5786/2026
As we prepare for Zman Matan Torateinu, the celebration of receiving the Torah, it is fitting that we begin Sefer BeMidbar. The opening line of Parashat BeMidbar reminds us, “Vayidaber Hashem El Moshe BeMidbar Sinai,” “Hashem spoke to Moshe in the wilderness at Sinai” (BeMidbar, 1:1) All of the commandments and narratives to follow in this Sefer are introduced in the context of Har Sinai, with a direct emphasis on the desert. Chazal wonder why Hashem selected this place for Matan Torah. A Midbar is a barren wilderness, an empty desert. Why not give the Torah in Eretz Yisrael? Wouldn’t Yerushalayim Ir HaKodesh be a more ideal setting? What are we meant to learn from the Midbar?
The Midrash Rabbah explains that a wilderness is considered Hefker, ownerless. No individual or group can truly claim the Midbar belongs to them. It is vast and open to all. Anyone can enter this place at any time and go wherever he wants during his visit; leaving footprints in the sand, climbing over rocks, or camping under the stars. Similarly, the Torah is accessible like the desert, readily acquired by any Talmid who wants to learn (Bamidbar Rabbah, 1:7). A related idea appears in the Talmud Bavli, where both Rava (Nedarim 55a) and Rav Matna (Eruvin 54a) each taught that a humble person who makes himself Hefker to all, like the Midbar, will merit to receive the Torah as a gift. Through humility, one can open himself wide to more learning. Furthermore, if he makes his Torah knowledge accessible, he can eagerly share it with anyone else who wants to learn. Thus, it is appropriate to emphasize the Midbar as an expression of humility while acquiring Torah.
Chacham Yosef Chayim of Baghdad, known as the Ben Ish Chai, adds a deeper layer of understanding to this discussion in Eruvin 54a. In his commentary “Ben Yehoyada,” the Ben Ish Chai makes an important distinction between a desert and a garden. The garden has an owner, and he chooses when to allow visitors and when to turn them away. Thus, he can preserve the garden’s beauty. If the owner did not restrict access to the garden, then travelers would trample the soil, children would pull branches or pick at leaves within their reach, and folks might leave trash in the flowerbeds. Only a select few may enter. In that way, argues the Ben Ish Chai, a garden is somewhat limited. Its beauty cannot truly be appreciated by all. In contrast, the desert is unlimited. It is ownerless, so it has no gatekeeper and there are no visitation hours. Travelers can come and go at will, or stay as long as they wish. Hashem wanted the Torah to be accessible, like the Midbar, so Talmidim can always join and feel welcome to stay.
Here, the Ben Ish Chai further sharpens his point by examining the use of the word ‘Midbar’- desert as opposed to the word ‘Afar’- dust. Why did Chazal specifically use the image of a Midbar if the attribute of humility is often described as Afar? For instance, Avraham expressed his humility before the Almighty by referring to himself as “Afar Va’Eifer”- dust and ash (BeReishit, 18:27). Plus, we use a similar phrase when we say “Elokai Netzor” during the Amidah, “V’nafshi Ke’Afar Lakol Tihiyeh,” “And let my soul be like dust to all…” Despite the strong precedent set by Avraham Avinu and the text of our daily Amidah, Chazal still favored the image of a “wilderness” instead of “dust” to represent humility in receiving the Torah. Why do we highlight the Midbar in this context?
Says Chacham Yosef Chayim, not all Afar is accessible. There are some places on earth we simply cannot go, even if that is our desire. A king will only allow aristocrats, noblemen, and other members of the royal court to enter his palace and stand before him. The soil in the king’s garden may be just as plain as any other patch of dirt, and yet, it is hallowed ground, set apart from the rest of his kingdom. What makes the king’s dirt so special? Nothing. The dirt itself is dirt. Afar is everywhere. But it is not always ownerless, like the desert. The royal garden is not accessible to everyone. Though it may be dust, it is the king’s dust, and commoners cannot stand in the presence of royalty without an invitation.
Perhaps that is why the Torah was given in the desert. Torah must be accessible to everyone at all times, like the Midbar. It sustains us even in the wilds of exile. Throughout our history, there have been times when we have been the lowest of all the earth. Yet, we live on. Klal Yisroel accepted the Torah in a Midbar so that we would know our lifeline in those moments of struggle. How else could we possibly endure the challenges of the wilderness? Other nations fade away when they are cut off from natural resources, they are not equipped for life in the Midbar. When history humbles us, we know how to keep going because we are already humble. So long as we keep the Torah, the Torah will continue to keep us.
But Yerushalayim is different. Yerushalayim is not Hefker like the desert. Hashem kept it as His beautiful garden, “Ginat Bitan HaMelech,” and a true garden has a gatekeeper. Hashem chooses when to allow visitors, and when He must turn them away. We returned to Eretz Yisrael in 1948 after many long years of exile, and then in 1967 Hashem saw fit to bring us even closer as we returned to Yerushalayim. Although one must be humble like the Midbar, it was never the destination. Torah prepares us for the journey home, from the desert to the garden.
When Yaakov Avinu made his bed of stones on Har HaBayit, Hashem made him a promise. “ViHaya Zaracha K’Afar Ha’Aretz, your children will be like the dust of [this] land.” (BeReishit, 28:14) We are Yaakov’s children, B’nei Yisrael, and we are not Hefker like the dust of the Midbar. We are sanctified like the Afar HaAretz. Our humble longing and exalted belonging are not in conflict, but two sides of the same coin. “I am dust and ash,” but Ribono Shel Olam, I am Your dust and ash. “Let my soul be like dust to all,” Hashem, I seek only Your approval. Even in our lowly unredeemed state, we can be worthy of standing in His presence.
Chacham Yosef Chayim was right; not all Afar is accessible. Yerushalayim has a Gatekeeper, and He chose to let us in. Who can enter the King’s private garden? A select few, set apart from all others. We are a Mamlechet Kohanim v’Goy Kadosh, a priestly kingdom and a holy nation. We are Banim Lashem, Hashem’s own children. We are K’Afar Ha’Aretz, like the dust from the King’s royal garden. Hashem sent our generation an invitation, and Yom Yerushalayim is our response card. Let us accept His invitation with humility and the confidence of knowing we belong.