Parashat ViZos HaBracha

VaYamas Sham Moshe Eved Hashem BiEretz Moav (Devarim, 34:5)

VaYamas Sham Moshe. Is it possible that Moshe died and wrote “And Moshe died there”? Rather, Moshe wrote up until this point [in the Torah] and Yehoshua wrote the rest. Rabbi Me’ir says: Is it possible the Sefer Torah [Moshe handed to the Levi’im] was lacking anything? Doesn’t the pasuk say “Take this Sefer Torah”? Rather, Hashem dictated [these final eight pasukim] and Moshe wrote them with tears.

Rashi, Devarim, 34:5

One opinion says Moshe wrote the last eight pasukim of the Torah. The other opinion attributes authorship to Yehoshua. One seems bothered by Moshe’s ability to write about his future – it would be paradoxical for a living man to write of his death, and physically impossible if he were dead. The other seems more perplexed by the notion that Moshe would leave us an incomplete Sefer Torah.

It’s not a very complicated Machlokes. In fact, what bothers me most about Rashi’s comments is how simplistically the two angles are presented. The second opinion suggests that Moshe didn’t have to foresee the future in order to write his Sefer Torah; Hashem could simply dictate the words to him. So why can’t the first opinion accept this argument. The first opinion sees no apparent problem with Yehoshua’s authorship of the final eight pasukim, so why can’t the second opinion take the same approach? At first glance, there’s a heated debate in this Sifri, but at second glance, neither opinion appears to be in discussion with its counterpart!

Let’s first reconsider what question these two opinion’s address. Does the first opinion really have a problem with Moshe writing about his imminent future? Moshe knows he’s about to die, he even said so at the opening of Parashat VaYeilech, so why would it be impossible for him to write “VaYamas Sham Moshe”? Furthermore, only a few pasukim later, we read “Lo Kam Navi Od BiYisrael KiMoshe.” No matter who wrote that pasuk, he certainly would have to know a little about the future to truly assert that no future Navi would ever be as great as Moshe. So how does one take issue with Moshe foretelling his own death and yet see no difficulty with Yehoshua prediction of Moshe’s everlasting legacy?

Maybe we should be a little more careful in our analysis of this Sifri’s question. Rashi writes, Efshar SheMoshe Meis ViKasav VaYamas Sham Moshe, is it possible that Moshe dies and then writes “And Moshe died there”? In other words, Rashi is not concerned how Moshe could have written this pasuk while he was alive. Rather, Rashi’s only concern was how Moshe could write it while he was dead!

Perhaps what’s really bothering these Tanna’im is the tense of the pasuk, the fact that it is written in lashon avar. Had the pasuk said “And Moshe was about to die,” they would take no issue with Moshe’s ability to foresee his imminent death. But because the pasuk is written in past tense, Moshe would first have to die and only then could write about his death from the appropriate chronological perspective. The first opinion is so troubled by the tense of VaYamas Sham Moshe that he concludes the pasuk simply could not have been authored by Moshe; it must have been Yehoshua’s contribution. However, the second opinion (Rabbi Me’ir) is so troubled by the notion of Moshe handing over an incomplete Sefer Torah that he concludes the word VaYamas simply cannot be read literally. It wasn’t that Hashem dictated the words of Torah to Moshe, but rather that He informed Moshe of his nearing death, and Moshe cried over the information. The Gur Aryeh explains that Moshe’s sadness was the first step to his death, and so the pasuk says he “died” there a lesser, somewhat proverbial, death.

At first glance, it is the opinion of Rabbi Me’ir that appears more straightforward and sensible. He reasons that Moshe wrote the entire Sefer Torah, leaving none for Yehoshua to complete, while the Rabanan insist on complicating matters, suggesting that Yehoshua did indeed partake in the authorship of the Torah. But why then would Rashi leave Rabbi Meir’s insight until the end of his comments? Shouldn’t the Rabanan’s obscure approach take a backseat to the simplicity of Rabbi Meir’s? However, the Sifri’s question falls solely on the difficulties surrounding the word VaYamos. It is therefore Rabbi Me’ir’s opinion that contains a far greater stretch, for only one of the two opinions can explain the term VaYamos according to its simple meaning.

On the surface this Sifri clearly comes to discuss the final eight pasukim of the Torah, but perhaps its discussion also helps clarify the final three pasukim. The Torah sensibly should have ended where Sefer Yehoshua picks up, namely with the death of Moshe and the rise of Yehoshua. Yet even after Yehoshua’s establishment as a leader, the Torah takes a step back to inform us:

ViLo Kam Navi Od BiYisrael KiMoshe Asher Yida’o Hashem Panim El Panim LiChol HaOsos ViHaMofesim Asher Shelacho Hashem La’Asos BiEretz Mitzrayim LiFaroh U’LiChol Avadav U’LiChol Artzo U’Lichol HaYad HaChazaka U’Lichol HaMora HaGadol Asher Asah Moshe Li’Einei Kol Yisrael.

(Devarim, 34:10-12)

In other words, the Torah ends with a run-on sentence that returns to the topics addressed in Sefer Shemos, veering as far away as possible from the context of our current parasha. Is this Moshe’s eulogy? Perhaps. Or maybe it is something much more eternally significant than a heartfelt farewell.

When we consider the struggles the Sifri encounters with the word VaYamos, we come to recognize the importance this Midrash places on the Torah’s completion just as Moshe hands the leadership to Yehoshua. If we look through Sefer Devarim, we see that before Moshe could ever teach the Mitzvos that comprise the latter half of the book, he first had to come to terms with the nation, to rebuke and reprove them, and to reach a common ground. He told over the stories of Mitzrayim and the Midbar through his own eyes, and only when the nation could view their history as Moshe did could they also view the Torah as Moshe did.

Rabbi Yehoshua Ben Levi said: When Moshe ascended to the heavens [to receive the Torah], the Malachei HaShareis said to HaKadosh Baruch Hu “Ribono Shel Olam! What is this mortal doing amongst us?!” [Hashem] replied to them, “He has come to accept the Torah.” They said to [Hashem], “The Chamuda Genuza, Your precious [Torah of] secrets that You stored away for 974 generations before the world was created, You now want to give it to flesh and blood?!”… Hashem said to Moshe, “Answer them.”… [Moshe] said, “Ribono Shel Olam, what does it say in the Torah You are giving me?” Anochee Hashem Elokecha Asher Hotzaiseecha MaiEretz Mitzrayim. [Moshe said to the Malachim,] “Were you enslaved to Paroh? Then what is the Torah for you?… What else does it say? Kaveid Es Avicha ViEs Imecha. Do you have parents to honor? Then the Torah is clearly not for [Malachim].”

Mesechet Shabbos, 88b

The gemara in Mesechet Shabbos reminds us that the Torah may be a very holy book, but it is still written from a human perspective. Mohe could not simply hand the Bnei Yisrael a scroll and expect them to follow it, but he couldn’t describe its laws either. Instead, Moshe gave over a perspective of the world, and that perspective was used to build context for our understanding of the Torah, even today.

We all too often consider Moshe’s life a story within the Torah, but perhaps it is really the Torah’s story that is conveyed through Moshe’s eyes. It is Moshe’s viewpoint, from Moshe’s vantage, that is transmitted in the final Sefer of the Chamisha Chumshei Torah. Moshe’s last moments are not only the time that he wrote his Sefer Torah; those very moments capture the perspective with which the Torah is written.

No wonder it is so critical that VaYamos Moshe be written by Moshe himself or just at the moment of his death, for that moment is the only perspective conveyed in the Torah. It is that unsurpassable vantage that gives Moshe the title as the greatest Navi of all time. And it is his story that we follow and live, and his view of the world – past, present, and future – that is transmitted Li’Einei Kol Yisrael.

Chag Kasher ViSamei’ach.

Parashat Nitzavim

“Today, you stand here together in front of Hashem your G-d…to enter into Hashem’s Bris and oath that Hashem your G-d is cutting with you today.”

Devarim (29:9-11)

From these two pasukim, we see two facts. (1) There is a Bris being established in the opening scene of this week’s parasha – a twenty pasuk run-on sentence we will soon explore – and (2) it is a new Bris that is established on this very day, the day of Moshe’s death as Rashi notes, not the repetition of an old covenant. Why do we need this new Bris?

“In order to establish you today as a nation to [Hashem], and He will be to you a G-d…” (29:12)

Well, this doesn’t sound very different from the Bris we entered at Har Sinai. Didn’t that Bris also state “Anochi Hashem Elockechah, Lo YiHiyeh Lichah Elohim Acheirim?” Perhaps the upcoming pasukim will tell us how the two Brisos differ.

“And it’s not just you with whom I am cutting this Bris and oath, but with [both] those present standing here today, and those not, [the future generations].” (29:13-14)

But the Bris at Har Sinai surely wasn’t only for the congregation present at Moshe’s address; almost everyone at Har Sinai died in the Midbar, and a new generation had already assumed their parents’ roles as members of Jewish nation. How then does this Bris differ? Perhaps the elaborate purpose behind this new Bris will reveal a difference.

“Because you know from your time living in Mitzrayim and your time passing through the Goyim’s lands [about their idols,] and you have seen their idols… that are with them. Perhaps you will have a man or woman or family or tribe whose heart today will turn from Hashem our G-d to worship those other gods. He will hear the words of [the Klallos in last week’s parasha] and think in his heart, ‘I will be fine so long as I follow the sights of my heart…’ to add his accidental sins to those he does willfully.” (29:15-18)

In other words, Hashem fears that we will hear all the terrible Klallos listed that will befall us if we sin and thereby give up trying to follow the proper path. Our active choice of ignorance and abandonment will become a willful sin.

But how then does this Bris, more than any other Bris, rest with both the present generation and their children? The present generation witnessed the idols of Mitzrayim and the bordering nations, a reference to the Eigel HaZahav and Ba’al Peor acoording to the Ramban, but their children did not. Furthermore, Hashem gives us a very elaborate description of what might push one off the Derech. Is this a new fear? Surely there was a danger of Avoda Zara long before the witnessing of these Shikutzim and Gilulim. Which leads us back to our first question: the Bris of the Aseres HaDibros quite explicitly forbids Avoda Zara, so how does this Bris, with or without elaboration, differ? We’ll leave these questions on the side and forge ahead in our reading of these pasukim; the pasukim continue with the consequences of Avoda Zara.

“Hahsem will not forgive such a man; instead, His wrath will flare… and He will set aside all the bad for [this man] among the Shivtei Yisrael, like all the oaths written in this Torah Book.” (29:19-20)

We finally start to see a difference between this Bris and the one at Har Sinai; the one at Har Sinai was sealed with one set of oaths, namely the ViTochacha of Parashat BiChukosai, and this Bris is sealed with a list of curses twice as long. The incentive not to worship idols has thereby doubled. Of course, this would be a wonderful place to end G-d’s threat, but the pasukim continue.

“And the later generations – your children after you and the Goyim of a faraway land – will say, and they will see the [destruction]. Sulfur and salt, the earth is scorched and nothing can be planted and nothing can grow… And all the Goyim will say ‘What has Hashem done to this land? What could possibly anger Him so?’ And they will say ‘Since [the Bnei Yisrael] have abandoned their Bris with Hashem that He established with them upon their exit from Mitzrayim. They went and worshiped other gods and bowed to them… and Hashem got angry on the land[‘s inhabitants] to bring upon [them] the curses written in this book. And Hashem furiously removed them from their land and sent them to a foreign land, just like today.” (29:21-27)

Here we have a very detailed description of the Goyim’s thought process, how they will come to recognize that our sins result in our exile. The pasukim analyze how they analyze how we have been tormented by Hashem! If this isn’t bizarre enough, keep in mind that what we are really discussing is the reason behind why Hashem wants to make a new Bris. In other words, we are analyzing someone’s perception or reaction (‘what has G-d done?!’) to a potential consequence (destruction of land) of a theoretical sin (Avoda Zara) which has hopefully been averted by establishing this Bris! Couldn’t Moshe just teach them all the new Bris without this addendum?! The explanation is longer and more unclear that the covenant itself!

And we still haven’t really explained why any new covenant was really necessary. We can say that Hashem is changing the severity of Avoda Zara’s consequences, but I don’t believe that we can comfortably establish a difference between the sets of Klallos solely on the numbers of curses each Bris lists. If 49 Klallos was only enough warning for the forty years in the desert, and now 98 are required, wouldn’t we suspect desensitization to these consequences would spur the need for even more Klallos in only a few more years? Yet the Bris established in this week’s and last week’s parashiot still exists today, 3000 years later! There must be some greater, more significant, difference between the consequences described in our parashaiot and those previously threatened at the time of the earlier Brisos.

I believe this difference can be found most explicitly in the Bris’s aforementioned convoluted explanation; however, to see this difference, we must first be critical not only of the thematic material, but also of the word choice. We first list two sets of characters; both our children and the Goyim of a faraway land witness the destruction. What do these people do? The pasuk says ViAmar, and they will say, and this describes what our children and the Goyim do. But the pasuk says nothing of their dialogue! The pasuk simply continues that they will also see the destruction and overturning of the land. We don’t quote any Amirah until the next pasuk, which specifically quotes the Goyim. What happened to the Amirah of the Jewish descendants? It’s also strange that we find two pasukim (23 and 24), one after the other, where a single party states a question and then its answer.

Perhaps these two pasukim are really constructing a dialogue between the Goyim and the Jewish descendants. The Goyim first ask what has happened to the Jewish nation, and the Jewish descendants respond. This would explain where we see the Jewish descendants speak, it would explain the word ViAmar as a foreshadowing of the ensuing dialogue, and two ViAmiru’s would now be stated by different parties, one with a question and one with an answer.

Returning to the pasukim, we can now read the consequences of the Bnei Yisrael’s idol worship much differently. Their descendants will be confronted in galus and asked why they are treated so miserably. Why do their lands lay fallow and their houses in shambles. And they will recognize and recall the sins of their fathers, Al Asher Azivu Es Bris Hashem Elokei Avosam. Regardless of what Mitzvos or Aveiros these descendants themselves are or are not committing, the blame is squarely placed on their ancestors. And this should make us wonder whether the descendants are only punished as a result of their own misdeeds or whether they are inevitably cursed, even if they stop sinning.

“Pokeid Avon Avos Al Banim Al Shileishim ViAl Ribei’im LiSoni’ai”

LiSoni’ai, to those who hate Me, as [Onkelos] translated, to those descending generations that keep to the evil deeds of their fathers.

Rashi, Shemos (20:5)

“ViHayu Bicha LiOs U’LiMofeis U’BiZarachah Ad Olam, Tachas Asher Lo Avadta Es Hashem Elokechah BiSimchah U’BiTuv Leivav MeiRov Kol”

MeiRov Kol, out of abundance, while you still possessed all your good [as opposed to your or your children’s current status].

Rashi, Devarim (28:47)

Each of these pasukim describes the reason behind our punishments. The first pasuk relates to the original Bris at Har Sinai as recognizes Hashem’s right to punish later generations for their fathers’ sins. However, Rashi adds a huge qualifier; Hashem can only antagonize rotten descendants, people who hate Him like their fathers did. Therefore, we see every generation can avoid Onshim by returning to Hashem.

The second pasuk, however, relates to the newly established Bris and paints a much scarier picture. The pasuk explains that Hashem brings the Klallos upon us not because we don’t worship Him properly, but because we didn’t at one point in history. Even when the abundance is gone, even when the blessings that led to our rottenness are long gone, Hashem still exacts His revenge. Onshim are clearly of a different nature; they are no longer a consequence of our continued iniquity, but rather they can be stretched well past the time we stop sinning. This draws a staggering difference between the Bris at Har Sinai and the Bris in this week’s parasha!

While punishing sinners and leaving the innocent alone may have been deterrent enough during the travels in the Midbar, Hashem here tries a new tactic. Under the rules of the new Bris, one must recognize that his sins not only effect him, and not only effect the people and objects he sins against, but can even severely effect the innocent. Hashem threatens the sinner with the torment of his children; his descendants live in a foreign land and are oppressed as their fathers were, and not necessarily due to their own sins. Now we see exactly why it was so important for Moshe to specify that the Bris being made on that very day was sealed even with the future generations; any sin committed on that day would inevitably cause harm to even those of future generations!

And while one could possibly mistaken this Bris as an unfair gesture on G-d’s behalf, one could also view it as the most favorable gesture. Every time we sin, Hashem forces us to consider that we not only harm our own lives, but endanger countless innocent lives as well. The new Bris truly does become a most powerful, though extremely dangerous, deterrent for the 3000 years to follow, one that bodes a woe-filled future, but at least piques a newfound incentive to maintain our Kesher to HaKadosh Baruch Hu, and a newfound perception of the far reaching effects of our Aveiros.

G’mar ViChasima Tova and a Chag Kasher ViSamei’ach!

Parashat Ki Tavo

As presented in the pasukim, the Mitzvah of Bikurim epitomizes our gratitude to Hashem for bringing us into Eretz Yisrael. We award the Kohein – Hashem’s designated guardian of holy property – with not the prime of our produce but rather the first; we do not partake of any goods until we have shown sufficient recognition that all our success comes by Hashem’s will. It therefore makes perfect sense that we recall Sippur Yitzeas Mitzrayim, our bitter days of slavery and hardship, and transition into Yerushas Eretz Yisrael. We declare VaYivi’einu El HaMakom HaZeh VaYitein Lanu Es Ha’Aretz HaZos Eretz Zavas Chalav U’D’vash; what greater form of gratitude could one possibly express!

Yet Sippur Yitzeas Mitzrayim and Yerushas Eretz Yisrael do not comprise the entire declaration, for before we mention anything about the hardships in Egypt, we first raise our voices and recall Arami Oveid Avi, how Lavan once thought to kill Yaakov. As Rashi notes, Mazkir Chasdei HaMakom, it is good to mention the acts of kindness G-d has done for us in the past, but does this really make it necessary to recall Arami Oveid Avi – a story that didn’t even happen in Eretz Yisrael, when we bring our Bikurim to the Kohein? What relevance can these three words bear within our declaration?

Perhaps even more puzzling is the announcement that precedes Arami Oveid Avi. Before we begin our declaration, we first claim, Higaditi HaYom LaHashem Elokechah Ki Basi El HaAretz HaZos Asher Nishba Hshem LaAvoseinu Lases Lanu, I am declaring today that I have arrived in the land that Hashem promised our forefathers to give to us. What a bizarre introduction to our tidings of gratitude! This statement is of a totally different nature from Arami Oveid Avi. While Arami Oveid Avi views the land as something Hashem gave to us out of love, this initial declaration makes the Yerushas HaAretz appear out of necessity, that Hashem had to fulfill His promise to the Avos against His will. One statement exalts the land, calling it the Eretz Zavas Chalav U’D’vash, while the other merely recognizes that we have arrived there, not to mention that this recognition is not only obvious and tedious but also a few years delayed.

But most perplexing is that Rashi sees these contradictory declarations in exactly the opposite light:

ViAmartah Ailav, and you should say to [the Kohein, I have arrived in the land Hashem promised…] – So that you should not be an ingrate.

Rashi, Devarim 26:3

To Rashi, it is the first statement that expresses one’s true gratitude towards Hashem. All that talk about Eretz Zavas Chalav U’Dvash is nothing in comparison to the promise Hashem made with the Avos. How can this be? Doesn’t this statement express the exact opposite of gratitude, that we owe nothing to Hashem because He had no choice but to bring us into Eretz Yisrael?

I believe that before we can really understand the incredible relevance of the initial declaration, we must first be critical of the second’s. We praise the goodness of Eretz Yisrael, but only through comparison to our afflictions in Mitzrayim. Does this really express how good the land is, or does it only recognize that it’s better than Mitzrayim? Perhaps we are only gracious that we no longer have to perform back breaking labor for our Egyptian masters; that is certainly something to thank Hashem for, but it by no means addresses the quality of Eretz Yisrael.

Instead, the key to recognizing the objective quality of Eretz Yisrael, beyond its relative superiority to life in Mitzrayim, is to remind ourselves of Hashem’s Shavua to the Avos. Long before the Bnei Yisrael were introduced to Eretz Mitzrayim, we were promised a gift from Hashem, an objectively fine home for our eventual settlement.

And how did we know that the land Hashem had promised us was in fact a good land? Perhaps Hashem has no interest in providing us with the best land; maybe He arbitrarily chose our designated settling grounds, possibly picking Eretz Yisrael because it was where Avraham, Yitzchak, and Ya’akov all lived. Therefore, it is not enough to specify Asher Nishba Hashem LaAvoseinu LaSeis Lanu; we must also express explicit recognition of Hashem’s care for our people, a care Hashem clearly expressed when He stopped Lavan from annihilating Ya’akov and his family. Like Rashi says, we recall the story of Lavan to be Makir Chasdei HaMakom, to recognize examples of Hashem’s mercy, thus aiding our recognition of the care He always has for His nation. We come to recognize that Hahsem would only designate an objectively superior land to for the Avos’ descendents, and not just arbitrarily choose our plot.

Granted it is valuable to remember how Hashem extracted us from the tyranny of Mitzrayim, but we mustn’t lose focus on the objective value of Eretz Yisrael. The land is not an alternative, not an improvement upon our days of slavery; rather, it is a good unparallel and incomparable to any other land. That is why Hashem promised it to our anscentors long before we experienced our first hardships, whether amidst the perils of Mitzrayim or those brought by Lavan. And that is why we are ever grateful, year after year, unwilling to partake of our earning until we award Hashem what is rightfully His.