As we withstand this galus, our deeds can be considered greater than the deeds of those before us

“The sons of Merari, you should count them…” (Bamidbar 4:29)

IT'S

interesting to note that when counting Gershon and Kehas, the Torah uses the word naso — to raise or count. However, with Merari, this word isn’t used.  Why? (Rav Elimelech Biderman, Torah Wellsprings)

I’m not a big shul-goer. Es chatai ani mazkir hayom. Davening at home for over two decades has resulted in my being more comfortable offering to babysit for my grandchildren than davening in shul. I’ve got my makom kavua in the corner of my bedroom, my personal space for private conversations with Hashem.  It also doesn’t help that my shul is up four flights of stairs in my building — and then there’s another long flight to the ezras nashim.

The Chasam Sofer explains: Gershon, Kehas, and Merari represent three situations in Klal Yisrael’s experience. Kehas means gathering and refers to the glorious eras when we were gathered in Eretz Yisrael with the Beis Hamikdash.

Gershon means banished or exiled. He represents galus, but an exile when our nation continued to keep Torah and mitzvos. The Torah tells Moshe Rabbeinu, naso — elevate Bnei Yisrael in those situations, so that they can be as great as the generations before them.

Merari means bitter. This refers to the generations that suffer bitterly in galus. Merari’s children are Machli and Mushi. Machli means diseases; Mushi means to move from place to place.

Merari’s galus is bitter indeed. Yet it is precisely when the galus is so difficult that the Jewish nation is on the highest level. Despite our hardships, we continue to hold on to our faith as best as we can. Therefore, the Torah doesn’t say to raise them up when Merari is mentioned — because he represents Klal Yisrael at their highest levels.

So what had me making the trek on a random Shabbos afternoon in a boiling chamsin that had heat waves shimmering off the pavement? The ezras nashim wasn’t even opened for this early Minchah, and I stood outside in the beating sun, my ears straining at an open window as Krias HaTorah was about to begin.

Because while I’ve given up shul-going in the course of being a mother, being that mother brought me here today. My son Binyamin was chosen as one of the regular baal koreis for this minyan every Shabbos. For a 13-year-old, this was a huge honor, and I wanted him to know I valued his accomplishment.

We’re living in very difficult times, and yet, in a way, we’re living in the nation’s most glorious generation. When Mashiach arrives, we’ll discover just how precious our generation is. 

The standard pattern is that generations become weaker and lowlier. However, Bris Menuchah writes that we’re now living in an era when the rules have changed. At the end of time, the generations become greater than they were beforehand. It isn’t that we’re on a higher level — in almost all areas, we’re on a lower level than the tzaddikim of the past. But in one aspect, we’re greater than before. Because we stand strong and loyal to Hashem and His Torah, despite Hashem’s concealment and our overwhelming bitter hardships. 

We often feel discouraged, wondering how we can compare to the great tzaddikim of the past. We must realize that as we withstand this galus, our deeds can be considered greater than the deeds of those before us.

As I heard Binyamin’s sweet voice lifted in the trop, my heart filled for my little man, my baby entering the world of the Jewish adult, a world of minyanim and Krias HaTorah, all the things that I miss at home.

I’m not being naive when I think of the challenges facing a young man such as him. I know that Binyamin has classmates, friends, neighbors, and relatives who have not chosen the same path as he. His small frame, clad in his bar mitzvah suit, seemed too slight to hold the responsibility he’s accepted.

It was this that pulled me up all those many stairs to  stand behind him in silent support. Whether or not he could see me, Binyamin knew I was there, my presence conveying to him the message that every step was worth the climb.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 796)