Rashi notes that the verb, va’yichan, they encamped, is written in the singular, rather than in the plural, va’yachanu. This teaches us that the huge multitude of people, which comprised the nation that was about to receive the Torah, was camped k’ish echad, b’lev echad, like a single person with one heart. Klal Yisrael’s unity is critical to its survival as a Torah nation. Only when they were united in their goal of hearing and accepting the d’var Hashem, word of G-d, would they be ready to receive the Torah.
A number of points concerning the concept of k’ish echad b’lev echad should be elucidated. At first glance, the expression, “as one man with one heart,” seems redundant. After all, one man naturally has only one heart. We know that not one word in the Torah is superfluous and that every word, even its spelling, carries a special message. A person may truly possess one physical heart, but it could be diverted into different directions: toward positive, ethical and moral living; toward evil, toward self and others, and toward Heaven. By extension, when one acts unscrupulously, when he disregards another person’s feelings, he also sins against Hashem. Everything that we do and how we act must align with the Torah values that our Torah sages have transmitted to us. To disregard these values is to rebel against Hashem. We really have no way to sugarcoat this verity.
To say that Klal Yisrael stood as one man with one heart means that their hearts were not divided. The inner will, emotion and desire of each Jew were focused on a single goal: to serve Hashem in perfect harmony and devotion. They had no jealousy, ego or personal ambition. Vested interests were non-existent. They were all on the same page – of the same book. They all turned their love, reverence and yearning towards Hashem.
During other encampments, this was sadly not the rule. They may have shared geographic space, but they were distant from one another in spirit. They camped together, but that is about the extent of their sharing. Quarreling among them, followed by strife and impudence, led to their questioning Hashem. External unity must be accompanied by inner oneness, or it remains a sham. At Har Sinai, their unity was whole, mirroring the Oneness of Hashem. Only then were they worthy of receiving Hashem’s most precious gift.
The next textual anomaly to be resolved is the necessity to mention the location of their encampment. Where else would they have encamped, if not opposite the mountain? As noted before, their encampment achieved the epitome of unity – k’ish echad b’lev echad. Their togetherness was a spiritual harmony, a collective yearning to draw closer to Hashem. This should be wonderful. For what more can one ask? For all Jews to get along. A people divided is a flawed nation – if a nation at all. The Torah’s choice of underscoring their location – k’neged ha’har, opposite the mountain, however, has a deeper meaning which conveys a crucial message concerning the Torah’s perspective on unity.
True unity must always stand “opposite the mountain,” under the shadow of Har Sinai, the mountain that is a metaphor for the Torah. Achdus, unity, must accord to and align with Torah scrutiny. Achdus that disregards halachah or dilutes Torah values is not unity, but rather, moral and ethical confusion. Value disorientation and ethical/moral inconsistency between groups is not unity. The whole equals the sum of its parts. A total comprised of various elements pulling against one another, but all under one umbrella of “unity,” is not achdus.
The Torah, indeed, commands us to love every Jew, but love does not mean blurring the boundaries the Torah has established. The mountain symbolizes unyielding truth, and unequivocal commitment to Hashem, His Torah and the observance of His mitzvos. The nation achieved its distinction precisely because its unity was grounded in neged ha’har – defined, elevated, and uncompromising values bound by Torah values.
Unity cannot be sought at the expense of Torah principles. Togetherness must flow from shared values and fidelity to Hashem’s world. Otherwise, it collapses. Unity is Torah achdus when it measures up to the mountain of unvarnished truth, Har Sinai. One last ambiguity that begs elucidation: How can a nation of millions become truly one? How do we reach such harmony that individual differences dissolve into a single, shared heart?
The answer may lie in the word va’yichan, which shares its root with chein – grace, favor. Unity is born when we view one another with chein – when we focus on the good in others and seek to find favor in their eyes as well. True achdus is not only about how I look at others; it is also about how I allow others to look at me. A Jew must be careful about how he presents himself. When I speak kindly, act respectfully, and carry myself with sincerity and warmth, I reflect chein and invite chein in return. It is not vanity to care how others see me; it is responsibility. My demeanor can inspire others or distance them. My presence can either build peace or disturb it. When I strive to be nechmad la’brios, pleasant and gracious in the eyes of others, I become a partner in creating va’yichan: a camp of unity, harmony, and mutual respect.
Horav Yisrael Salanter, zl, once said that a person’s face is reshus harabim – public property. Just as one has no right to block a public walkway, one has no right to walk around with a frown or angry expression that darkens another’s spirit. A friendly countenance, a smile, a word of encouragement – these are acts of chesed, no less than giving tzedakah.
So, too, before Kabbalas HaTorah, Va’yichan Yisrael neged ha’har – the nation learned to live with chein. Each Jew looked at his fellow with favor, and each made himself worthy of being looked upon favorably. Only when the people became k’ish echad b’lev echad – one person with one heart – were they ready to hear the voice of Hashem.
The following story (although secular) provides us with a glimpse at unity and its powerful effect. It was February, 1980. The world gathered in Lake Placid, New York, for the Winter Olympics. The Cold War was at its height, with tensions between the United States and Russia coloring every arena.
On the ice, the matchup between the hockey teams seemed impossible. The Soviet Union’s professional juggernaut was a team that had dominated world hockey for almost two decades. The team members were fast, strong and vastly more experienced than the collection of college students which comprised the American team. This was a matchup of “boys” against men.
Coach Herb Brooks was acutely aware that before him stood a daunting task, to prepare college-aged players against teams more experienced and more professional. He encountered his first hurdle when, after each player’s name and from where he hailed were announced, he asked, “And for whom do you play?” The answer was always the name of the player’s university. Each member cited his name, hometown and school for which he had played. This would not work. He began the grueling practice sessions with his maxim: “You do not have to be the best players — but you have to be the best team.” These words would ultimately sink in as time passed.
At first, the young Americans played as individuals – each one imagining that he was in his hometown college arena, representing his university. Coach Brooks pushed them relentlessly, at times to the point of exhaustion, reiterating his goal: It was not about shooting or skating, but about working in unison as a team. During one grueling practice, he blew his whistle and shouted, “Again!” as they skated wind sprints long after the arena lights had dimmed. When a player finally gasped out, “We play for the United States of America,” he blew his whistle one last time and said, “That is enough for today.”
They no longer played individually for the University of Wisconsin, Chicago, or Pittsburgh. They all played for the United States. They had finally found their oneness – a shared purpose that transcended self.
The semi-final game finally came. They were the underdogs. No one expected a miracle. Yet, the team – down to the last man – played with one heart, each player covering the other, sacrificing personal glory for the collective group. When the final seconds ticked away, broadcaster Al Michael’s, voice cracked with disbelief, “Do you believe in miracles? Yes!” it was much more than a sports victory. It was a testament to the power of unity and its ability to achieve the unexpected. Yisro felt a oneness with Klal Yisrael. Thus, his joy was genuine, sincere and reflective of his kinship to the Jewish people. He was with them in their agony and sorrow and, likewise, shared their joy and elation. Thus, he had every right to recite the blessing of ha’gomeil. Feeling another person’s pain – truly, genuinely feeling it – is no simple matter. Many kind and meaningful people do not live for themselves, but rather, they live focusing on the needs and feelings of others.
