The Torah’s ways are peaceful because everyone gets exactly what he needs

“Each man, according to his flag… shall Bnei Yisrael camp…” (Bamidbar 2:2).

The explicit instructions governing Bnei Yisrael’s encampments teach us that everything in kedushah and avodas Hashem demands order. Without proper order, even holiness can be destroyed.

We also see this with the Torah’s instructions to Shevet Kehas as to exactly who should carry the aron. Everyone wanted the privilege. This could have led to pushing and shoving, which would have been completely disrespectful toward the holiness of the aron (Rav Aharon Kotler, Mishnas Rebbe Aharon).

When things start unraveling in my life, that’s when I suddenly feel a tremendous need to be organized. During the two weeks before Pesach, for example, I’m always hit by an urge to run and color-coordinate the sock drawers or alphabetize my recipes.

One of my favorite poems is Rudyard Kipling’s “If.” “If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…” It’s hard to hold onto sanity amid insane pressure, but keeping order helps me to keep holding down the fort. And so I’ve spent the last few weeks pairing single socks and filing five years’ worth of bank statements.

Shlomo Hamelech says of the Torah (Mishlei 3:17): “Her ways are pleasant and her paths are peace.” The Torah’s ways are peaceful because everyone gets exactly what he needs and each person has a unique purpose in life. Conversely, conflict stems when one tries to encroach upon the territory of his friend.

As I write this, we’re at the height of coronavirus lockdown precautions. My municipality has issued a complete closure of the city, no one allowed in or out. Bus service has been completely cancelled. You can’t walk more than 100 meters from your house without a legal permit stating your outing falls into the authorized category of essential excursions.

There’s not an egg to be found in the country, and my supermarket’s completely out of milk products. Is it essential then that I venture out of my neighborhood in search of milk so my kids can have their cornflakes? They don’t seem to eat anything else these days.

But I stay put. Every outing’s accompanied by masks, gloves, and alcohol gel. I have a hard time thinking in the supermarket while hyperventilating to the background music of the security guard barking to hurry for the next shift of customers.

Truthfully, I stay home because outside has become too scary. I close my doors and pray that my home remains a haven where we’ll all be safe from the unseen pathogens lurking in the innocent breeze.

Yet despite my closed doors and incessant handwashing, I’m tense and jittery. And so I’m sorting through two decades worth of Kodak negatives, wondering why I’ve saved them for so long. Throwing them out means finality; I’ll never be able to replicate these photos. I can’t deal with finality right now, so I carefully file each one chronologically, month and year. As I return them to their box, a tenuous feeling of tranquility fills my mind. If nothing else, my negatives are neatly in order.

It was only in the merit of peace and order that Bnei Yisrael received the Torah. Rashi says that when Bnei Yisrael came to Har Sinai, they camped as one person with one soul (Shemos 19:2). If they hadn’t been at peace, they wouldn’t have been able to receive the Torah, whose tenets are based on law and order.

Once the Torah was given, everything’s governed by its laws. A person who appreciates seder and structure is able to live according to the laws of the Torah in all aspects of his life.

As I get up to stretch, I hear my husband calling down the hall, “Minchah! Minchah!”

Then there’s the sound of pounding feet as the boys go dashing for hats, jackets, siddurim. A few minutes later the words of Ashrei waft through the house, and I grab my own siddur as well. As I finger the well-worn pages, I realize that a genuine sense of serenity fills my being.

If you can hold onto Torah when all around you all sense of order has been lost… Then yours is the earth and everything that’s in it.

And — which is more—you’ll be an eved Hashem, my friend.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 693)