Aug 5/06 - Parashat Va'etchanan / Shabbat Nachamu

Commentary by Rabbi Lawrence Pinsker

 

One of the most difficult and fascinating aspects about reading a Biblical text is that there are layers upon layers of commentary about virtually every word in the holiest Jewish text. The Torah that is the heart of Jewish Scriptures is revered by the almost-three-billion followers of the three monotheistic world religions that arose through re-interpretation of the word of God. Everyone interprets and offers commentary to these texts; the literary critic Harold Bloom once said that all of Western literature and civilization is a commentary to the Hebrew Bible.

Interpretations arise both spontaneously and formally. They arise because ordinary people quote and misquote texts in response to both the routine and the extraordinary events of their lives. Religions deal with awe and wonder and also with the tedium of being alive.

Interpretations emerge also because of the need to explain and adapt holy works so that their meanings can be applied under dramatically different conditions and in times distant from the origins of Scriptures. (After all, there is no expiration date on Torah—its covenant and its wisdom is reputedly eternal.)

One of the most intellectually exciting aspects of reading the Torah through using interpretive texts like the Midrash (Jewish parable and storytelling) is discovering how the ambiguities in the words of God are treated by over three thousand years of Jewish commentators. The ancient rabbinical Sages invite us to reflect on how varied their understandings and lessons are—and without fear of their being branded as dissent, deviation, or sacrilege.

This is one of the truly great lessons within the ancient Jewish belief in “Torah sheh-b’al peh” (“the Oral Torah”)—as distinct from “Torah sheh-bich’tav” (the written texts): whatever we learn through studying Torah, whatever our reaction to the text may be—we must share it with others and without fear of being labeled as heretics. That fearlessness was at the heart of ancient post-biblical and post-Temple Judaism—the very essence of what enabled our ancestors to survive the catastrophe that, in every previous civilization, had spelled doom to its faith and its followers.

Midrash produces instructions on behaviour (called midrash halacha) and insights into the right way to live and experience God’s universe (called midrash aggada). Through Midrash, we discover that Torah is a partnership between God and humankind.

The process, of course, begins in the Book of Deuteronomy, where Moses interprets the events presented earlier in Torah itself. That such a process of interpretation is itself sacred is testified to by the fact that Moses’ first-person narrative of his life as leader of the Israelites is so loved by God that it becomes the fifth Book of the Torah.

This week’s portion opens with Moses pleading with God to rescind the Divine decree that forbids Moses to enter the Land of Israel. Moses is devastated that he is not permitted even to set one foot on the soil of Israel, and begs God to relent—but God refuses to change the decree. Moses speaks passionately: “But the Lord was wrathful with me on your account (“va-yitaber adonai bee le-ma’anchem”) and would not listen to me. The Lord said to me, ‘Enough! Never speak to Me of this matter again!’” (Deut. 3:26)

Moses, as elsewhere in Torah, lays the blame for God’s anger against him on the behaviour of the Israelites. And therein lies a lesson that has become rich with meaning in the hands of the commentators.

What does the text “But the Lord was wrathful with me because of you (“va-yitaber adonai bee le-ma’anchem”) …” mean? The word used in Hebrew is va-yitaber—a difficult Hebrew word. The root ayin-bet-resh has many meanings. But if this is the word of God, then we need to determine the exact nuance of the word in this sentence in order to determine whether Moses is justified in blaming the people for his being barred from entering the land.

In the Midrash Tannaim, Rabbi Eliezer says that the usage here is based upon the Hebrew word evrah, which means anger. This is the meaning (“wrathful”) chosen by the editors of the Jewish Publication Society translation that we use in the new Etz Hayim chumash. However, in the same Midrash, Rabbi Joshua connects the usage here with another meaning of the same Hebrew root: “pregnancy.” Rabbi Joshua asks us to imagine a woman who is unable to bend over because she is well-advanced into her pregnancy. Rabbi Joshua’s reasoning, conveyed in his midrash, is that Moses is being punished because of external factors—namely the behaviour of the people—over which he had no control. After all, we would never say to a pregnant woman that it’s her “fault” that she can’t bend over—it is merely a component, an outcome of the way the pregnancy develops.

So Rabbi Joshua sees Moses as a victim and goes further with his vivid analogy by connecting our word va-yitaber with another word connected to the same Hebrew root, “transgression” (“aveirah”).

“Perhaps I [Moses] am being punished because of my transgressions?” The Torah says “on your account”—because of you I am being treated thus... God “would not listen to me,” He would not accept my prayer. When you [the people] sinned, I requested mercy and was answered, but when I requested mercy for myself, God “would not listen to me.” (Midrash Tannaim)

Although these two interpretations differ as to the precise shading of our term, they both agree that its meaning is that Moses was punished because of what the people did. This is a very common interpretation, emphasizing the sad circumstances of a righteous leader who, after devoting himself to his people, is held accountable for their misdeeds. This is a convenient way of cultivating sympathy for the leader, a perspective rendered ever sadder by pointing out that when a leader asks for mercy for the nation, it is granted more readily for them than when the leader asks for mercy for himself.

But despite the fact that this sympathy for Moses dominates Midrash regarding Moses’ plea, we’re not finished. There is another approach, attributed to Rabbi Elazar b. Shamua, who finds a diverging perspective in the use of the Hebrew word “bee” (“with me”) in our verse, “But the Lord was wrathful with me.”

Rabbi Elazar says that it is so difficult for people to admit that they themselves are the source of their own transgressions that they immediately blame others. This is why Moses immediately adds “on your account”—”because of you!” According to Rabbi Elazar, it is THIS statement—a perfect echo of Adam’s blameful and guilty fingerpointing at Eve in the Garden of Eden!—that causes God to respond angrily: “Enough!”

“God said to Moses: “Enough”—up to here [say no more].” (Mechilta de-R. Ishmael, Beshallach, 2)

For Rabbi Elazar, the end of the verse—where God tells Moses that he will no longer listen to him—is God’s reaction to Moses trying to shift the blame for his own mistakes onto the people. God is fed up with blame—with Moses and people never taking responsibility when things are mishandled.

Rabbi Elazar apparently felt no qualms about rejecting the main tradition, a tradition devoted to polishing the image of “Moshe Rebbenu,” “Moses our teacher” by portraying him as a besieged leader by rallying around Moses’ argument that he suffered for the people’s sin.

Instead, Rabbi Elazar expresses impatience with the license granted leaders to blame the people for whatever goes wrong. God puts a limit on how much the leader can blame the people. There is a point at which the leader must accept personal responsibility, just as other individuals must in their lives. There is a point at which “passing the buck” must stop.

What a gloriously appropriate message as we begin our countdown of the last seven weeks leading to the High Holy Days. This is the time when we stop “passing the buck” and start owning our own behaviour. If even Moses is subject to criticism, then maybe in our somewhat less-exalted lives, we will try harder to live up to God’s perennial faith in our ability to control the territory of our individual lives.

One of my favourite poems, by Joanne Greenberg, is titled “An Explanation of Why—One Reason Why—Jewish People Rock When They Pray” and is relevant as we look toward the looming New Year:

When the weight falls that could break me,
And by the merest edge, the brittlest moment
Does not break me,
I look up in anguish and ask God again
Why it is that You measure me so narrowly,
And know so well which part of me
is stranger to myself.
“I am training Messiahs,” God says.
“I start them out, each one, with smallest territory:
A nation of one.
So far the record of achievement hasn’t been too good.
I think of giving up sometimes,
But, being God, I am, by every indication,
Not bad at hope.”

Shabbat Shalom.