We’re now beginning a new book of the Torah—the Book of Numbers, known in Hebrew as Sefer Bamidbar. This name is rooted in a passage in the Gemara (Sotah 36b), which refers to the book as Sefer Ha’Pekudim, “the Book of Countings.”
But what’s actually happening here?
This section begins with the formation of the Jewish encampment in the Midbar—a structured, deliberate arrangement. The rationale behind this structure is found in what occurred at the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai. At that moment, God opened up the Heavens and the depths of the earth. The Jewish people were granted a vision of what lies above and below, and they saw the celestial beings, the angels.
And what did they see? The angels were arranged in four camps, stationed in the four cardinal directions. Many of us are familiar with this from the bedtime Shema prayer, where we say: “To my right is Michael, to my left is Gavriel, in front of me is Uriel, and behind me is Raphael.” Each side was led by an Archangel with their entourage. And each group of angels carried a flag.
The Jewish people, inspired by this sublime vision, yearned to live on that elevated level. “We want to be like the angels,” they said.
Rabbeinu Bachya notes something beautiful. In the Midbar, each direction had three tribal leaders, or nesi’im. The name of the Nasi who stood in the middle of each directional triad always ended in “-el,” the same suffix found in the names of angels—Michael, Gavriel, Uriel. We see names like Shlumiel, Gamliel, hinting that these leaders, too, carried a spark of that heavenly role.
As the tribes arranged themselves by direction, they were also each given a flag. Chazal (Bamidbar Rabbah 2:7) describe what was depicted on each of these flags. For example, Reuven’s bore the duda’im (mandrakes), referencing the story in Parshas Vayeitzei. Shimon’s featured the city of Shechem.
If you’ve ever visited a shul where the Aron or the stained-glass windows depict twelve symbolic images, those are often based on these Shevatim banners. Each picture represents the unique strength or essence of that Shevet.
So what was the purpose of these flags?
Today, we have walkie-talkies and instant communication, even on the battlefield. But in ancient times, when soldiers were fighting amidst the chaos of war—confused, scattered, unsure of direction—a raised banner was everything. A flag served as a rallying point. It told you where your people were. It gave you a place to return to. It reminded you where you belonged.
And that’s the deeper meaning of a flag: it’s a symbol of identity and unity. We speak of the flag of the Jewish people, the banner of Torah, and phrases like the banner of Israel. A flag is lifted high so it can be seen from afar. It shows the way.
Rashi comments on the Akeidah that when the Torah says “Hashem tested Avraham,” the Hebrew word nissah can also mean “to raise up, as one raises a banner." The test itself became a flag—a signpost for generations—saying, “This is why I walk with Avraham.”
Each of us has a flag, and we must ask ourselves: What is on it? What ideals do we rally around? What identity do we raise proudly, to signal who we are, as individuals, as families, as communities, and as a nation?
With G-d’s help, may each of us find our place in the camp.
