There is a story in the Talmud—among my favorites—that sets the stage for the creation of humanity.
The scene is the sixth day of creation. God surveys the nearly completed world. There are butterflies, rainbows, babbling brooks.
Then God asks the angels an important question: “Should I create humanity?”
First God approaches the Angel the Truth.
“Angel of Truth,” asks God. “Should I create humanity?” The Angel of Truth looks at God, and replies, “My advice? God, please think twice about this.
“Because this person will insist that they have the truth—and the other will say, “I have the truth.” And they will fight each other with these partial truths—many of them lies—and will potentially destroy this beautiful world.”
God then approaches the Angel of Kindness and poses the same question. “Angel of Kindness,” asks God, “Should I create humanity?” The Angel of Kindness replies, “Do it.
“For without humanity—kindness will not be brought into the world. Eventually your creation will be brought to completion through compromise and kindness.”
And so, as the Talmud recounts, God flung the Angel of Truth to the ground, creating humanity in that moment. It is an ancient story that has proven to be remarkably prophetic.
As we look at the world today, there are so many religions and factions judging and attacking each other in the name of “truth”—potentially edging us toward the eve of destruction.
We live, too often, within an echo chamber where minds are closed, where the power of selective knowledge and incomplete truths are used to discredit and minimize others. Our “inboxes” are filled each day with material that, too often, serves to inflame rather than educate. We assess too many in terms of statistics and stereotypes.
This brings us to this week’s Torah portion, Bamidbar –”wilderness” in Hebrew, Numbers in English. The parashah begins with a commandment to Moses ordering him to conduct a census of a certain segment of the Israelites in the desert.
The count is performed to determine how many males, 20 years of age or older, could be counted on to defend the nation in case of war. The word used to define this small group is “adat,” often translated as “a band, faction or portion.” Our sages acknowledge there were many others to be counted, including women, minors, seniors, and those who were physically or cognitively challenged. But not on that day.
This question often emerges: If God is all-knowing, why was it necessary to engage in the painstaking process of counting each person?
And the sages reply that it was important for God to remind every warrior that each of them counted—not as part of a large body, but rather as individuals each with a specific mission and destiny.
Our tradition reminds us that each one of us is unique. Every individual carries God’s spark within—unlike anyone who ever was or will ever be. But there is another interpretation, taught by the Polish sage, Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk (1787–1859).
He expanded on the Angel of Truth story, noting: “When we cast aside truth, peace will prevail. The root of argument is that everyone fights for his/her own ‘truth’. But when we push ‘truth’ aside, there is no longer something about which to dispute…”
These days, our society feasts on statistics, analysis, and numbers at the increasing expense of individuality. For just as there were many unique personalities in the desert among the 603,550 who were counted, there are so many different opinions, perspectives, skills, and gifts contained within the Jewish world today and beyond.
And each deserves to be considered and counted. Since the Holocaust, we as Jews remain fiercely opposed to being numbered or characterized by others as “The Jews.”
And though it must have taken much effort to perform the census to confirm a total that God already knew, an important lesson endures: We, as human beings, are more than numbers.
The Talmud reminds us that the world was founded upon kindness, and is sustained through kindness. It is the loss of kindness—and our lack of desire to practice it—that is, perhaps, the greatest threat to peace in our time.
The Talmud also reminds us that, “These words and those words are both the words of the living God.” Therefore, let us spend more time listening and understanding the opinions of others—whether we agree or not.
And perhaps then—and only then—will the flawed truths of our time be “flung to the ground” in favor of a world of kindness and eventual peace.
This week, the Torah inspires us to consider that “each one of us has a voice, and each one of us deserves to be counted.”
Let us use that responsibility wisely. For it is peace, and not ultimate truth, which God desires. Let us therefor consider admitting a bit more kindness into our hearts, for in so doing, we permit our own truths to be more true.
Shabbat shalom, v’kol tuv.
Rabbi Irwin Huberman