When we immigrated to Israel five years ago, I was struck immediately by how different the Jewish community I had left behind in America was from the one I joined here. Outwardly, these communities looked very similar. In America, there is a large and serious Jewish community called ‘Modern Orthodox’ — Jews who are fully committed to the Bible and Jewish law, but who also embrace secular education, careers, and engagement with the broader world. In Israel, the equivalent community is called ‘Religious Zionist.’ Both take the Bible seriously. Both are part of the modern world. On the surface, they seem like the same thing. Many American Jews simply assume they are.
But they are not. Not even close.
Modern Orthodox Judaism in America has produced great scholars, devoted families, and communities that have done enormous good. I grew up in this world and I am grateful for it. But American Modern Orthodox communities struggle to find enough qualified Torah teachers, because talented young people are not willing to sacrifice more lucrative careers to teach in Jewish schools. Its rabbis are reluctant to move to smaller cities and towns where they are desperately needed. Many young Modern Orthodox Jews are dissatisfied, often looking elsewhere for inspiration, and are not passionately committed to the future of their communities. The community is serious about Judaism. But it is not on fire.
Now look at what is happening in Israel, in the world of Religious Zionism — the Judaism of the Israeli settlers, the Zionist rabbis, the young soldiers who carry a rifle in one hand and a Bible in the other. These young people are something else entirely. They are on fire — for the Land, for the army, for the Jewish people.
What explains the difference?
The Double Meaning of Naso
The Book of Numbers contains what seems to be a long and irrelevant passage — God commanding Moses to count the Levite families and catalog exactly what each family carried through the desert. Poles and curtains and sockets. The Levites haven’t carried a portable Tabernacle for thousands of years. What could any of this possibly have to do with us today?
Everything, it turns out. The answer is in one Hebrew word: Naso.
“Naso et rosh Bnei Gershon” — “Count the sons of Gershon” (Numbers 4:22). Hebrew has many words for counting — limnot, lispor, lifkod, lachshov. The word Naso, however, is rarely used in the sense of “counting.” It is a strange choice. So why here, counting the Levites specifically, does the Bible use this particular word?
The Hebrew root of Naso carries two meanings that seem, at first glance, to have nothing to do with each other. Its primary meaning is heavy physical labor — to bear a load, to carry a burden on your back. As Numbers says of the Levites hauling the holiest vessels of the Tabernacle: “upon the shoulder they shall carry” (Numbers 7:9) — in Hebrew, “carry” is yisa’u, from the same root as Naso. But the same word also means “to sing.” As the Psalms declare: “Se’u zimrah u’tenu tof” — “Lift up the song and sound the drum!” (Psalms 81:3). The word se’u — lift up — derives from the same Hebrew root as Naso.
Think about how strange this is. Naso means hauling sacred vessels through the desert — backbreaking, unglamorous work. And Naso means to sing — one of the most spiritual acts a human being can perform. These are not just two different meanings. They are opposites. And yet the Hebrew holds them together in a single word.
The Bible is telling us something. Carrying heavy burdens and singing are not opposites at all. They belong together.
The Two Roles of the Levites
These two meanings of Naso directly capture the two roles of the Tribe of Levi — one earthly, one heavenly — each inseparable from the other.
The Levites’ first role was to carry the burdens of the people of Israel. In the desert, that meant carrying the Tabernacle on their shoulders through forty years of wandering. But when the people entered the Land of Israel, the Levites exchanged one form of heavy lifting for another. Unlike the other tribes, they were not given land to farm. Instead, they were chosen to be the teachers of Israel. Their lives were not easy; they traveled to every corner of the country, teaching God’s law to adults and children in every city and village, while living on the charitable contributions of others. It was a difficult life, a holy burden, and they carried it for generations without complaint.
The Levites’ second role was singing in the Temple in Jerusalem. Levite musicians sang and played instruments as the Temple service was performed. The Levites also stood at the Temple gates to greet every Jewish pilgrim arriving in Jerusalem. After days of travel, exhausted and weighed down by the burdens of life, these pilgrims were met by Levites who welcomed them, lifted their spirits, and accompanied them back to God. This is reflected in the very name ‘Levi,’ which comes from the Hebrew levaya — to escort, to accompany. The Levite’s job was to walk alongside his fellow, encourage him, and lift him back to God.
Heavy lifting and soaring song. What does one have to do with the other?
The Secret of the Levites
What is it, really, that inspires people? What actually lifts someone up and changes their life?
Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach was the most beloved and influential traditional Jewish musician and teacher of the 20th century. His melodies are sung in synagogues and living rooms around the world to this day. Countless Jews and non-Jews credit him with transforming their lives.
But what was it about him that changed so many people?
He was not a virtuoso guitarist. Almost all of his songs can be played with the same six guitar chords. And though he had a good voice when he was young, by his later years, it had grown gravelly. Rabbi Carlebach was the opposite of a polished, professional musician.
Rabbi Carlebach changed people because of who he was behind the music. Behind the music, he was the ultimate carrier of burdens — a Jew who gave his entire self to his people. He gave up comfort, stability, and a conventional life to travel the world, reach the lost, and carry the broken. There are countless stories about him and the thousands of people he helped. He gave his time to the sick, and all of his money to the poor. No man was more beloved by the homeless of New York City’s Upper West Side.
And so, when Rabbi Carlebach sang, he was not just sharing a beautiful melody. The weight of everything he had carried — the pain and burdens of so many people — was present in every note.
You cannot fake this. When people heard Rabbi Carlebach sing, they felt that he loved them, that he would do anything for them — because he would. And it gave them the strength to change their lives
This is the secret of the Levite song. The Levites in the Temple were not professionals hired for their voices or musical proficiency. The Levites who sang in the Temple were the very same people who spent their lives traveling to every corner of Israel — to remote villages in the north and south, at great personal expense — to teach every Jewish child the Bible. When the pilgrims arriving in Jerusalem heard the Levites sing, they recognized the voices. These were the people who showed up in their towns, who sacrificed for their families, who gave everything to keep the flame of Torah alive.
That is what broke open even the hardest hearts. Those willing to bend under the weight that others won’t touch — they are always the greatest singers of all.
Why Religious Zionists Can Sing
Now we can return to where we started.
American Modern Orthodoxy, for all its genuine beauty, is a framework for the individual. It guides a Jew on how to live a holy life in a complicated modern world. That is valuable. But it is about you — your religious observance, your spiritual growth, your navigation of modernity. It does not call on Jews to sacrifice, to serve, to carry. And so it has not produced a culture of self-sacrifice for the Jewish people. How many rabbis trained in America’s finest Jewish seminaries are willing to move to a small town far from the centers of Jewish life in America, and dedicate their lives to building a Jewish community there? Not many.
Young people are not inspired by a community that asks nothing of them. They want something to give themselves to — a cause, a mission, a people that needs them. When that is missing, they drift. This is exactly what is happening in Modern Orthodox communities across America — young people are restless, dissatisfied, and looking elsewhere for meaning. A community that demands no sacrifice cannot inspire. It cannot sing.
Israeli Religious Zionism is something entirely different. It is a movement with a mission. Religious Zionists believe we are living through a unique and irreversible moment in history, the beginning of the final redemption — and it will only happen if we actively partner with God in bringing it about. Religious Zionists raise their children to sacrifice on behalf of the nation of Israel – to serve for many years in the army or in national service and to settle the biblical heartland of Judea and Samaria. The Religious Zionist Jew says: we have the holy obligation to carry the burdens of the Jewish people when other “tribes” of Israel cannot or will not.
It is not an easy task. But this is why, as we move deeper into the era of redemption, the Religious Zionists are raising a young generation that is passionate about serving God, His people and the land. Those who carry the burdens of their people are the ones who can lift them up in song. This is why the young people of the Religious Zionist community are on fire — and why their American counterparts are not
You Too Can be a Levite
But this teaching is not just about Jews or nations. It is a teaching that speaks to the heart of each and every one of us.
Maimonides writes: “Not only the tribe of Levi, but any man of all the inhabitants of the earth, whose spirit has moved him to set himself apart to stand before God, to serve Him — and he cast from his neck the yoke of the many calculations that men seek — this man has become sanctified, a holy of holies, and God shall be his portion and his lot forever.”
Any person. The life of the Levite — carrying the burdens of others and lifting their hearts in song — is not reserved for one tribe, one movement, or one people. It is available to every human being willing to pay the price.
If you are willing to set aside your own desires, your own career calculations, your own comfort and self-interest — and instead dedicate yourself to carrying the burdens of God and His people — then you too can live the life of a Levite. What matters is the willingness to carry.
When you do this, when you are willing to sacrifice for the people around you — your community, your family, the broken people in your life — something changes. People hear you differently. Your words carry weight they didn’t carry before. Your example, your “song”, will inspire others. You don’t need to be a professional singer or a polished speaker. You just need to be someone who carries. Because the people around you will sense it — just as the pilgrims in Jerusalem sensed it when the Levites sang — and it will change their lives.
