Rabbi Avi Weiss, Hebrew Institute of Riverdale
In the portion of Vayeilekh, Moshe (Moses) declares that God has not permitted him to enter the land of Israel. (Deuteronomy 31:2) There are specific reasons which explain why Moshe was denied this right. But is there a more general message that can be learned from the decision to ban Moshe from setting foot into the land he longs to see?
The classic work on Jewish mysticism, the Zohar, stresses the spiritual growth from Noah to Avraham (Abraham) to Moshe and beyond. (Vayerah 218-220) Noah remained silent when told by God that the world would be destroyed; Avraham engaged God in debate when hearing that the city of Sodom would be devastated; Moshe not only intercedes when God tells him that the Jews would be "consumed" for building the Golden Calf, but throws his personal lot in with his people: If you do not forgive the people's sin, he says to God, "erase my name from the book You have written." (Exodus 32:32)
The message is clear. Avraham did what Noah could not do. Moshe reaches an even higher level than Avraham. But can it be suggested that even Moshe could not realize all of his dreams. He doesn't enter the land; this is left for his disciple Joshua and future generations. "It is not for you to complete the task," says Rabbi Tarphon, "but neither are you free to refrain from it. " (Ethics 2:21) We are all part of Jewish history, and the most crucial aspect of that history is that we are all part of a process.
Perhaps for this reason the Torah uses the expression, "and you will return until (ad) the Lord your God." (Deuteronomy 30:2) The word "ad" implies that as high as one reaches spiritually, as close as one comes to God, one never arrives, the goal is never completed, indeed, there are always more steps to be taken.
A delightful tale makes this very point. A rebbe once turned to his disciples and asked, "There is a ladder with 50 rungs. One Chassid is on the 25th rung, another on the 10th. Who is higher?" "Has our rebbe gone mad?" the students asked each other. "Of course, the one on the 25th." "No, my children," answered the rebbe. "It depends on which way you're going."
Just a few days before Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur whose central theme is growth and transformation, this message deserves consideration. It teaches that the most important element of teshuvah (repentance) is moving in the right direction.
Parshat Netzavim, the first of the two portions we read this week, is replete with the message of teshuvah (repentance). In one place the Torah notes that even when we are dispersed God will return us to Him. The Torah continues, "then the Lord your God will bring back your captivity." (Deuteronomy 30: 3) Interestingly, the term used here is not "ve-heishiv" which literally means God will "bring back" your captivity, rather it is "ve-shav" which literally means that God "will return with" your captivity.
The message according to the Midrash is clear. When we are in captivity God is in exile with us. (Rashi, Deuteronomy 30:3) God, says the Midrash, first appears to Moshe in a lowly burning bush. (Exodus 3:2) Why? Because God felt the pain of the Jewish people in Egypt. As we were lowly, so did God feel that lowliness. God is one in our suffering, empathizing with our despair. (Rashi, Exodus 3:2)
This idea yields two important messages. First, God is a God of love who cares deeply for His people. Second, if God cares about us it reaffirms our importance. The infinite value of all humanity.
This concept is found in the mourning process, one of the most profound expressions of pain. When leaving someone sitting shiva, we recite the formula of "Ha-Makom yenahem etkhem--May God comfort you." But suppose there is only one mourner? Should we use the word etkhem (you, plural) rather than otkha or otakh (you, singular). Many rabbis insist that we still maintain the plural subject. According to this view, can it be suggested that even when one is mourning alone, one is not alone. God feels our loss to the extent that He is sitting shiva with us, hence etkhem. (From this perspective, God is the comforter and the comforted. Hence we recite, May God comfort you--with the you including God.)
No wonder then, when reciting kaddish, we begin with "Yitgadel, ve-yitkadesh" which means "may God become great, and may God become holy." With the death of a human being, with a family in bereavement, God, as it were, is not fully great and holy. Thus these two words are in the future tense. Indeed, the kaddish may be interpreted as our words of comfort to God himself.
As we participate in the teshuvah process on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur this idea teaches that God is one with us, caring, leading and carrying us from step to step, higher and higher.
SHABBAT SHALOM
© 5757/1997. Rabbi Avi Weiss, Hebrew
Institute of Riverdale
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