I have recently started swimming again. At first, the purpose was simple and measurable: I needed to pass a swim test. That meant counting laps, watching the clock, checking my pace, and asking whether I was getting closer to the required standard.
But over time, something unexpected has happened. I still want to pass the test, of course, but the swimming has become much more than preparation for an assessment. It has become one of the few forms of exercise that actually works with the realities of my life. I do not need a class time, a team, equipment, or anyone else’s schedule to align with mine. I can just get in the pool and swim.
And perhaps more importantly, I have begun to look forward to it. In the water, there is a quietness I do not often find elsewhere. No emails. No phone. No conversation to manage. Just breath, movement, rhythm, and the next length of the pool. I may still notice the time and distance, but those numbers are no longer the real measure of what is happening. The real measure is that I am showing up consistently, feeling stronger, clearing my head, and discovering that this small discipline is doing something good for my body, my mind, and my soul.
That tension sits at the heart of this week’s Torah portion, Bemidbar, which opens with a census. God commands Moses: “Take a census of the whole Israelite community… listing the names, every male, head by head.” On its own, that seems straightforward enough. The Israelites are in the wilderness, preparing to travel, organise themselves by tribes, and eventually enter the Land of Israel. A census has a clear practical purpose.
But there is a problem. Earlier in Exodus, the Torah seems to warn against counting people directly. When the Israelites are counted, each person is to give a half-shekel, “that no plague may come upon them through their being enrolled.” In other words, Exodus appears to say: do not count people directly. Then Bemidbar opens by saying: count the people, tribe by tribe, family by family, name by name.
So which is it? Is counting dangerous, or is counting necessary?
The commentators wrestle with this apparent contradiction. Rashi resolves it by reading Bemidbar through Exodus: even when the people were counted in the wilderness, they must have been counted by means of the half-shekel. Abarbanel disagrees. He argues that the problem is not the act of counting itself. When God commands a census, and when there is a genuine purpose behind it, there is no spiritual danger. The danger comes when counting becomes detached from purpose.
That is what happens in the story of King David. David orders Joab, his military commander, to count the people. Joab is troubled and asks why the king wants this. David insists. The census is carried out, and immediately afterwards, David realises he has sinned. Ramban explains that David’s census was wrong because it was unnecessary. It was not for a sacred task, not for distributing land, and not for responding to an immediate threat. It was a count for its own sake. Ralbag goes further: David placed his trust in numbers, soldiers, and strength, rather than in God.
This is an ancient warning with a very modern edge. We live surrounded by numbers: followers, likes, views, attendance, income, rankings, polling, statistics, targets, and test results. Numbers can be useful. They can help us plan, improve, and act responsibly. But numbers can also become idols. They can make us confuse size with depth, speed with growth, visibility with value, and measurement with meaning.
The Torah is not telling us never to count. Bemidbar itself begins with a count. But it asks us to count wisely. Moses counts because the people are preparing for a journey and a responsibility. David counts because he wants reassurance from the scale of his own power. One count serves a purpose beyond itself. The other becomes the purpose itself.
So the question is not only, “How many?” It is, “For what?” Not only “How fast?” but “What is this helping me become?” Not only “Are we growing?” but also “Are we deepening?”
That is the lesson I am slowly learning in the pool. I began by swimming for a time, a target, and a test. Those things still matter. But somewhere along the way, I have had to make the transition from simply asking, “Am I fast enough?” to asking, “What is this doing for my health, my discipline, my calm, and my ability to show up?”
Perhaps that is the deeper message of Bemidbar as well. We will always need to count some things. Communities need numbers. Families need budgets. Schools, hospitals, and societies need data. Even our own lives sometimes need goals and measurable progress.
But the numbers are never the whole story. The real challenge is to make sure that what we count is serving who we are becoming.
In swimming, in community, and in life, the goal is not merely counting to count. The goal is to learn how to make things count.
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi Rafi Kaiserblueth