Parashat Naso begins with the continuation of the narrative begun in the preceding parashah, Bemidbar. Parashat Bemidbar concluded with the conscription of the Levite clan of Kehat into the Temple service, and parashat Naso begins with the conscription of the other two Levite clans, Gershon and Merari. This already seems strange: why do we break between the parashiot in the middle of the story of the Levites' conscription? But this is only the beginning. Gershon was the oldest son of Levi, followed by Kehat and Merari. Why was the clan of Kehat plucked out of its natural place, following Gershon, and artificially grafted on to the end of the preceding parashah?

Furthermore, if we look at the outline of parashat Naso, it appears to be a succession of seemingly unrelated topics:

1. the conscription of the Levite clans of Gershon and Merari into the Temple service,

2. the exclusion of defiled people from the camp,

3. details of the laws of theft,

4. the procedure for testing a suspected adulteress (sotah),

5. the laws of the Nazirite,

6. the priestly blessings,

7. the installation offerings of the leaders of the tribes, and

8. the manner in which God spoke with Moses in the Tabernacle.

Furthermore, if we look at the dates of these events, the picture becomes even more confusing:

1. the continuation of the preceding parashah's narration of the census, taken on the first of Iyar, 2449,

2. returning to the narration of the events of a month previous, the first of Nisan, 2449,

3-5. legal material (given between Sivan 2448 and Iyar 2449)

6-8. returning again to the narration of the events of the first of Nisan, 2449.

Why does the parashah begin at one point in history—the eve of setting out into the desert—and then backtrack to the events of the preceding month (interrupting itself with legal material in the middle)?

Our first clue is the fact that the clan of Kehat, as we said, was drafted first. According to the Midrash,1 the Torah gives precedence to the clan of Kehat because they carried the Ark of the Covenant, which housed the tablets. Since they carried the Torah, the means through which the Jew binds himself to God, they are described first.

Now, the idiom used for "taking a census" throughout these two parashiot is "lifting up the head." As we have explained,2 counting the people summoned forth their otherwise latent capacities necessary for conscription into God's "army" on the eve of their journey into the desert. It is this idiom of elevation that both begins parashat Naso and gives it its name—Naso means "lift up." Since this is the name of the whole parashah, the whole parashah describes the uplift that preceded the journey into the wilderness.

But the parashah begins: "Take a census of the clan of Gershon, too." The fact that the clan of Gershon's tally is presented as secondary to that of the clan of Kehat, almost as an after thought, indicates that the real tallying, the real "raising the head," is that done to the clan of Kehat. This is because, as we said, the clan of Kehat carried the Ark of the Covenant, which housed the Torah. The Torah is the real means by which we "raise our heads," that is, ascend to higher levels of Divine consciousness. It is for this reason that the clan of Kehat is counted first.3

When our mind is elevated, our whole life is elevated together with it, so, once the clan of Kehat have been "lifted up," we can raise the clan of Gershon, too. In fact, the Torah's power to raise us higher than the material world is manifest most fully not when it raises our consciousness but when it elevates our mundane, daily lives. This is why the parashiot of Bemidbar and Naso are split between the censuses of the clans of Kehat and Gershon: in this way, parashat Naso begins with the census of the clan of Gershon, teaching us that we achieve the real "lifting up the heads" when this affects our mundane lives, as well.4

Furthermore, placing the census of the clan of Gershon at the beginning of parashat Naso highlights the advantage of action over study. As we have seen previously, Torah study and the concrete performance of God's commandments are superior to one another in different ways: Torah study unites us consciously with God, but only affects our intellect. In contrast, performing the commandments unites us with God only subliminally, but this union pervades the physical body. Recording the census of the clan of Kehat first emphasizes the superiority of Torah study; arranging the parashiot so the clan of Gershon's census introduces parashat Naso emphasizes the superiority of performing the commandments.

The journey into the desert actually began on Iyar 20, 2449, and this is recorded only half way through the next parashah, Beha'alotecha.5 Thus, all of Bemidbar, all of Naso, and half of Beha'alotecha are concerned with the preparations for the journey; everything described in these parashiot is a prerequisite that we must complete before we venture into the spiritual desert in order to subdue it to holiness. Inasmuch as the theme of parashat Naso is how studying the Torah elevates us (particularly when it is consummated in the performance of God's commandments), it follows that every thing recorded in this parashah illustrates a successive stage in this process of elevation.

Once we have been conscripted into God's army, the next phase of preparation is self purification. In order to emerge victorious from the battle against evil, we need first to rid ourselves, as far as possible, of any trace of evil within, to rise above petty mundaneness. In this vein, the laws of banishing defilement from the camp, theft, the suspected adulteress, and the Nazirite all serve to inspire us to aspire to the highest levels of purity and holiness. Do we harbor any impure motives in our hearts? Have we misappropriated any of the means we intend to use in the fight? Are we truly loyal to our Divine Spouse? Have we renounced methodology that intoxicates us with false illusions about the reality we are about to engage? In particular, the institution of naziritehood teaches us that we can rise so high in sanctity that our physical bodies become holy objects.6

The crown of success placed on our strivings toward purification is the priestly blessing. By going beyond ourselves, "lifting our heads" beyond our normal way of living, we earn God's response in kind: "May God lift up His face upon you," favoring us beyond what we deserve.

The following section of the parashah is the account of the installation offerings, in which the Torah details how each prince brought the same offering. As we shall see, the repetition of the contents of these offerings is intended to inform us that although each prince offered the same sacrifice, each one's intentions were unique. In the overall context of the parashah, this indicates that although we are all equally obligated to study the Torah—the same Torah—each one of us has a unique contribution to make in this study, which no one else can make for us and no one can take away from us.

Afterwards, however, the Torah sums up the tally of all the offerings together, indicating that they form a collective whole. This teaches us that—when based on a spirit of true selflessness—the individual discoveries we uncover while studying the Torah form part of the overall holiness of the Torah and serve to unite us, as well.7

The account of the installation offerings is followed by the final element in the parashah, a short description of how Moses learned the Torah from God in the Tabernacle. The juxtaposition of this description with the preceding account of the installation offerings teaches us that if we approach the study of the Torah with selflessness and concern for the collective body of the Jewish people, we can indeed aspire to hear the voice of God issuing from the sanctuary we have built out of our individual lives.

Finally, the fact that all this preparation—this elevation through Torah study—occurs in the desert indicates that the purpose and truest fulfillment of Torah study is that it transform even the barren wasteland of the spiritual void into God's home on earth.8