parshas Masei correlate to 42 exiles Bnei Yisrael will be forced to endure until Mashiach arrives.

We know that Bnei Yisrael didn’t travel in the desert according to their own agenda. Rather, as it says in Bamidbar (9:18): “According to the word of Hashem they traveled and according to His word they camped.” The nation would be notified of their impending trip through the clarion call of the two chatzotzros.

Avraham and his wife went to visit their daughter, and to their shock, fell in love with the tiny development their daughter now called home. Following her example, they returned to the US, sold their home and business and made the uncommon move of aliyah as senior citizens.

Despite the ramifications such a move entailed, Avraham declared he’d never been happier than he was as an Israeli Jew.

“I love the colors,” he waxed poetic when I met him at a family wedding. “The sparkling blue skies, the pristine white beaches minutes from my home, and the endless emerald of the fields of our yishuv. Neve Dekalim is where I want to live for the rest of my life.”

Taking these 42 travels as allegory for our 42 exiles, we see these trumpets have metaphoric significance. Hashem wants us to remember, as we wearily wander from one exile to the next, that these travels are not random decrees from our enemies. Rather, each journey is ordained by Hashem. Unfortunately, we don’t merit to hear the trumpets announcing our imminent departure, but Hashem’s still sending us signs that it’s time to move on. Nothing is by chance — not expulsions, crusades, or pogroms. It’s all according to the word of Hashem.

Fourteen years ago, in the summer, Israeli politics declared otherwise. I thought of Avraham as I lived through the upheaval when our people were exiled from Gush Katif by their own brothers. I wondered where Avraham, recently a widower, would go. I worried how he’d manage to once again put down roots that were so rudely obliterated by forces greater than he.

Every summer since that year, Avraham is on my mind. During that same summer, we also made a move — across the infamous Green Line — to try to put down our own roots. I wonder how deep those roots will go. I daven they will merit to be part of the final planting of all Klal Yisrael, and that we’ll still be here to herald the call of the chatzotros of Mashiach.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 653)