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Shabbat shalom.

If this is your first time at a Shabbat gathering, welcome!

This is a d’var Torah. It simply means “a word of Torah.” It’s a short reflection on the weekly portion from the Torah, which is the foundational text of Jewish life. Each week has a name and a section of reading, and tonight’s portion is called Naso, which means “to take a census,” because the parsha begins God asking Moses to take a census, or a counting of the people. 

Tonight’s gathering comes on the heels of Shavuot, which marks the end of the counting of the Omer, a spiritual practice where Jews count 49 days between Passover and Shavuot, Shavuot being our celebration of receiving the Torah. 

Counting those 49 days is a practice that I did not really do this year. I admire people who own the little counter and find meaning in turning it each day. And I care deeply about counting when it means something to me, like when it shows us who we are and helps shape how we live together.

So this brings me to the U.S. Census.

In the summer of 2012, I was a little baby law student, and I took a clerkship with the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe in South Dakota. I thought I would be writing memos, maybe going to Sturgis; I thought it was going to be chill. 

But things got very real, very fast. Tribal members filed a lawsuit against the tribal council that I was advising because the voting districts hadn’t been updated in years, and the population had shifted a lot. That meant some citizens’ votes were worth more than others.

Wherever you are – whether you are here in Congressional District 2 or what is essentially the micronation that is an Indian reservation – democracy requires that every vote count equally. That means districts must reflect where people live. So, at age 25, I found myself redrawing and proposing new voter districting lines. And how I did it was I pulled up the most recent census results, zoomed in on the tracts, hand-counted who lived where, and drew. 

In Parshat Naso, something similar happens: a census is taken of the Israelites, tribe by tribe. After the counting is done, certain resources – in this case, carts and oxen – are distributed in proportion to each tribe’s size and responsibility. The census does not just tally people; it enables fair distribution. Who gets what depends on who is there, where they are, and what they need.

We cannot fully know what a community needs – or even who we are as a community – unless we take time to count ourselves. Thoughtfully. Honestly. With eyes open to our differences and our common bonds.

So, I have another story. 

In 2020, during the Pandemic, I was working from home and noticed my neighbor across the hall had not filled out his census. The form sat in his mailbox for weeks. Eventually, a census worker came knocking on my door. I answered what I could for my neighbor. I knew his birthday was March 16, and I knew he was a single white man from Appalachia in his mid-40’s. 

When he found out, he was upset -- but underneath that, I saw fear and confusion. He was a little conspiratorial and had learned not to trust anything that looked like a system. So, I had to explain – as our dogs pooped in the yard – that the census is not about surveillance. It is about representation. Funding. Political power. Being counted is how we ensure we do not go unseen. 

And that is kind of why this moment – this Shabbat, at this Pride-themed art event – is so powerful. Just this past year, in 2024, the American Community Survey, which is part of the Census Bureau, started collecting data on sexual orientation and gender identity in a serious way. For the first time, we are trying to count how many of us are not straight. How many of us do not fit neatly into “male” or “female.” The final results are not in yet, but Gallup estimates at least 9 percent of Americans identify as LGBTQ+. That’s at least 30 million people.

If God wanted Moses to take a census to figure out, “How many carts and oxen do these different groups of people need?” God probably also wants us to figure out, “How many counselors do we need? How many gender-affirming doctors? How many safe schools, sports teams, and shelters do we need?”
And we will not really know until we are seen. Until we are counted.

As we enter this Shabbat together, I invite us to reflect not just on who we are as individuals, but who we are to one another. Who is in our community? What do they need? What can we offer? And what might we build, if we take the time to truly see each other?

Shabbat shalom.

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Temple Talk is a recap of sermons given from the Bimah for those who missed a Sermon or who wanted to revisit the words spoken at a previous sermon. Astris Munn is a congregant who gave a guest d'var Torah at our Pop-Up Shabbat in partnership with Benson First Fridays on June, 6, 2025.