Not All Who Wander Are Lost—Some Are Becoming Free: Matot-Massei

Matot begins with the laws of vows.

A vow means I can imagine a tomorrow that looks different from today.

Masei lists the stops of the Israelites’ journey through the wilderness. A journey means I affirm a narrative arc that makes up my life—I affirm that in every life, in every sojourn we have on this earth, there is a beginning, an end, and a wilderness in between. A wilderness that may seem chaotic, but with hindsight, provides meaning.

We are free because, as humans, we don’t simply accept the world as it is. We have an innate ability to imagine a reality beyond the current one we inhabit. And rather than wait for fate, a supernatural power, or someone else to birth that imaginative dream into being, we know that we must—and can—take agency for that change.

When we’re moved beyond our comfort zone, when we feel a nagging sense of discontent, it means our imagination—our desire for the Promised Land—is burning. Discontent is evidence that your imagination is still working. It is evidence that you are exercising your freedom. It is evidence that you are human.

Despair is easy. Hope requires courage—but perhaps more importantly, it demands our freedom. Because when we believe we are more than the result of fated circumstance, our entire posture changes.

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Every revolution begins with a dream—with a plan to bring forth a new order from the existing chaos, from the wilderness."I have a dream," said Martin Luther King."If you will it, it is no dream," said Herzl.

Both visionaries saw the world as it could be. Both vowed to make it so. And both—like Moses—never reached the Promised Land of their dreams. But their journey, their many stops along the way, are what infused their lives with meaning—and what ultimately birthed arrival for others.

Franz Rosenzweig, the great Jewish philosopher of the last century, spoke of the narrative arc of Jewish history: it begins with creation and ends with redemption—and in between lies revelation. Revelation is the space where God and humanity work together, in freedom, to bring about redemption. It is not a passive, mystical flash of divine epiphany—it is an active space, where humans interpret reality in freedom. It is the space in which God calls out to humankind in general, and the Jewish people in particular, and asks them to partner in healing the brokenness of the world.

But to do that, a certain posture is required on the part of the human partner. A posture that makes space for revelation. Not the fire and lightning of Sinai—in that moment, the human is diminished, and there is room only for the divine. The type of revelation that preserves human freedom is one in which God reveals Himself silently in the journey. Not fireworks—but the soft, gentle warmth of a fire. A warmth and light created in partnership: between the natural resources created by God, and the innovation of humankind.

Revelation is when we see something revealed in the ordinariness of existence as it is, and imagine something that ought to be. Revelation is when our power of imagination reveals itself like an incandescent flame within, urging us to exercise our freedom and agency to make promises, to take vows, to change the future through our words, our actions, and our moral sensibility.

Revelation is knowing that in the wilderness and chaos of a seemingly meaningless journey, lessons are learned, freedom is won, and meaning is made.

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The list of stops in Masei isn’t just geography. It’s autobiography.

It’s the reminder that every detour matters. Every place has a name. Every moment has a purpose.

Freedom in Judaism is not about wandering aimlessly. It’s about the path to meaning. The hard, beautiful, messy journey toward the Promised Land. The long list of seemingly random places that make up the Israelites’ winding wilderness route in Masei is our life. This life, our life, our short time on earth, is a journey through the wilderness of existence. But only if we recognize that every place has a name. Every stage in our journey has a purpose. Every opportunity—a revelation.

Freedom, according to Jewish tradition, is not unbridled license. It is born in the lessons we learn along the circuitous path to the Promised Land—in the many ups and downs, mountain peaks and valleys, pains and joys we encounter along the way.

We could have remained in one place for forty years. It would have been safer, less strenuous, less terrifying. But instead, we were mandated to journey—constantly—into the arena of the unknown. To embrace the chaos and uncertainty—but with a posture of faith.

As Jeremiah says (2:2):

הָלֹךְ וְקָרָאתָ בְּאָזְנֵי יְרוּשָׁלַ‍ִם לֵאמֹר כֹּה אָמַר ה' זָכַרְתִּי לָךְ חֶסֶד נְעוּרַיִךְ אַהֲבַת כְּלוּלֹתָיִךְ לֶכְתֵּךְ אַחֲרַי בַּמִּדְבָּר בְּאֶרֶץ לֹא זְרוּעָה.Go and proclaim to Jerusalem: Thus said the LORD, I accounted to your favor the devotion of your youth, your love as a bride—how you followed Me in the wilderness, in a land not sown.

How can faith and freedom coexist? Bamidbar offers an answer: Never remain in your comfort zone. Continually journey toward the Promised Land. Vow to make the world—and yourself—other than it is.

And know that even in moments of uncertainty and wilderness, God is with you on that journey.

Faith is a spiritual orientation. It is a dimension of the soul that nurtures autonomous action alongside divine embrace. It knows that our lives lie within a narrative arc of meaning—and that the journey to the Promised Land requires courage, agency, determination, and a posture that allows for continual revelation.

To see something other than it is. To know that every circumstance, every stop along the way, every unplanned sojourn, is an opportunity for growth—for flexing the muscles of freedom—to navigate chaos within the loving embrace of a compassionate God.

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And so the entire book of Bamidbar ends with a return to the narrative of the daughters of Tzelofchad—those courageous women who dared to challenge the status quo. Whose discontent allowed them to dream a dream of an imagined reality not yet realised. Whose courage pushed beyond comfort zones and shattered glass ceilings, forged through the unlikely union of reverent, authentic faith and absolute freedom.

Their action was born of faith—the incandescent light that burns within and radiates outward.

In doing so, they reclaimed not only their father's name but also won a legal appeal that expanded the boundaries of the law beyond its original contours. And in doing so, they showed the Israelites—and every generation to follow—that faith and freedom can work not in opposition, but in seamless partnership.

Shabbat Shalom