The gaon Rav Yehonoson Eibshitz, zt”l, was a darshan (Torah commentator) dayan (halachic judge) and one of the most accomplished Torah personalities of the 18th Century. A prolific author who published extensive writings on Chumash, halacha and Kabbalah, he also served in leadership positions of Metz, Prague and the three communities of Altona, Hamburg and Wandsbek.

One day while on his way to the beis medrash, Rav Yehonoson passed a local government official who was accompanied by a couple high ranking police officers. The official had a cordial relationship with the rav and was aware of his influence and respectful of his spiritual standing. However, to the policemen, the rav was just another “Jewish rabbi.” After exchanging pleasantries, the official casually inquired as to where Rav Yehonasan was going. “I don’t know, I’m not sure,” he admitted.

In front of his peers, the official began to feel uncomfortable. “Rabbi, this is a straightforward question, would you just tell me please where are you going?” Again, Rav Yehonasan answered, “I do not know where I am going.” The official grew more self-conscious and frustrated—the police officers were surely thinking that the rav was suspicious and even mocking him. After repeated inquiries, at his wit’s end, the official threw up his hands and told the officers to take Rav Yehonasan to jail. There, the noble sage spent the night among common criminals.

Early the next morning, the official appeared at the door of Rav Yehonasan’s cell. Sighing deeply, he expressed his confusion and remorse. “Rabbi, we have known each other for years. I don’t understand! I know you to be an honest, wise and upstanding person; I’m certain that you were not involved in illegal activity. Why would you make a laughingstock out of me in front of my officers and have yourself sent to jail, rather than just telling me where you were going?”

Rav Yehonasan smiled. “Yesterday morning, I set out to spend the day studying in my usual spot in the synagogue. But, my friend, don’t you see? I wasn’t going there—I ended up in this jail cell instead. Had you asked me where I was intending to go, and hoped to go, I would have gladly told you that. But as to where I am actually going, only God knows… Apparently, He had other plans for me!”

~

אֵלֶּה מַסְעֵי בְנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל אֲשֶׁר יָצְאוּ מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם לְצִבְאֹתָם…

 וַיִּכְתֹּב משֶׁה אֶת־מוֹצָאֵיהֶם לְמַסְעֵיהֶם עַל־פִּי ה׳…

“These are the journeys of the children of Israel who left the land of Egypt in their legions … Moshe recorded their starting points for their journeys according to the word of Hashem … ” (33:1-2).

In addition to recording each of the locations we traveled through, the Torah enumerated the 42 encampments at which they stopped during the four decades in midbar Sinai, while on our path from Egypt to the holy land. Over the course of this week’s sedra, the Torah repeats the refrain, “They journeyed from … and they camped at … ” While the Torah has already described these travels in sefer Shemos and earlier in Bamidbar, this week they are reviewed in order, once again.

Rashi understands the repetition of the resting spots that have already been documented as a meaningful lesson and message of chizuk for klal Yisrael. While the consequence of the cheit meraglim was a decree that we would have to travel in the wilderness for 40 years, our journeys there were not without menucha, rest. Each location is, therefore, mentioned in order to להודיע חסדיו של מקום—“to inform us of God’s kindness,” in granting us respite in between journeys, even while the decree was playing out.

In this way, each of the encampments were not merely layovers and rest stops along the highway. Each encampment served as an end unto itself; it provided an opportunity to pause, reflect and consider Hashem’s hashgacha—the divine guidance which directed us on our circuitous journeys. The Lubavitcher Rebbe referred to these starting and stopping points along our “masaos” as national stepping-stones in the larger journey of the Jewish people toward self-actualization. This is why the stops themselves are referred to as “journeys:” they were inherently meaningful steps in our communal process.

To further explain the repetition of the locations and stops along our journey, Rashi shares a moving derasha in the name of Rebbi Tanchuma: “It is analogous to a king whose son became sick, so he took him to a far away place to have him healed. On the way back, the father began citing all the stages of their journey, saying to him, ‘This is where we sat, there we were cold, there you had a headache … ’”

Reaching the end of sefer Bamidbar, now that Am Yisrael have almost completed the tikun of traveling through the desert and are preparing to enter Eretz Yisrael, we look back at each place we had camped and at all that we had experienced. With the hindsight and reflection provided by the “menucha,” we are able to catch a glimpse of how each challenge and hardship was an essential part of our process.

And so, it goes on our journey through life… We have hopes, plans, direction and intentions. Our sedra reminds us that “life happens” and we don’t really know where we are going to end up today. We are often redirected, forced to pivot and reroute our travels in this world. Yet every movement is punctuated with divine kindness, and moments to reflect on the wisdom of our ever-present Guide.

May we merit to see that it is specifically through perceived “interruptions” and twists in our path that our truly intended destination is revealed. Above all, in all of our unplanned journeys and stopping places, may we sense Hashem’s constant presence, care and love, baderech—on the way to the geula shleima.

Rav Judah Mischel is executive director of Camp HASC, the Hebrew Academy for Special Children. He is the mashpiah of OU-NCSY, founder of Tzama Nafshi and the author of “Baderech: Along the Path of Teshuva.” Rav Judah lives in Ramat Beit Shemesh with his wife, Ora, and their family.