Take the Levites from among Bnei Yisrael and purify them (8:6).
Rashi zt”l explains: “Take them with words—fortunate are you that you merit to serve as attendants to the Omnipresent.”
The Maharal, in his commentary Gur Aryeh (10), explains why Rashi interprets “take” (קַ ח) as referring to words. One cannot literally “take” a person, as every individual remains in his own domain. Even if one resides with another, the term kicha—taking—does not apply to him. Therefore, Rashi clarifies that it means “take them with words,” for a person’s essence is his intellect. Through pleasant speech, encouragement, and words of endearment, one can influence another, thereby bringing him into his domain.
From this mitzvah, in which Hashem commanded Moshe to bring the Levites to their service through a loving approach, we learn the proper method of drawing Jews closer to the service of Hashem—through kindness and affectionate words, not through coercion or a sense of subjugation.
This is the duty of a leader of Klal Yisrael—to instill this loving approach within the hearts of those who heed his teachings and among the congregation under his guidance: “Fortunate are you who study Torah and engage in the service of Hashem.”
In our times, when we no longer have the Beis HaMikdash, any Jew who draws closer to Hashem can, in a sense, be considered a “Levite,” a term derived from להתלוה—to accompany. Likewise, every person can attain a level akin to a kohen offering sacrifices, as Chazal teach (Menachos 110a): “One who engages in the study of the laws of the burnt-offering is considered as if he has offered it.” Similarly, in Sotah (5a), it states: “One who humbles himself is considered as if he has offered all the sacrifices.”
Indeed, we are well aware of the words of the Rambam at the conclusion of Hilchos Shemittah VeYovel (13:13), where he writes:
“Not only the tribe of Levi, but any individual from all of humanity whose spirit moves him and whose intellect compels him to set himself apart, to stand before Hashem, to serve Him, to know Him, and to walk upright as Hashem created him—removing from his neck the burdens of worldly calculations that preoccupy people—such a person is sanctified as the Kodesh Hakodashim (Holy of Holies). Hashem will be his portion and inheritance for eternity, and He will provide for him in this world what is sufficient for his needs, just as He does for the Kohanim and Levites.”
I witnessed a wondrous practice from one of the great Sages of Yerushalayim—twice, Heaven granted me the opportunity to see this approach in action:
The first instance was at a wedding
where this esteemed rav officiated the chuppah and kiddushin according to halachah. Among the distinguished guests were some family members who were not observant. It is not uncommon for Jewish celebrations to include relatives from various backgrounds.
The wedding began with the traditional and uplifting Kabbalas Panim reception. The groom, hesitant yet radiant with holiness, entered the hall and ascended the platform, where he was seated between his parents, grandparents, and other dignitaries. The guests—relatives, friends, and associates—gathered around, including those secular family members who watched the proceedings with a mix of curiosity and emotion.
This scene was utterly unlike any wedding they had ever attended. The reverence and sanctity enveloping the event deeply moved them. Feeling a connection to the family and sensing the grandeur of the Divine presence, their hearts stirred.
As the orchestra began to play ancient, stirring melodies, the groom took out his Tehillim and immersed himself in fervent prayers. Tears streamed down his face as he pleaded with the Almighty to grant him a home founded upon Torah and holiness.
At the moment of the chuppah, the esteemed rav entered the hall, and in his honor, all rose to their feet. The hosts hurried to greet him, escorting him to his place beside the groom.
As the rav walked toward the stage, guests approached him with warm handshakes, receiving his blessings. The sacred atmosphere—permeated with awe and love—touched even the secular relatives, drawing them closer. They too wished to receive a blessing from the rav.
One of these family members, overwhelmed by emotion, wanted to approach and shake the rav’s hand. However, he realized, to his dismay, that unlike the others, he had no kippah. While he had carefully chosen his finest attire for the occasion, he had not considered bringing a head covering.
The rav, noticing his hesitation, turned to his attendant and inquired why this man stood bareheaded when even his secular relatives had donned a kippah. Embarrassed, the man shrank back, realizing his oversight.
To the astonishment of all, the rav immediately removed his own kippah from beneath his hat and extended it to him, saying warmly, “Here, take this—a fine, distinguished kippah!”
The man was utterly overwhelmed. He had never imagined that the rav himself would remove his own kippah for him. Tears welled in his eyes as he placed it on his head and declared: “Rabbi, I promise you with all my heart—from this day forward, I will never remove this kippah!”
The crowd was visibly moved, and the rav blessed him with all his heart that he should return to his Jewish roots completely. He then gave him the kippah as a permanent gift.
It is well known that the kippah instills reverence for Heaven, as the Sages teach (Shabbat 156b): “Cover your head so that the fear of Heaven may be upon you.” How much more so when the kippah comes from the head of a righteous man! This man’s transformation was immediate—he became one of the rav’s devoted students, engaging in Torah study and service of Hashem.
The second time I witnessed this
was when the rav visited a prison to deliver an inspirational lecture.
One of the inmates, overwhelmed by the rav’s presence, approached him humbly, covering his head with his hand, and asked if he had a kippah to spare.
Without hesitation, just as before, the rav removed his own kippah and handed it to him. However, in this instance, the rav had no hat, as he had traveled to the lecture wearing only his large kippah.
Realizing the importance of this moment, he recalled an episode from his youth, when he had seen the saintly Rav Yudale Horowitz of Dzikov zt”l wearing a white cloth on his head instead of a kippah. Inspired by that memory, the rav took his own white handkerchief, tied it securely on his head, and continued the lecture as if nothing was amiss.
The prisoner, deeply moved, pledged never to remove the kippah. Indeed, this moment marked the beginning of his journey back to his faith.
At that same opportunity, that great Torah scholar recounted to his close associates the source from which he had learned this approach to conduct—namely, from a wondrous story that was publicized about the holy Rebbe of Sanz-Klausenburg zt”l, the author of Shefa Chaim.
After the Holocaust, while in one of the Displaced Persons camps in Germany, he encountered a young Jewish survivor who was walking around the camp without stockings. Since it is well known that he took upon himself the burden of restoring the dignity of Judaism from the ashes of the crematoria and cared for every Jewish man and woman, both physically and spiritually, he approached her gently and asked with sensitivity why she was not wearing stockings, as befitting the tradition of modest and virtuous Jewish daughters.
The girl, sobbing, responded that she simply had no stockings to wear.
What did that holy and righteous man do? Unable to find rest for his soul upon hearing the cries of a lonely, pure, and innocent soul, he stood right there in the middle of the camp, removed his own black socks—the only pair he possessed—took them off his feet, and gave them to the unfortunate girl, remaining barefoot himself. He explained to her that for a man to be barefoot posed no concern of modesty, but a holy and pure Jewish daughter is bound by das Yehudis (the traditional standards of modesty for Jewish women) to cover her feet in modesty and holiness. He paid no heed to his own dignity and rabbinic stature, but continued on his way as a well-known Rebbe and Admor, barefoot and without socks—all for the sake of saving a Jewish soul!
Throughout her entire life, that young girl kept those socks and drew strength from them, for they brought her a measure of solace and healing to her wounded soul. Seeing them reminded her that she was not alone in the world, that she was not abandoned—there was a Jew, a true lover of Israel, who cared for her and her soul. Through this act of love and warmth, she was drawn closer to her Father in Heaven and to His righteous servants.
And during the shiva mourning period following the passing of that holy Rebbe in Kiryat Sanz, in the city of Netanya (may it be established and firmly built), that same woman—though by then elderly and frail—exerted herself to come and console the grieving family. With tears streaming down her face, she recounted this story to them. They had never seen her before and knew nothing of it, but she showed them those very socks that had strengthened her and warmed her heart throughout her entire life.
From this, that great Torah scholar drew a lesson, reasoning kal vachomer within himself: If one must forgo even socks—something worn on the feet—for the sake of bringing a Jewish soul closer to Hashem, even if it means remaining barefoot oneself, how much more so when it comes to the sacred kippah worn on the head, which instills the fear of Heaven! If this can serve as a replacement for a head covering such as a kerchief and can be a means of drawing Jews closer through love and reverence for Heaven, then certainly one must use it to bring people back and save them from sin!
Furthermore, from this one learns that no story told about tzaddikim should be dismissed lightly. For we see that from the truth of this story, another righteous man learned his path in life. Every such story contains within it a moral lesson that a person can apply to their own actions.
