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Sep 30/06 -
Parashat Ha'azinu / Shabbat Shuvah
Commentary by
Rabbi Alan Green
And God spoke to
Moses, this very day, saying: “Ascend these heights of Abarim to
Mount Nebo, which is in the land of Moab, facing Jericho, and view
the land of Canaan, which I am giving the children of Israel as
their possession. You shall die on the mountain that you are about
to ascend, and shall be gathered to your kin, as your brother Aaron
died on Mount Hor, and was gathered to his kin, because you both
rose up against Me among the children of Israel, at the waters of
Meribah-Kadesh, in the wilderness of Zin.
You did not
sanctify Me among the children of Israel. (Therefore) from a
distance, you may view the land—the land I am giving to the children
of Israel—but into it, you shall not go.” (Deuteronomy 32:48-52)
With this Parashah,
we are getting close to the end of the Torah, even as we have just
begun the New Year. Here, we experience a curious mixture of the
old, and the new. Autumn is that time of year when the first hints
of winter and the death phase of the natural cycle are in the air.
And in the cycle of Torah readings, Moses is also about to leave the
physical world behind.
At the same time,
the people of Israel are set to begin a new, dramatic phase in their
existence, poised as they are to enter and conquer the Promised
Land. And we too, having begun the New Year, may well be poised to
conquer new worlds of knowledge and experience in our lives.
Much of the success
of the people of Israel's conquest of the land, and the success that
we may experience in our new ventures, depends on the ability to let
go of the past. These words may sound strange from the mouth of
a rabbi—we who are the teachers of Jewish tradition, whose roots are
so bound up in the distant and not-so-distant past. And in the
magnificent speech that Moses makes in this Parashah, he explicitly
states, “Remember the days of old; consider the generations long
past. Ask your father, and he will tell you; your elders, and they
will explain to you.” (Deut. 32:7)
In this way,
Judaism is a profoundly conservative tradition. It is in love with
its past, which it tends to idealize in the same way that long
married couples often will idealize the early stages of their
relationship—forgetting the bad times, of course. Judaism also
idolizes its ancient sages and teachers. In one memorable passage of
the Talmud, referring to the masters of an early era, it says: “If
we are humans, then they were angels; and if they were human, then
we are donkeys.”
At the same time,
Judaism has its more subversive side as well. One of the early
Hasidic masters asked, “Why does the Amidah say, ‘God of Abraham,
God of Isaac, and God of Jacob,’ when it could much more easily have
said, ‘God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob’? Because each of the
patriarchs had their own path, their own vision, their own struggle
to know God. And just as each came to know God in his own way, so we
should each come to know God in our own way.”
Similarly, Rabbi
Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev had a unique take on Genesis 12:1, where
God tells Abram to “Leave your country, your birthplace, your
father’s household, and go to the land that I will show you.”
According to Levi Yitzchak, these seemingly repetitive phrases each
have a profound, precise meaning.
“Leave your
country,” means that we must extricate ourselves from the dullness
that growing up in our country has inflicted upon us. “Leave your
birth place,” means that we must extricate ourselves from the
dullness that our mother has inflicted upon us. “Leave your father’s
household,” means that we must extricate ourselves from the dullness
that our father has inflicted upon us. Only then, will we be strong
or clear enough to get to the Promised Land that God wishes to
reveal to each one of us.
The circumstances
surrounding the death of Moses, just as his life-dream is about to
be fulfilled, seem cruel and unfair. The people cry out for water.
God instructs Moses to speak to the rock. Instead, Moses, seized by
anger and overcome by his irritation with the complaints of the
people, strikes the rock with his staff. Water then gushes forth,
but in venting his anger in this way, Moses has failed in his
essential task: to sanctify God in the eyes of Israel.
But really, was it
so terrible a mistake? In the context of Moses’ long, sterling
career, was it really something important enough to exclude him from
entering the Land of Promise? My thought is that hitting the rock,
instead of speaking to it, was only God's excuse for teaching Moses
and the people of Israel a much more interesting lesson.
Moving forward
means letting go of the past. And in this case, with the people of
Israel primed for the battle of their lives, Moses was the past. And
what a great past it has been: confronting Pharaoh; the Ten Plagues;
the Ten Commandments; and the various desert rebellions, along with
their consequences. The foundation for the whole future of the
Jewish people has been carefully put into place under the leadership
of Moses and Aaron.
But now, that era
has drawn to a close. A very different leadership must be put into
place, to sustain a very different life-situation. The children of
slaves are about to become an invading army. And once they’re
successful, they will have to learn to shift from being a simple
pastoral people, to being sophisticated farmers, and eventually,
even more sophisticated city-dwellers.
It’s an excellent time for Moses to make his exit. And, at least
according to the text, Moses doesn’t fight God’s decision. However,
in the Midrash, we find out that Moses may well have pleaded with
God for a few more days of life and for the privilege of entering
the Promised Land, even as a bird.
But God knows what
He’s doing in turning down Moses’ request. Rabbi Larry Kushner puts
it this way: “And then I understood. God understands all our
humanity, and says to Moses (and to us if we want): ‘Moses, My
faithful shepherd, I will bestow on you something even more
wonderful than visiting yet another new land. I will take you up
this mountain, and let you see with new eyes.’”
Shabbat Shalom. |