V'Zot HaBerakha: And This is the Blessing

"And Moses, the servant of the Lord died there."

Like all mortals, Moses was destined to leave his body and be rejoined with his ancestors. Yet, by the Torah defining the point of death, it also enjoins the reader to understand that the death of Moses was physical. His spirit, resiliency, and devotion remain alive. That is why the Torah states that Moses died "there". As long as we turn back to the Torah and invest our souls in the work of understanding the Will of the Almighty the spirit of Moses continues to live.

In much the same way, the last Sidra of the Torah deliberately ells us that Moses was the servant of God. That is why the Radak interprets this word to be an invitation for all future generations to imitate the path of Moses. Any person can devote themselves to something larger than their mortal self. Just as a servant is solicitous to his master so too anyone can follow the path of Moses using the same principle, love.

And, what if we do not have the internal strength to master ourselves? what if we fall short? That is why teshuva, return, is always an option. With the holy day of Yom Kippur just past we become aware that our lives are a process of moving towards becoming whole. It must ever be a forward-moving process. Even if at times we move in the wrong direction, it is critical to never give up trying to refine our character, become a servant of God.

That is also why as the Torah winds to a close we immediately open it up at the other end and commence the process of renewal. The Torah is bound on wooden spindles that ever roll. We walk through life, make attempts at growth, reach the end of a phase of life and then begin again.
In fact, it is remarkable that we celebrate the Torah with unbridled enthusiasm now when we finish the Torah and not at Shavuot, the anniversary of the Giving of Torah. Why? The Torah is perfect. Measuring ourselves against its light we fall silent, awestruck by its enormity and boundless power. The reading of the Torah, by contrast, is an exercise in movement, becoming. That is why Simhat Torah outstrips Shavuot in sheer joy. When we conclude the Torah we celebrate our renewal along with the renewal of the endless cycle of learning, and growth.

The name of the Torah reading is V'zot HaBerakha, "This is the Blessing." The Midrash states that when the Lord God told Moses that his life was about to end, Moses complained. He told God how troubled his life was a leader was: he had to cajole the people, threaten them, plead with them, plead for them and now as it was all about to end, he had a single request of the One: Let me bless them.

The blessing is upon you.

Haftara Insight:
Almost seamlessly the Torah portion segues into the Hafatara. Moses, our Teacher, has died, and the position of leadership has passed to his disciple, Joshua. The promise of God to continue His protective shield and maintain the covenant with His people remains firmly planted. Yet, as before, the Holy One demands that we carry our part of the covenant. We are to remain pledged and true to the mitzvot. With these instructions and words of encouragement the people respond as they had at Mt. Sinai. They reaffirmed their commitment and fidelity to the Word of the Almighty.

A Matter of Law:
Rambam teaches that the last eight pesukim -- verses --of the Torah may be read without a minyan. This is because they are ancillary to the Torah. Lower in holiness than the rest of the five books these pesukim detail the death and praise the life of Moshe Rabbenu.
Because we are forbidden from reading the same Torah portion twice, this sidra is always reserved for the night of Simhat Torah, not Shabbat.

Vayeylech

Moses, in one of his last talks to the Jewish people sings a song that is both lyrical and enigmatic. One statement stands out among them all. Moses claims that now that he is aged, one hundred-twenty years old!, that he can no longer come or go" (Deut. 31:2). An admission of his waning strength Moses confesses to his people, in effect, that his bones ache and his joints no longer function as they used to. He is old, tired. Not much later the Torah informs us that “Moses was 120 years old when he died; his eye was not dim, and his force was not abated" (Deut. 34:7). How can Moses be at once old and ailing and vital and energetic on the other?

There is a powerful lesson here about self-deprecation verses revealing the shortcomings of others. I have no doubt Moses was full of fatigue and weary from many life-long struggles. He lived through tumultuous and painful times. Orphaned in a reed basket, Moses knew the courts of Pharaoh. He lost all that royalty in a pique of righteous indignation. The king-cum-shepherd was then coerced into becoming the great liberator of his people only to endure hardship and trial through the next forty years. No wonder he was tired!

Yet, it is not fitting for others to tell how weak the aged leader had become. It serves no good purpose to degrade another human being even if we are just agreeing with them! Lashon ha-ra, is often translated as gossip. But what if the lashon ha-ra is really true? Said for no reason other than idle chatter such statements are inflammatory and evil. Lashon ha-ra does not have to be a lie. It may be true! Its truth or falsehood is irrelevant to the fact that negative statements about another person should not be uttered.

Rashi explains that he means: he is no longer was able to maneuver in Torah. In other words, the wellsprings of Torah have been closed to him.

In addition to the physical fatigue and strain that Moses felt was also a sudden shift in leadership. The transfer of the mantle of leadership from Moses to Joshua was also happening now. The appointed successor to Moses was carefully instructed and trained and then brought into his new position to ensure a seamless transition. That could not have been easy for Moses.

Rashi, in fact, makes mention of the pain that Moses must have felt when Joshua moved into his place. He informs us that the Lord had also begin to transition from one leader to the next. Rashi is relying on an ancient midrash.

The Yalkut Shimoni cites: Moses went to visit Joshua in his tent. Joshua peered out from the folds of his home, saw Moses coming and ran out to greet him. Together they went to the Tent of Meeting. In the past the Holy One, blessed be He, would reveal to His faithful servant what needed to be done. On this occasion, Moses walked to the left of his servant, Joshua. This was sign that Moses was moving away from his key post.

When the two arrived at the Tent of Meeting the Shechina fell not on Moses, but Joshua. When the Will of the Lord was revealed to Joshua the two men exited together. Moses inquired, "What did the Lord God tell you?" Joshua replied that just as he did not share with him what God had said to him, Joshua would observe the same silence.

Moses was aghast, horrified. With this one exclusion, Moses felt his world begin to collapse all around him. For Moses this was the moment when age crushed his spirit like nothing else in all his years. The pangs of being left out and jealousy overwhelmed Moses. It was, he claimed, worse than one hundred deaths!
The feelings of another human being- even if we view them as steely characters with no signs of aging or cracks are all vulnerable.

Perhaps it is important to read this parasha as the New Year dawns and as we get ready to approach our Maker and ask forgiveness. It all begins with sensitivity.


Haftara Insight:
This is Shabbat Shuva. We are directed by Hosea to return to God, reform our behavior and ask the Lord for forgiveness. Wedged between Rosh Hashanna and Yom Kippur we are told to become introspective and assess who, or what, we have become. Hosea furthers this idea by warning us not to place our trust in the powers other than the One. God alone is the source of our salvation.
A Matter of Law:The mitzvah of writing a sefer Torah appears in this parasha. While most of us are unqualified to write a Torah we are still obligated to do so through the hands of others.
30:1-2 is not a done-deal. Teshuva is a force that moves earth and heaven The power of repentance redeems and even potentially changes the course of history.

Pesach

In the Pesach seder we read each year, “In every generation a person should see themselves as if they were personally liberated from Egypt.” This is a powerful phrase and idea on many levels.

1.  Pathos.  A Jews we should never be so callous as to dismiss the pain others have experienced. When we become inured to the cries of the hopeless we are the ones lost.

2.   The Nation. We are not alone but part of the nation of Israel.  All across the globe Jews were breaking the middle matzah, saying the same blessings and reminding themselves that they are part of a single fabric of which we all form an integral part.  We see ourselves as kin, redeemed at the same moment.  We breathe life into one another.

3.  The Individual.  It is up to us to be aware that Egypt and slavery and ultimately redemption are the goals of Pesach.  As Jews, we feel with our soul the timelessness of the pain and suffering of the past.   It is said that every soul was enslaved, redeemed and present at Mt Sinai.  It is part of our collective unconscious.  You were there.

4.  Redemption.  Our lives cry out for liberation from personal enslavement.  Perhaps we are in the grip of addiction, or ignoring those who are addicted; maybe we need release from holding others as hostages to our ego; perhaps we are guilty of hoarding and not sharing what God has given us. Perhaps we are ashamed of what we have become.  This day is an opening, an opportunity for liberation.

In this, the last day of Pesach I wish you the strength and determination to make you and your ancestors proud and God beam with naches.  May this be His will. Amen.

D'var Aher

"Once, when Joshua was near Jericho, he looked up and saw a man standing before him, drawn sword in hand. Joshua went up to him [not realizing he was an angel] and asked: 'Are you one of us or are you for the enemies?' 

He replied: 'No, I am the captain of the Lord's host. Now I have come ' Joshua threw himself face down to the ground, and prostrating himself, said to him: 'What does my Lord command his servant?' The captain of the Lord's host answered Joshua: 'Remove your sandals from your feet, for the place where you stand is holy ' And Joshua did so." (5:13-15)

On Pesach we tell of rabbis debating past late at night and into the early hours in Bene Brak. We tell of four children with significantly different attitudes.  We bring together disparate ideas about necessity of making peace while recalling the Angel of Death.

Most tellingly, we gather together to strangers, friends and family to reconvene and remind ourselves that no matter our ideas about politics, Israel, and personal preferences about life, that we are one people.

Not everyone with whom we disagree is an enemy.  They may even be an agent of God.  In fact, there are tzaddikim (and even regular folks!) who believe that everyone is part of the woven tapestry that God holds as precious.  Each of us is a thread in that great tapestry.  We are different colors and striations.  Each thread is necessary.  Take one out and the entire picture undone.  

That is why Pesach is such a vital holy day. Besides celebrating our freedom and God’s deliverance we come together as one extended family.  

Sit down. Lean left.  Remove your shoes.  This is holy ground.  And God smiles.

D'var Aher

It is abundantly clear from the Haggadda: Every person is obligated to view themselves "as if" they had gone from Egypt.

How often in the Torah are we asked to imagine, “as if”? Can you think of any instances? One of the few times in Torah that the term is used is when God tells Abram that he gives the patriarch the great land of Israel. 1 Rashi, knowing that the gift would not be actually given to Abram until many, many years later, interprets the words of God “as if” the land were his now. In other words, Abram was supposed to imagine his gift, even though it had not yet arrived.

Few are the places where Judaism ever commands us to 'feel' anything. Mitzvot tend to regulate behavior, not thoughts and mind-sets. Laws are needed for the governance of a society. It does not really matter whether we agree with them or not. What is important is that we have laws. That is why Rabbi Hanina, of the second century, said that without laws, people would each other alive. 2 But what about feeling? Is this really necessary for a society to function? Does it matter at all what a person feels as long as they follow the law?

There is an argument in the Talmud over which idea ought to take precedence when teaching people: action or study. 3 Which of the two ideas is greater? If a person can only choose one of them, study or observance, which should they choose? In the ultimate analysis, the Sages decide that study takes precedence over action because it can lead to action while the reverse may not be true.

Then why is so little emphasis placed on feeling? If the rabbis believed that study is greater, why would they not also take the position that feeling is also a powerful spur to action? Isn't feeling also a powerful incentive to practice mitzvot?

Sure, we are commanded by the Torah to 'love' God. Love is an emotion, a feeling. What about the other feelings that should accompany our actions? Shouldn't we be expected to invest emotional energy into our performance of mitzvot?

Could it be that actions, mitzvot, leads to feelings? And not the other way around? Or perhaps were the Sages concerned that if we placed too much importance on the way people feel they would probably place the emphasis on intent over the Word of the Holy One? Maybe they would be prone to dismiss the power of observance in favor of feeling? That would be tragic.

Pesach is an exception. Here we are commanded to feel. Rambam goes so far as to instruct us that we must experience the immediate sensation of fleeing from the clutches of slavery. 4 The seder is not a bland ceremony, the master tells us, but an emotional call to feel the shame of the slavery, the power of deliverance, and the majesty of the miraculous departure.


Whenever we recite the Hallel psalms in a religious setting they are introduced with a blessing. The only exception is the Pesach seder. During the seder we simply sing as we segue from the words of the Haggadda to the inspiring words of King David. So why do we not say a blessing? Why do we just burst into song?

Teaches Rav Hai Gaon, we do not say a blessing for this Hallel because we throw ourselves soulfully into the joy of song. Pesach is meant to be an inspired moment. We sing to God of deliverance. We sing to God of rescue. We sing to God in amazement that the slavery has ended and we are free.

Perhaps after we have realized the fundamental principles of Pesach, after the long hours of scrubbing, covering, cooking, and entertaining we can open our hearts and simply sing. That would be a great thing. At that moment our souls can reach the highest levels of spirituality. "As if" becomes the reality of liberation. More, it becomes the nexus that brings us true freedom. Each Jew must feel "as if" they had been personally delivered from bondage.

Albert Einstein said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” For us, on Pesach, feeling is the ultimate triumph.


1 Genesis 15:18
2 Pirkay Avot 3:2
3 Yevamot 109b
4 Hilchot Hametz U’Matzah