Are we really being set up for success for this whole teshuvah business? We might commit to doing all the preparation鈥攋ournaling, going to shul, talking to therapists, chatting with rabbis, calling up hurt family and friends, New Year鈥檚 resolutions, etc.鈥攁nd it still feels inadequate. Am I actually morally transformed? I am some infinitesimally small fraction of a hypermodern, global, complex network. My actions bear consequences for people on the other side of the globe I will never meet and whose names I will never even know. I still need to bring teshuvah to bear on my most intimate relationships,  but is this millennia-old process suitable to the messiness and uncertainty of modern moral life?

This seemingly modern plague of angst and cynicism is actually described in ancient Jewish texts, albeit in different terms. A halakhah in reads:

讛讙讜讝诇 讗转 讛专讘讬诐 讞讬讬讘 诇讛讞讝讬专 诇专讘讬诐. 讞诪讜专 讙讝诇 讛专讘讬诐 诪讙讝诇 讛讬讞讬讚, 砖讛讙讜讝诇 讗转 讛讬讞讬讚 讬讻讜诇 诇驻讬讬住讜 讜诇讛讞讝讬专 诇讜 讙讝讬诇讜, 讛讙讜讝诇 讗转 讛专讘讬诐 讗讬谉 讬讻讜诇 诇驻讬讬住谉 讜诇讛讞讝讬专 诇讛谉 讙讝讬诇谉.

One who steals from the masses is obligated to return [the object] to the masses. Stealing from the masses is more severe than stealing from just one individual, because one who steals from just one individual is able to appease that individual and return to him his stolen object. [In contrast,] one who steals from the masses is unable to appease them and to return to them their stolen objects.

This text addresses the severity of stealing from a broader community, which consists of many unknown people. Here are some contemporary examples: using an accessible parking space without a placard, holding onto a library book indefinitely, and riding the subway without paying the transit fare. These cases constitute theft from the masses in the broad sense鈥擨 don鈥檛 know my victims and have no idea how to make proper amends.

But once we identify the essential quality of this wrongdoing against unknown鈥攁nd unknowable鈥攙ictims, we can find more frequent occurrences than these. For instance, active or tacit engagement in political causes that, I鈥檝e realized upon reflection, have actually had adverse impacts on others. Consumption of products that were produced in unethical and harmful ways. Actions taken that led to needless environmental devastation, felt by communities thousands of miles away. In trying to fathom the sheer number of unknown victims of my actions, whether in my own neighborhood or anywhere in the world, I might be convinced that I am truly awful and unworthy of teshuvah, thereby succumbing to an intense moral nihilism about my impact and the broader world.

Another passage from the Tosefta () has something powerful to say about this kind of response:

讛讙讘讗讬谉 讜讛诪讜讻住讬谉 转砖讜讘转谉 拽砖讛, 讜诪讞讝讬专讬谉 诇诪讻讬专讬谉, 讜讛砖讗专 注讜砖讬谉 讘讛谉 爪专讻讬 专讘讬诐.     

鈥淐harity and tax collectors鈥攖heir teshuvah is hard. They return [stolen objects] to the people whom they know, and as for all the rest, they put it toward public needs.鈥�

When this passage is cited in the Talmud (), Rashi makes clear that these are charity and tax collectors who defrauded the public and have no record of who they have wronged. The text affirms that their teshuvah is indeed hard. This simple wording from the Tosefta may be exactly the language we are looking for to describe our own situation: in modern society, our teshuvah is also hard. While not an endorsement of outright nihilism, there is a healthy acknowledgment of legitimate despair concerning living a righteous life in the face of moral complexity. Being in relationship with so many unknown people around the world is unfathomably hard; and despite our most serious efforts, teshuvah in that context is very hard, too.

Without dismissing or belittling this challenge, the Tosefta tempers this despair with a necessary measure of optimism. Even when teshuvah is hard, we must nonetheless return stolen items to the people whom we can identify as victims and give back broadly to public need. Rashi describes an example of the latter in which an individual helps build a cistern to provide fresh water to the community. While it may fall short of repaying the people I鈥檝e specifically wronged, it enables me to engage in a kind of reparative mirror; I can positively and constructively engage in a moral act that will help people I don鈥檛 know and will never meet. This is a far cry from the heroic righting of wrongs I nobly imagined when I first embarked on this process. But it is something I can do and a deeply positive action worth holding onto.

In the spirit of these texts, bring this nuanced mindset entering into this holiday season: pursue teshuvah for all your wrongdoing, while being honest about the inexhaustible nature of this work. Be kind to yourself when acknowledging the many constraints and limits that lead to some moral failures and make up for them鈥攈owever imperfectly鈥攖hrough heartfelt gestures of communal involvement and civic action. In short, turn teshuvah into a sacred opportunity to humbly affirm all the inherent joy and pain of what it means to live as human.

The publication and distribution of the 91快播 Commentary are made possible by a generous grant from Rita Dee (锄鈥漧) and Harold Hassenfeld (锄鈥漧). 

And he said to them: 鈥淚 am a hundred and twenty years old this day; I can no longer go out and come in; and the Lord has said to me: You shall not go over this Jordan. The Lord your God, He will go over before you, and you shall dispossess them; and Joshua shall go over before you, as the Lord has spoken.鈥� (2鈥�3)

And Moses called to Joshua and said to him in the sight of all of Israel: 鈥淏e strong and of good courage. For you shall go with this people into the land which the Lord has sworn to their fathers; and you shall cause them to inherit it.鈥� (7)

The Question:

Keli Yekar (Rabbi Shlomo Ephraim Luntschitz, 1550鈥�1619, Prague) articulates our question as follows: 鈥淎ll the commentators were challenged by this 鈥済oing鈥� because the text does not mention where he [Moses] went . . . 鈥� But before I get to his teshuvah (repentance)-centered interpretation and how it can inform our own behavior as we approach the Days of Awe, I will share the explanations of three other commentators.

Reassuring People

Ibn Ezra (R. Abraham Ibn Ezra. 1089鈥�1164, Spain) explains that 鈥淢oses went to each and every tribe to inform them that he was about to die so that they should not fear, and reassured them with his words concerning Joshua, stating that Joshua would lead them into the land and cause them to inherit it.鈥� He infers that Moses literally went/walked to the people by reading 31:1 as if the concluding words 鈥渢o all of Israel鈥� refer to both the walking and the speaking: 鈥淢oses went [to all of Israel] and spoke these words to all of Israel.鈥�

Moses anticipated the reaction of the people to the news that their leader of 40 years would no longer be accompanying them. He proactively took the initiative to allay their fears and reassure them that they would be in the trusted hands of Joshua, designated and supported by Moses. These implied qualities are ones that leaders (and all of us in positions of authority) might wish to emulate: anticipating the needs of others; offering encouragement; taking the initiative to meet people where they are鈥攂oth literally and figuratively.

Honoring People

Ramban (R. Nahman ben Moses, 1194鈥�1270, Spain) offers a similar interpretation suggesting that 鈥淢oses [literally] went from the camp of the Levites to the camp of the Israelites in order to show them honor. Like someone who wishes to take leave of his friend and comes to ask permission of him . . . 鈥�

In addition, Ramban indicates that Moses mentioned his advanced age of 120 years to the people:

to comfort them concerning his condition [his approaching death], as if to say 鈥業 am old and you have no more benefit from me . . . fear not (v. 6), for the Eternal will go over with you; He will not remove his presence from you on my account [because of my absence] and Joshua will go over before you, in my place . . . 鈥�

Although Ramban鈥檚 approach is similar to Ibn Ezra鈥檚, he highlights additional attributes: Moses honors the people he has led by humbly requesting permission, so to speak, before taking leave of them. How much more so should we all be cognizant of the importance of respectfully taking leave of others in a variety of life situations.

Comforting Mourners before One Dies

Ramban also frames Moses鈥檚 actions in relation to the mitzvah of comforting the mourners (he actually uses the Hebrew word for engaging in the mitzvah of comforting a mourner, nihum aveilim). However, Moses has not yet passed away, so the people are technically not mourners. Nevertheless, in this psychologically resonant interpretation, we can think of Moses as comforting the mourners to be! We often begin the process of mourning when first receiving news of a person鈥檚 impending death鈥攕ometimes long before the person passes away. I remember when my mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness, how, in a sense, the mourning process began at that very moment. Just as Moses comforted the mourners before his own death, we may have encountered people who were able to comfort their family members and friends before their own passing, helping them begin the healing process.

Inspiring Others

Shem Mishmuel ( Shmuel Bornsztain, Socachover Rebbe, 1855鈥�1926, Poland) understands Moses鈥檚 鈥済oing鈥� differently from the preceding commentaries stating that 鈥淎nd Moses went鈥� is not referring to a literal going or walking but rather a spiritual one, i.e., he [Moses] walked into the hearts of Israel and imbued them with the intuitive potential to look at the past and the future with clarity . . . 鈥� and that 鈥渙ne can also say that 鈥楳oses went鈥� means that he walked into the hearts of each and every Israelite in those generations 鈥榓nd he spoke these words鈥� which sets the heart right鈥攆or speech is suited to arouse the heart/emotions.鈥�                                                                          

Shem Mishmuel seems to be suggesting that Moses figuratively walked into the hearts of the Israelites via his words鈥攍eaving them with the legacy of his inspiring words to help them face challenging situations in their lives. We, too, should not underestimate the power of our words to inspire and influence others for their benefit.

Engaging with Individuals and Repentance

We return to Keli Yekar for the final explanation of Moses鈥檚 鈥渨alking,鈥� which combines a literal and figurative reading (the literal walking of Ibn Ezra and Ramban and the 鈥渇igurative鈥� walking of Shem Mishmuel) and focuses on the power of words:

Moses spoke to all the people concerning matters of teshuvah (repentance) which are dependent on 鈥渨ords.鈥� And since a person never considers himself blameworthy and every sinner and rebellious person will never go to the wise person, the doctor, to request a remedy for the malady of his soul, hopefully he will pay heed when the wise person [takes the initiative] to go to him and speak to his heart to encourage him concerning matters of teshuvah. Therefore, [the Torah] states that 鈥淢oses went/walked鈥� meaning that he [literally] went from tent to tent of each one of the Israelites and spoke to their hearts 鈥渢hese words鈥� namely matters of teshuvah which are dependent on words.

Moses was modeling behavior by reaching out to each and every individual. In support of this interpretation, Keli Yekar quotes the rabbis from the Talmud (Yoma 86b): 鈥�Teshuvah is so great鈥攖hat on account of one person鈥檚 repentance, both the individual and the entire world are forgiven.鈥� If so, he concludes, 鈥渢his [figurative] peace that [one brings] to individuals redounds to one鈥檚 own benefit鈥� [and the world鈥檚] as well. Therefore, 鈥測ou must pursue it鈥� [by reaching out to individuals] as did Moses.

At this challenging time for Israel and the entire world, may we merit to bring redemption to the world through seeking out and approaching individuals鈥攐ne by one.

The publication and distribution of the 91快播 Commentary are made possible by a generous grant from Rita Dee (锄鈥漧) and Harold Hassenfeld (锄鈥漧). 

The next verse says: 鈥淓ven if your outcasts are at the ends of the world, from there the Lord your God will gather you, from there He will fetch you鈥� (). There is no place that is too far away for God to reach us, either literally or figuratively. Even those of us who live on the edges of society will be gathered up. In this teshuvah process, God鈥檚 passionate commitment to the marginalized is front and center.

The Hebrew reads 鈥�biktzeh hashamayim鈥�, the ends of the heavens. How is it that 鈥渢he ends of the heavens鈥� is translated as 鈥渢he ends of the world鈥�? In , the sun moves from one end of heaven to the other, crossing the sky in an arch:

His rising-place is at one end of heaven,
And his circuit reaches the other;
Nothing escapes his heat (v. 7).

As the sun moves across the heavens each day, it also moves from one end of the earth to the other. So the ends of the heavens and the ends of the earth are the same. This is a beautiful image of interconnectedness and reconciliation. At the ends鈥攁nd in the end鈥攖he divine world and the human world come together. The outcasts are gathered in. Teshuvah is the space in which out and in are reconciled. The promise that we will be gathered up by God can offer a profound comfort for those of us who experience ourselves in far-flung places, whether emotionally, spiritually, or physically.

If we return to our original verse, we see something interesting in the language. The New JPS translation I quoted earlier says: 鈥淗e will bring you together again from all the peoples where the Lord your God has scattered you.鈥� But the word that is being translated as 鈥渂ring you鈥� is actually 鈥�veshav鈥�, which means 鈥淗e will return.鈥� (鈥淏ring you鈥� is the causative form of the same Hebrew root.) The translation skips over the problem, but the rabbis in the Talmud do not.

And when they will be redeemed in the future, the Shekhinah will be with them, as it says, 鈥淭hen the Lord your God will return [with] your captivity鈥� (). It does not say here veheshiv [and He shall bring back] but veshav [and He shall return]. This teaches us that the Holy One, blessed be He, will return with them from the places of exile. ()

The verses in the parashah  seem to convey that we are the outcasts and God is eternally at the center. But this Talmudic midrash complicates the picture. Just as we are outcasts, God is an outcast. Somehow, God, in the form of the Shekhinah, God鈥檚 in-dwelling presence, is also in need of return. The image of God returning us, bringing us back, conveys one kind of power. But the image of God coming back with us, alongside us, conveys a different kind of power. I cannot pretend to understand this power fully, but I understand the Rabbis to be teaching us that this power is rooted in connectedness, in being with the outcast, dwelling inside the 鈥渘ot yet.鈥�

There鈥檚 something about being joined by the divine in this place on the edge that has the potential to shore us up as we long to return. Perhaps it is the experience of being joined in this way which enables us to open up 鈥渨ith all [our] heart and soul鈥� and return at last.

This commentary originally appeared in 2016.

The publication and distribution of the 91快播 Commentary are made possible by a generous grant from Rita Dee and Harold (锄鈥漧) Hassenfeld.

The concealed things concern the Lord our God; but with overt matters, it is for us and our children ever to apply all the provisions of this Teaching.

Standard readings of this quite enigmatic verse from Parashat Nitzavim include these:

• Don鈥檛 fret over the fact that we have no control over the sinful thoughts that are harbored by others, or even over the sinful acts committed by others in secret. We should just pay attention to the things others do in our vicinity over which we do have control, and work to right them.

• We are charged with dealing with evil that is done in our presence and is known to us, for 鈥�areivim zeh la-zeh鈥� means not only that we are responsible for one another鈥檚 welfare, but that we are also accountable for the behavior of other people in our community and society. Heschel famously wrote that 鈥渋n a free society, few are guilty but all are responsible.鈥� The concealed things belong to God. They are not your province. Stick to that which is done openly, and that therefore can be addressed and healed to the benefit of all.

There is, however, another reading of this verse, given by Nahmanides (Ramban), in the 13th century, and it is one that forces us to a certain deeper level of introspection at this time of year.

Here鈥檚 a paraphrase of what he says:

The 鈥渃oncealed things鈥� are not sins committed by others that are out of our view, and thus out of our control.  Rather, they are the sins committed by us, but that are nevertheless out of our view and awareness. As long as we are not aware of them, they will be known only to God. But they are only out of our control because they are not known to us.

Of what infractions are we speaking here? Much, for example, has been said in recent days in our society about 鈥渋mplicit prejudice.鈥� One of the most direct and affecting articulations was given by President Obama, when he was first running for election in 2008. Circumstances involving his pastor impelled him to give a major address about race in this country. In that address, he made the following remarkable admission, when he described his white grandmother in these words:

鈥�. . . . a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.鈥�

How many of us are similarly willing to search out the kind of implicit prejudices that we cannot believe鈥攐r do not wish to believe鈥攁re living within us? Do we have the moral stamina to recognize the lazy stereotypes that keep us comfortable, but have real consequences for the people we stereotype?  We identify someone as an ultra-Orthodox Jew by the way he or she dresses鈥攚hich is fair enough鈥攂ut then we may jump immediately, and almost unknowingly, to the easy assumption that this person is religiously coercive, isn鈥檛 involved in gainful employment, is certainly not a fan of democracy, etc. etc.  Never imagining that just maybe this person is one of the Haredi Jews, both here and in Israel, who live their beliefs and let others live theirs, and whose progressive values lead them to promote secular education, women鈥檚 rights, and the institutions of civil society. Our heads, and our experience, should tell us about such people (and they exist in some numbers), but the concealed things in the gut eclipse that common sense and tell us otherwise.

How many times have those of us who would criticize any attempt to lump every member of an ethnic group into one bloc nevertheless reflexively hesitated when seeing a keffiyeh or hijab? We don鈥檛 want to believe it is there, but can we be sure without looking more closely? What about people whose bumper stickers or lawn posters reflect a political stance with which we disagree? How much implicit prejudice do we actually have? We assume others have it, of course, when they see our bumper stickers, but can we honestly seek out the traps that we silently and secretly fall into? Can we imagine that we also are prone to implicit racism, even as it seems so comfortably arms-length to suggest that it鈥檚 the problem of law enforcement officers, who are, after all, at greater risk than we are when we form our judgments? Note that this is not meant to excuse implicit (and certainly not explicit) racism. It is simply to sensitize us to our tendency to say 鈥渋t鈥檚 them,鈥� never thinking it might be us as well. 

And what effect might those imperceptibly unfair judgments have on those who are being judged? In interviews for jobs and schools; in the willingness of the circles with access to social privilege to include them; in our readiness to listen to their narratives as peers, and not as people with an alien agenda?

This is what I love about Ramban鈥檚 reading of the concealed things that belong to God. It may look as if Ramban is exonerating us of these implicit prejudices, because the verse says that only God can be expected to know the secret things.  But the paradoxical truth is that by telling us that (too often) only God knows the secret things, Ramban is reminding us that they are there to be known, and thus of the grave and urgent fact that we all harbor hidden and secret things, things we would be ashamed to see. They are God鈥檚 only as long as they are hidden. But now we are reminded that they are indubitably present, and it becomes our obligation to seek them out, to reveal them.

So the way to read the verse is this: 鈥淭hose less than attractive traits and reflexes that we harbor and hide from ourselves are too often known only to God; but it is an ongoing obligation for us and our descendants to bring them to light, so that we will truly be able to live as the Torah hoped鈥攁nd still hopes鈥攖hat we learn to live.鈥�

The mahzor that will guide us through the upcoming Days of Awe will confront us with the Ramban鈥檚 reading quite explicitly. On Yom Kippur we will ask for forgiveness for 鈥渢he breach of all commandments and prohibitions, whether known to us or not.鈥� A clear reminder that remaining unaware of things we can, by courageous effort, recognize in ourselves, requires forgiveness, atonement, and commitment to do better in the future. And this is hardly an insignificant thought to take with us into these upcoming days of introspection, as Jews and as Americans.

The publication and distribution of the 91快播 Commentary are made possible by a generous grant from Rita Dee (锄鈥漧) and Harold Hassenfeld (锄鈥漧).

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi said: All the animals of the creation鈥攚ere created in their full-grown stature, they were created with their consent, and according to their form ().

The rabbis taught that Rosh Hashanah commemorates the creation of the world, or by some accounts, the sixth day of creation, the day that humanity was created. Liturgically, the day is seen as more than just an anniversary. We pray 鈥�Hayom Harat Olam,鈥� today the world is born, suggesting that the world, humanity, and each of us individually, are created 鈥渢oday,鈥� every Rosh Hashanah.

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi鈥檚 teaching about the process of creation suggests something startling: each creature has a measure of choice in its own formation; its 鈥渃onsent鈥� is required. Indeed, according to the great Hasidic master the Sefat Emet, at Creation, l鈥檇a-atan nivr鈥檜 means that all creatures chose for themselves鈥攅ach one its own particular form.

This idea will be familiar to anyone who has engaged in creative work of any kind. At some point in the creative process, the object being created begins to direct its own form. The same is true of human beings. Of course we do not have complete free reign to 鈥渟elf-create.鈥� We are all born with particular physical, intellectual, and emotional characteristics, and into particular social and familial structures. But the phrase 鈥渢oday the world is born,鈥� suggesting as it does a passive process, is misleading. Within the realm of things within our control, we actively create ourselves on Rosh Hashanah, and indeed every day. And we do so through our choices.

See, I set before you today life and good, death and evil . . . Life and death I place before you, blessing and curse. Choose life (, 19). 

Why does our Torah reading this week need to command us to choose life, and what does that really mean? Reading the command in light of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi鈥檚 teaching, we may understand the Torah to be reminding us that all choices are creative acts. Each and every one of us creates ourselves constantly through the choices we make. In the end, we are the sum total of our choices; we are beings freely created according to the form we choose, not only at creation, but at every moment. 

To choose life we have to actively, consciously, and continually choose who we will become. We have to choose to create ourselves and our lives, rather than passively allow ourselves to be shaped. At the most basic level, we have to choose to choose.

The command to choose life expresses a reality that life energy comes from the exercise and expression of the will, from making choices. We are most fully alive when we are actively, consciously engaged in the process of choosing who to be. The moment that we allow ourselves to be a certain way simply because we have always been that way, or because society or a particular person pressures us to be that way, or any other reason other than a conscious, thoughtful decision to be a certain way鈥攚e have died a little. We have chosen death, not life.

And this choice itself鈥攖o embrace our power to choose; to actively, consciously create ourselves鈥攊s neither intuitively obvious, nor easy. The opportunity on Rosh Hashanah to create ourselves anew is a tremendous privilege and also a tremendous responsibility.

The Talmud teaches of the three books open on Rosh Hashanah:

Rabbi Kruspedai said in the name of Rabbi Yochanan: Three books are opened on Rosh Hashanah, one for the thoroughly wicked, one for the thoroughly righteous, and one for the beinonim, intermediate. The thoroughly righteous are immediately inscribed and sealed in the book of life; the thoroughly wicked are immediately inscribed in the book of death; the beinonim鈥攖hey are suspended and stand from Rosh Hashanah until Yom Kippur. If they merit, they are inscribed in the book of life; if they do not merit, they are inscribed in the book of death ().

A powerful Hasidic interpretation (Toldot Yaakov Yosef, quoted in Netivot Shalom) understands this as follows:

This means that they open three new books, in which each person must inscribe themselves for the coming year.

As uncomfortable as some of us are with the idea of God sitting in judgment and decreeing life or death, this reading may be even more challenging, because it puts the responsibility squarely on us. We have to choose.

Perhaps this is one reason why we need to be commanded to choose life. All too often, we readily relinquish our power to choose because we don鈥檛 want to bear responsibility for our choices, or we simply don鈥檛 know what to choose. Other times, we do know what to choose, but the right choice feels too demanding; it involves too much work, loss, change, or risk.

And we have many strategies to avoid choosing. Sometimes we鈥檙e passive, allowing life to simply happen to us. Other times we鈥檙e reactive and reflexive, acting on impulse without self-reflection, thought, and discipline. And often, we avoid having to make choices today by simply sticking with the choice we made yesterday, for no other reason than that we made it. This particular strategy can border on the idolatrous; we pledge our primary allegiance to our own prior choices and commitments.

Ultimately, we are free to choose, but we are not free from the burden of having to choose. To fail to choose is itself a choice, and it is not the choice of life and blessing.

Granted, it is not easy to know what to choose. But the fact that we don鈥檛 know how to choose doesn鈥檛 let us off the hook. We have to choose to become people who will know how to choose. Each choice that we make changes us a little and changes the way we perceive and decide the next choice. With each life decision we make, we become someone else, and it is that new person who will make the next choice. So our question is not only, who will I be if I make this choice, but, will making this choice turn me into someone who is better able to make the next choice? What will this choice teach me? Will it increase my courage, my strength? Will it deepen my capacity to love, sensitize me, educate me? Will it help me to tolerate greater depth, rise to the next challenge? Will it shore up my moral footing, or will it make me more susceptible to ever greater ethical compromise? How will this choice not only reflect, but shape, my character?

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi taught that all the animals were created in their full-grown stature. This is perhaps a difference between the original creation and the ongoing process of creation, and between the animals and humans. We are not created full-grown, in our final form. We grow into who we are meant to be. And we have to grow also into our capacity to choose, we have to grow into ba鈥檃lei bechira, truly free, 鈥渕asters鈥� of choice.

The publication and distribution of the 91快播 Commentary are made possible by a generous grant from Rita Dee (锄鈥漧) and Harold Hassenfeld (锄鈥漧).

To my surprise, Naftali has become invested in learning the intricacies of which fruits (bikkurim) to bring to the Temple in Jerusalem and how to behave on Hol Hamoed. I was struck that one of his first questions in the class was 鈥淲hat if I got to Jerusalem and realized I had forgotten my bikkurim at home?鈥� We had never spoken about bikkurim in our house, but just by learning about these laws, he felt that they pertained to him. When he learned about the laws of fasting, Naftali was puzzled that so many laws existed that were only for adults. He assumed that if he was learning about these laws, then he too must be obligated to follow them.

Nafi鈥檚 experience learning Mishnah is a testament to what happens when we expand access to education. There are few opportunities for students as young as Nafi to learn Mishnah, and as I listened in to some of the classes, I learned that this was the first time many of the students had engaged in daily study of rabbinic literature. Rabbi Tucker made the lessons accessible without oversimplifying them. He made them fun with music and polls, and he gave students ample opportunity to ask questions. The pandemic has brought on unimaginable death and revealed the depths of our inequality, and I hope that it teaches us some lessons about how to make our educational systems more equitable.

This week鈥檚 parashah offers us some guidance. Nitzavim-Vayelekh is one of Moses鈥檚 last warnings to the Israelites. At the very beginning of the parashah, Moses speaks to everyone. 鈥淵ou stand this day, all of you, before the Lord your God鈥攜our tribal heads, your elders, your officials, all the men of Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to waterdrawer . . .鈥� (Deut. 29:9鈥�10). All of these people have a choice. They can either choose to love God by obeying God鈥檚 commandments, or they can follow other gods, praise idols, and disobey the commandments. The former will result in fertility, food, and prosperity. The latter will result in destruction and exile. The Israelites have heard this refrain throughout the book of Deuteronomy, and even though Moses seems convinced that they will sin, he provides these warnings once again.

Moses insists that these instructions are not so complicated. 鈥淪urely this Instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens, that you should say, 鈥榃ho among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us that we may observe it?鈥� Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, 鈥榃ho among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?鈥� No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it鈥� (Deut. 30:11鈥�14). Moses is pointing out that the laws are accessible. Everyone can know them and everyone can follow them.

Despite Moses鈥檚 insistence that the teachings are not that complicated, we have established a norm where we see these laws as, in fact, very complicated. The Rabbis of the Mishnah, Talmud, and subsequent rabbinic literature established a system where they alone were capable of interpreting God鈥檚 laws. In 鈥淭he Oven of Akhnai,鈥� a Talmudic dispute over a point of Jewish law, Rabbi Eliezer calls out to God to affirm his position, while another Sage responds by quoting our parashah, 鈥渢he Torah is not in the heavens,鈥� meaning God has no role in their disagreement (BT Bava Metzia 59a鈥�59b). This dispute, like all others, would be solved by humans as interpreters of God鈥檚 laws.

But the Rabbis didn鈥檛 intend for every person to be able to interpret God鈥檚 laws. Rabbinic literature has long been seen as the 鈥渞ocket science鈥� of the Jewish academic world. For most of Jewish history, only men could be rabbinic scholars, but even now, the ability to interpret the laws is reserved for those who have received extensive training. Being knowledgeable in rabbinic literature indicates one鈥檚 high academic skill and Jewish literacy. It often also connotes a lineage of ancestors who were also scholars of rabbinic literature.

While this Talmudic story is often brought to authorize the Rabbis as interpreters of God鈥檚 laws, Moses understands God鈥檚 laws to be already within the hearts and mouths of all of Israel. The laws are not far away across the sea or in the heavens, to be reached and transmitted through interpreters. Instead, Moses says that everyone can access the laws.

To be sure, the audience for Moses鈥檚 speech in Nitzavim-Vayelekh is adult men of Israel, as all the other participants are described in relation to adult men. Nonetheless, Nitzavim-Vayelekh can be read as presenting a democratic covenant. The open invitation at the start of the parashah, combined with Moses鈥檚 insistence that the laws are not complicated, imply that the Covenant is open for understanding and implementation by everyone. Moses does not distinguish between those who are religious leaders and those who are not. All people are instructed to hear the laws and enter into the Covenant: women, children, and people from different socioeconomic groups. Moses names those in leadership positions and those who are strangers and laborers. Here, all of these people enter into the Covenant; religious leaders and the educated possess no special status or unique access to the laws.

Nitzavim-Vayelekh posits an ideal where all are educated and given the opportunity to participate fully in the community. During the course of Jewish history we lost this egalitarian educational system. Think of all the private Jewish schools that are able to open right now because they have the resources to protect students and teachers from the coronavirus, while the public schools that surround them remain shuttered. The coronavirus pandemic has exacerbated many problems with the American educational system, and I am aware of the immense privilege I have that my children鈥檚 education will not suffer at this time. I hope that we can all rethink our educational systems to increase equality and equity inside and outside of the classroom in light of the lessons from this week鈥檚 parashah.

The publication and distribution of the 91快播 Commentary are made possible by a generous grant from Rita Dee (锄鈥漧) and Harold Hassenfeld (锄鈥漧).

In a sense, the convert challenges their teacher to detach from group habit and encounter Judaism as an individual standing before God. This is a healthy shift of focus for people who are deeply embedded in community. But the opposite is also true鈥攖eachers of Torah must infuse their students with a sense of collective purpose and identity. It is wonderful to be a spiritual seeker, but if one鈥檚 journey remains solitary, that is not the Jewish way. Judaism is intended to be communal and cannot be fully practiced all alone. The conversion process therefore includes participation in communal worship, festivals, and meals, as well as learning about Jewish history.

For this reason, the Talmud instructs teachers to ask candidates for conversion why they want to join the Jewish people (BT Yevamot 47a). Don鈥檛 you know of our historic struggles? Only when the convert acknowledges the suffering of Israel and states that they are not 鈥渨orthy鈥� to share in it, are they accepted 鈥渋mmediately鈥� and then taught 鈥渟ome鈥� commandments. The Talmud鈥檚 examples of which commandments should be taught to the proselyte are surprising鈥攚e teach them about leaving the corners of the field, dropped and forgotten fruits, and tithes for the poor. Not Shabbat, nor kashrut, nor prayer, but tzedakah is the essential commandment for those joining the Jewish people, just as it was for Ruth (see Ruth chapter 2). According to this Talmudic presentation, the key to conversion is neither theology nor ritual, but social solidarity with the Jewish poor. Of course, as Maimonides hastens to add, we do teach them the principles of faith and the essential practices of Judaism, but first comes community (Mishneh Torah, Laws of forbidden relations, 14:1-2).

This dialectic between individual and collective identity is at play in Parashat Nitzavim and in the Days of Awe. Our portion opens (Deut. 29:9-14) with a dramatic assertion of collectivism鈥攜ou stand together鈥攁ll generations, all genders, all levels of engagement, in the covenant with God. The Torah makes the remarkable claim here that physical presence is no limit to community. All generations of Israel are linked together to God, whose perspective transcends time and space. In English we miss the force of this opening since the words 鈥測ou stand鈥� are the same for singular and plural, but in Hebrew the Torah鈥檚 point is obvious鈥攜ou stand together, or you don鈥檛 stand at all.

If we look at chapter 29, we notice a sudden shift from this emphatic collectivism to addressing the individual. The Torah anticipates individuals鈥攎en, women, families, and even clans, who will be tempted to break away and disassociate from the larger community of Israel. In verse 19 we read, 鈥淕od will not desire to forgive him.鈥� In contrast, back in Numbers 14:19-20, Moses pleads with God to forgive 鈥渢his people鈥� and God says, 鈥淚 have forgiven as you have spoken.鈥� There is safety in numbers, and not only when facing human enemies. God weighs our merits and sins within the context of community, and judges us not as individuals but as a people.

In Safed of the 16th century, Rabbi Moses Alsheikh pointed to this shift from group to individual identity and called it 鈥渂ackwards.鈥� The divine attribute of mercy is aroused by group identity, not by individual merit. This makes sense, since to join a community and stick with it requires mercy from us as well. Which of us has not grown frustrated with some of the people and the dynamics at play in our Jewish community? Who needs this? We all do, it turns out. When we are willing to forgive others and join with them, despite their flaws, then God, as it were, is also willing to put up with us, forgiving us our flaws.

This truth explains the paradox of the High Holidays. You might think that the great task of the Ten Days of Repentance is to confess our individual flaws and become more faithful and righteous individuals before God. But that is precisely not the point of these Days of Awe. Even the exercise of confessing individual sins and begging forgiveness from each other is designed to strengthen solidarity between members of the community so that we may stand united before God. The point of the Days of Awe is to stand together, singing 鈥淲e are your people, and You are our king!鈥� The hours spent in synagogue are a process of amalgamation in which individuals become bonded into a covenanted community.

Pre-modern Jews often lived in tight-knit communities, frequently forced to dwell in close proximity. For Jews in America and other western democracies, we are typically more spread apart and may struggle to join together. Building Jewish community is labor-intensive, expensive, and sometimes exasperating. But spiritual community is the essence of Jewish identity. It is the key to our survival and the source of our strength. When we face troubles, as we surely have done in the past year with the surge in violent anti-Semitism, it is not only the converts who can say of these afflictions, 鈥淚 know them, and I am not worthy of them.鈥� Alone, none of us is worthy; together, we command the attention and mercy of God. May we together be signed and sealed in the Book of Life for a good and sweet new year!

The publication and distribution of the 91快播 Commentary are made possible by a generous grant from Rita Dee (锄鈥漧) and Harold Hassenfeld (锄鈥漧).

This shift from human to divine mercy is made explicit in the special prayers written for Rosh Hashanah, especially in the Zikhronot section of the Musaf service. In each of the ten verses, there is an association between human vulnerability and divine mercy. It begins with reference to the frightened people (and animals) on Noah鈥檚 ark, continues to the terrorized slaves in Egypt, and extends to the Israelite refugees on their trek through Sinai. In each case, God remembers that the people鈥攑ictured as children鈥攁re in danger and responds with mercy and rescue.

The most touching of all of these passages is the final one, from Jeremiah 31:20. 鈥淚s not Ephraim My dear son, My precious child, whom I remember fondly even when I speak against him? So, My heart reaches out to him, and I always feel compassion for him, declares Adonai.鈥� This text, which is also the finale of the haftarah for the second day, has inspired generations of cantors and popular singers. It speaks to the complex emotions of a parent faced with a wayward child. Jeremiah is channeling God, imagining that God feels fondness for Israel even when Israel has acted provocatively, like a parent does for a child. Midrash Vayikra Rabbah observes that whenever God claims someone as 鈥淢ine,鈥� it is forever鈥攊n this world and in the world to come (Parashat Vayikra 2:2).

Two verbs are doubled in the Jeremiah verse, zakhor ezkerenu鈥擨 will surely remember him; and rahem arahamenu鈥�I will surely show him mercy. Curiously, these words have a gendered association, since zakhor (remember) is related to zakhar (male), and rahem (show mercy) is related to rehem (womb). It seems that God is promising to be both father and mother to Ephraim. Gender assumptions may be at play. Jeremiah addresses the male aspect of God with reminders of our loyalty to Him; the female aspect of God is addressed by recalling Her motherhood and mercy. Neither aspect suffices; a blending of roles is required to reverse our estrangement and to be welcomed back in love.

This theme of reconciliation between parents and children is foreshadowed just before Rosh Hashanah on Shabbat Nitzavim. The Torah reading from Deuteronomy 29:9鈥�30:2 is suffused with imagery of childhood, with God 鈥渆ntering into the covenant鈥� with Israel, and concluding, 鈥渢hat you and your children will live鈥� on the land. The haftarah from Isaiah 61:10鈥�63:9 concludes the cycle of seven messages of consolation with a climax. As Midrash Pesikta Rabbati (#37) observes, this haftarah takes us to the border of messianic redemption. And what triggers this divine outpouring of redemptive love? It is God鈥檚 realization that 鈥渟urely they are My people, children who will not play false鈥� (63:8).

There is a darker side to this dynamic, which gives it more power and pathos. Adults are not always protective of children. Sarah exposes Ishmael to mortal danger in a misguided attempt to protect Isaac. Abraham tries to protect his elder son, and when God rebuffs his attempt, Abraham falls into quiescence, proceeding with the command to sacrifice Isaac without a word of protest. These images of Abraham and Sarah as broken adults point to an even more disturbing concept of God as a broken parent, who has forgotten to show mercy to the people. It falls upon the children of Israel to remind God to show mercy. Again and again we remind God of our dependence, demanding that God respond with compassion. The danger of Rosh Hashanah is that God might act like Abraham, failing to protect us; the shofar is meant to pierce the fog of divine inattention, awakening God鈥檚 mercy for our people.

As we complete the year 5778, it is important to connect these timeless themes with our own experiences. Like many of you I have witnessed the blessings of healthy children entering the world, embraced by their loving parents. I have also expressed gratitude over the recovery of children threatened by terrible disease. But not all children are safe and healthy, and it is not only disease that threatens them.

Some American politicians and officers imposed cruel suffering on young children this year, separating them from their parents at the southern border, and failing to plan adequately for their reunion. Across the political spectrum these cruel actions evoked outrage and activism, but not remorse from those who enacted the policy. Lasting damage was committed in our name, and we all share responsibility to pay attention and prevent such outrageous conduct from recurring. If we cannot show mercy upon children, then what right do we have to claim God鈥檚 love?

Standing before God on the final Shabbat of 5778, and then again as we open the year 5779, we remember the children who depend upon our responsible behavior. When have we succeeded, and when have we failed to protect them? Let the children guide us back to responsibility and love, and let God then respond with love for us, beloved children to the Holy One. May we be remembered with mercy, forgiven for our failures, and blessed with a sweet and good new year!

The publication and distribution of the 91快播 Commentary are made possible by a generous grant from Rita Dee (锄鈥漧) and Harold Hassenfeld (锄鈥漧).