Nitzavim/Vayelech

In the first of the two portions we will read this week, Nitzavim, we find a section which is known as the parsha of teshuva - repentance. Although not all commentators agree (Rashi, Maimonides), Nachmanides (also known as the Ramban; Spain, Israel, 1194-1270) sees the verses as a commandment, demanding of us that we repent. I use the word "we" purposely, as the kind of repentance discussed here is not that of the individual but, rather, that of the nation, and takes place on the national  level:

"So it shall be when all of these things have come upon you, the blessing and the curse which I have set before you, and you shall turn to your hearts, there among all nations where the Lord your God has banished you, and you shall return to the Lord your God and obey Him with all your heart and soul according to all that I command you today, you and your sons. Then the Lord your God will return [with] you from captivity, and have compassion on you, and will return and gather you from all the peoples where the Lord your God has scattered you. If your outcasts are at the ends of the earth, from there the Lord your God will gather you, and from there He will bring you back. The Lord your God will bring you into the land which your fathers possessed, and you shall possess it; and He will prosper you and multiply you more than your fathers. And the Lord your God will circumcise your hearts and the hearts of your descendants, to love the Lord your God...And you shall repent and obey the Lord, and observe all His commandments which I command you today..."

The process of teshuva - penitence - is presented here in the broadest possible historical terms. Rather than simply focusing on the penitence of the individual, in terms of his or her personal shortcomings (as we typically do around the time of the High Holidays), the Ramban sees this section as a commandment to the entire nation, to see itself, while in exile, as being in need of repentance, and repent. This must be a communal returning, a national teshuva, to our own hearts, to God and His commandments, to the land of Israel, and to our former status. 

I'd like to focus on the Ramban's understanding of what this restored status is. Rather than simply seeing it as a return to political and cultural autonomy, along the lines of the thousand years of  Jewish national sovereignty in Israel (roughly between 1000 BCE and 70 CE), he takes it much further: "...And mankind will, at that time, return to what it was like before the sin of Adam, that he would naturally do that which it is right to do, and he would not desire something and its opposite..."

The Ramban goes on to explain that, in the Garden of Eden, before the Fall, man naturally did that which was good, and fitting,  and did not have to struggle with his base nature to do the right thing. It is to this remarkable state, in which, the Ramban tells us, man had the free will to do whatever he wanted, but was naturally inclined to do good, that we, the Jewish people, along with all of mankind, will ultimately return. This is, of course, nothing  less than a radical, universal, Messianic state, and, according to the Ramban, we are commanded to achieve it!

I have always found this to be a very powerful idea. That we are meant to - according to Nachmanides, commanded to - return to Eden is, if taken seriously, a revolutionary notion, one which allows for, in fact demands, some far reaching changes in our thinking and behavior. For example: if, in the Garden, Adam and Eve were equals, and it is only after their sin that Eve is cursed and made subservient to Adam, then feminism is a messianic movement, one which attempts, according to the Ramban, to take us forward in the journey back to our original, egalitarian, Edenic state. Surely, if we pretend we are already in the garden, and suspend for a moment our evil inclinations, we must see that a world of equality, without subservience, is "that which it is right to do". Furthermore, if this is meant to become the state of all mankind (as Adam and Eve were, in their day, all of mankind),  then we are also looking at a universalistic position, one which sees the world as one, and erases distinctions between peoples. In a way that is both ironic and challenging, this universalizing process begins with a return to our national home in Israel. Ultimately, however, the goal is to transcend that value, and achieve a world order which is even closer to perfection, closer to the Garden of Eden. 

One can view many modern developments  - from employees'  rights and a shorter work week, to automation and the internet - as bringing us back to a before-the-Fall world, a world which is one, and in which work is not onerous or exploitive (the "sweat of the brow" thing was part of the curse). It is interesting that the advantages of automation which we were promised when I was growing  up have not panned out, and the advances made in the struggle for workers' rights have, in many areas, been rolled back: since 1973, "families now work longer hours - about two and a half or three months a year more of work on average", according to Jeff Madrick in "The Case for Big Government". This, surely, is the wrong direction, and should be seen as such from a Jewish perspective.   

The Ramban's notion that the Messianic era is essentially a return to the Garden of Eden, and is at the same time a process of reassessment and repentance in which we are commanded to engage, places upon us the dual responsibility to establish, by careful examination of the Eden story, what our real, ultimate values might be, and then, as a society, act  to achieve them, no matter how revolutionary and far-reaching the changes demanded of us might be, no matter how many out-of-Eden values we may have to rethink along the way back to the Garden. 

Nitzavim, the first of the two portions we read this week, contains one of the most stirring and enigmatic passages in the Torah. Moshe, continuing his valedictory address to the Jewish people, once again exhorts them, on the eve of his death, to do the right thing: For this Mitzvah which I command you today is not beyond you, it is not far away. It is not in the heavens, for you to say: 'who will go up into the heavens to get it for us and have us hear it, that we may observe it?'. And it is not across the sea, for you to say: 'who will cross the sea and get it for us, and have us hear it, that we may observe it?'. Rather, the word is very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart to observe it. Many different explanations have been offered about the notion that the Torah and its commandments are "very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart..." I would like to share with you a Chassidic story that some of you may have heard already about this phrase. I am using the version of the story that appears in "Chassidic Stories", compiled by Rabbi Shlomo Yosef Zevin in the 1950's. The holy Rabbi, Reb Chanoch, the Rebbe of Alexander, of Blessed Memory, said in the name of our Holy Rabbi Reb Bunim of P'shischa, of Blessed Memory, that whoever travels for the first time to a Tzaddik (righteous, holy, Chassidic master) to be together with the Chassidim, should know the story of what happened to Reb Isaac Reb Yeklish from Krakov, who built the synagogue in Krakov which is called by his name: the synagogue of Reb Isaac Reb Yeklish. This Reb Isaac was told in a dream, which he dreamed for many nights in a row, that he should go to Prague, and there, near the Castle of the King, under the bridge, he should dig in the earth, and there he will find a treasure and become rich. So, Reb Isaac went to Prague. When he arrived there he walked to the bridge near the King's Castle, and when he got close to the bridge he saw many soldiers standing there, all on guard, day and night. He saw that it would be completely impossible for him to start digging under the bridge to search for the treasure. Reb Isaac was very disappointed, having gone to so much trouble to travel so far, and now it seemed that he would have to return home, empty-handed. Upset and distressed, he walked all day, lost in thought, close to the bridge, trying to think of a way out his predicament. At night he returned to the inn in which he was staying, and the next day, again, he walked along the bridge, lost in thought. He did this for a few days. Eventually, the commander of the soldiers noticed the Jew, walking, bent over, muttering to himself, day after day, and called out to him: "Jew, what are you looking for, for whom are you waiting, that you come here day after day?" Reb Isaac told him the whole story; that for a number of nights in a row he had had the same dream, telling him that a treasure awaited him here, in Prague, under this bridge, and that he had come in search of the treasure. When the officer heard these words, he laughed. "For a dream, which has no substance or truth to it, you have gone to all this trouble and traveled so far? Who would behave in such a foolish way? I myself also had a dream, in which I was told to travel to Krakov, where there is some Jew named Reb Isaac Reb Yeklish, and if I were to dig under the oven in his house I would find a great treasure. However, as you can see, it never entered my mind to believe in foolish dreams, and to travel all the way to Krakov." When he heard the words of the officer, Reb Isaac was seized by fear and trembling, and he understood that the entire point of his coming to Prague was to hear from the officer that the treasure was, in fact, buried under his own oven, in his own home, and that he must return there and search for it. Immediately, Reb Isaac returned home, dug under his oven, and found the treasure. He became very rich, and, with his new-found wealth, built the synagogue which is called by his name. After telling the story, the Rebbe from Alexander said in the name of Reb Bunim: whoever travels to a Tzaddik or a teacher should know that the main point of his journey is to learn from the Tzaddik that he should not be searching for the treasure at the Tzaddik's place, but, rather, in his own home. And when he returns from the Tzaddik to his home he should dig and search his soul for the treasure, and if he tries he will succeed, as it is written "the word is very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart to observe it." This remarkable story, told in a Chassidic context, functions in a subversive way, as a corrective against one of the cornerstones of Chassidic life and thought: the centrality of the Tzaddik, the Rebbe, in the spiritual life of the Chassid. The trip to Prague and the King's castle represents the normative Chassidic act of visiting and learning from the Rebbe. The officer would seem to represent the Rebbe, here undermining his own position by telling the Chassid that the treasure he seeks - spiritual growth and enlightenment - is to be found at home, i.e., within himself, and within his own spiritual life. The verse from our parsha - "the word is very near to you" - is understood to mean that our ultimate interaction with God is not meant to be mediated by or through another person, no matter how saintly that person may be, but is, rather, something for us to navigate on our own, internally. The function of the Rebbe is to make this clear, to send us home to find the treasure, to teach us that it is within ourselves that our true spiritual journey takes place. It is worth noting that there are many other possible interpretations to this story. Prague and the King's Castle could stand for the attractions of foreign culture, and the story could be a lesson about loyalty to and appreciation of the values of our own Jewish heritage as opposed to the blandishments of non-Jewish society. Reb Bunim of P'shischa's use of the story as a reminder that the true religious experience is one which is internal, rather than external, and that, ultimately, all spiritual knowledge is self-knowledge, and must be arrived at through our own understanding, rather than by relying on the understanding given to us by others, is a radical lesson, and a crucial one. I will try to write something to you next week about Rosh Hashanah. If I end up not finding the time or the inspiration (such as it is), please accept my best wishes for a year of self-discovery. Shabbat Shalom, Shimon

No man is an island, entire of itself. John Donne Life is with people. Harry Golden The first of the two parshas we read this week, Nitzavim, is read every year on the Shabbat preceding Rosh Hashanah, sometimes alone and sometimes, as it is this year, together with Parshat Vayelech. The connection of Parshat Nitzavim to Rosh Hashanah is readily apparent; it is the theme of Teshuva - repentance - which is a major element of the High Holy Days and is also the theme of a central section in this week's portion (Deuteronomy, Chapter 30): And when all of these things shall befall you, the blessing and the curse which I have placed before you, and you shall take them to heart, among all the nations to which the Lord your God has thrust you away. And you return to the Lord your God and listen to His voice, according to all that I command you today, you and your children, with all your heart and all your soul. The Lord your God will restore your fortunes, and have compassion on you, he will return to collect you from all the peoples among which the Lord your God has scattered you. If you be thrust away to the ends of the heavens , from there the Lord your God will collect you, from there He will take you. And the Lord your God will bring you to the land that your fathers possessed, and you shall possess it, he will do good by you, and make you more numerous than your fathers. This section is understood by the Ramban (Nachmanides) as the Biblical source for the commandment to do teshuva - to repent. He focuses on the phrases in the first two verses - "...and you shall take them to heart...", "And you return to the Lord your God..." - and sees them as constituting a Mitzvah - commandment - to view the vicissitudes which the Jewish people experience in exile as an impetus, a reason to return to God, repent of one's sins, and, ultimately, return home to Israel. This, for Nachmanides, is the source of the entire concept of repentance. (The Rambam, Maimonides, disagrees. He locates the mitzvah of repentance elsewhere in the Torah, in the ritual of the sacrificial sin-offering, and sees the verses above as descriptive of the beginning of the Messianic era, and not as a proscriptive call to repent.) Focusing on the Nachmanidean understanding of these verses as being a mitzvah - the mitzvah to repent - one is struck by the collective nature of the experience of repentance, as described in this section. For the Ramban, the essential act of teshuva is not located in the private domain, but in the public one. It is the Jewish people as a nation whom God addresses in these verses and calls on to turn away from sin and back to Him. It is on the national stage that this drama is played out; "you and your children" are mentioned, and not just the individual. God's response to this communal act of repentance is to "...collect you from all the peoples among which the Lord your God has scattered you", and to "bring you to the land that your fathers possessed." The dynamic of soul-searching ("..and you shall take them to heart..."), self-improvement ("And you return to the Lord your God, and listen to His voice...") is rewarded on the national level - "And the Lord your God will bring you to the land that your fathers possessed, and you shall possess it..." This approach stands in contradistinction to a commonly held view of Teshuva, in which it is the individual, standing alone before God, who focuses on improving himself personally, on changing his own life for the better. Although this more personal act of repentance is certainly central to Jewish life and thought, and integral to the process we are meant to undergo during the High Holy Days, it is not, according to Nachmanides, the basic, primary act of teshuva. That, he says, is done in community, with others, as part of a nation which, as a collective, undergoes a process of self-examination and improvement. It is as a nation that we, primarily, sinned, it is as a nation that we do teshuva, and, if successful, it is as a nation that God accepts us back, literally, to our original place and status. I think that this approach has something very important to say to us about who we are. It is a commonplace that the process of modernization, beginning with the renaissance and moving on through the enlightenment, had the effect of turning man from a social being, from someone defined primarily, almost exclusively, by the collective to which he belonged, into more of an individual. The decline of the importance of community in modern urban life, the decline of the family, the rise of the importance of the individual and, concomitant with that, the emphasis on the rights of the individual qua individual, are all well known and have been widely commented upon. The Torah, according to Nachmanides, by placing the act of teshuva - the act of assessing our lives and acting on that assessment - in a communal context, is arguing that the central component of this seemingly private act is, in fact, communal, national, in nature. Yes, the individual is judged on Rosh Hashanah, and must examine and improve his own life accordingly, but, ultimately, it is not as individuals that we really live, nor, therefore, is it as individuals that we really must examine and change our lives. Our lives are lived in community, in the ways in which we act and interact with others. It is that central aspect of our lives which we must deal with ultimately - it is a communal act of repentance that is the real framework for our attempts to be better people. I would add that although Maimonides does not learn the mitzvah of teshuva from these verses, he states an interesting halacha which indicates that he, too, understands the primacy of the communal. In the Laws of Teshuva, he states that although teshuva can be done individually, repentance of the community is more effective, and is accepted by God immediately and at all times. I believe that he, too, thinks that, although we do function as individuals, and, as such have our own relationship both with ourselves and with God, it is our communal persona, our identity as a social being, that is the fullest, most complete expression of who we are. A community, a nation, doing teshuva, is the strongest expression of self-examination and self-improvement possible, and is viewed by God accordingly. This is supported by the Rambam's understanding of the verses in this week's parsha as referring to the Messianic era; the ultimate teshuva, the ultimate turning to the good and the just, must be done, and will be done, on the national level. A Jew can, and should, spend all the time he needs on inward-looking self-examination and improvement. However, if he or she does not, in the process of teshuva, take into account larger communal issues, such as the injustice, oppression and exploitation that is perpetrated in and/or by his community and his nation, then he or she has focused on the less important aspect of self-improvement. The communal canvas is much broader, more powerful and more important than the individual one; its impact is greater, it is where life is really lived, and it is there that our real work must be done this and every Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Shabbat Shalom, Shimon Felix

The two parshas we read this week, Nitzavim and Vayelech, take place during the last days of Moshe's life. The entire book of Deuteronomy has been a kind of summing up for Moshe, and with these two parshas we approach the end, in which he speaks his last words to the Jewish people and appoints Joshua to take over as leader of the nation. It is in connection with this latter task, that of naming Joshua as his successor, that Moshe and God seem to have a little disagreement. Moshe, when addressing Joshua, says the following: "…be strong, and brave, for you will go with this nation into the land which God promised to their fathers to give to them …" (Deuteronomy, 31,7) A few verses later, God says almost the same thing to him: "…be strong, and brave, for you will bring the children of Israel to the land which I promised to them, and I will be with you." (ibid, verse 23) See the difference? Moshe places Joshua with the people; he "will go with this nation" into the Promised Land. God, on the other hand, singles Joshua out as the one who "will bring the children of Israel" into the Land of Israel. He is not with the people, as Moshe has it, he is leading them. In fact, in God's formulation, Joshua is with Him - God - and no one else. The Rabbis in the Talmud (Sanhedrin 8a), notice the difference between these two speeches and explain it this way: Moshe, when charging Joshua with the role of leader, emphasized that he will not be alone, but will be entering the land "with" the people. This refers to the fact that Joshua will not be the only leader of the nation, but, rather, will be able to rely on the advice and counsel of the elders, who represent the entire nation and will help him lead them. God, on the other hand, explained things very differently to Joshua. He stresses that Joshua will be alone in bringing the people into the Land. If necessary, he will need to force them to do his, and God's, will - "hit them over their heads" - as the Rabbis put it, as he stands alone as the leader of his sometimes difficult-to-lead generation. How are we to understand this difference of opinion between God and Moshe? Why does Moshe present a model of rule by consensus, in which Joshua is part of a large group of wise men who, together, lead the people, whereas God presents Joshua with a much more autocratic model, in which he, alone, with only God at his side, often at odds with the very people he is meant to lead, is responsible to get the Jewish people to do the right thing and take possession of the Land of Israel? Well, the obvious difference between God and Moshe is that one of them is a person and the other is an omniscient, omnipotent creator of the universe. Each one of them, therefore, is speaking to Joshua about leadership from his particular point of view. Moshe is presenting Joshua with a model for leadership which is human, and therefore social, communal, and consensual. In this model people do things together, as a society. The nation is represented by a group of elders, of whom Joshua is only one - first among equals perhaps, but an equal. Together, Joshua and the nation, represented by their elders, will work things out. Moshe, as a human being, understands that this is the way humans are meant to function - with others, together, as a community. God, on the other hand, has a very different perspective, one which He shares here with Joshua. This Divine perspective is more exalted, more absolute, and much lonelier. As God Himself must take ultimate responsibility for the people He has created and, in the case of the Jewish people, chosen, while being, by definition, not really very much like them, Joshua, as a leader, must also, ultimately, see himself as alone, responsible only to his duty to get the people to do the right thing, as defined by God. Unfettered by the compromises that a communal style of leadership demands, Joshua will be obedient only to the word of God and the vision that arises from that. As God says "…and I will be with you." In this model of leadership, Joshua is "with" God, not the people. He is, in fact, called upon to be God-like, in that he must understand that the responsibility of leadership is, ultimately, a personal responsibility, his alone, and is not divisible by consensus or community. As the Rabbis see it, this divine style of leadership is one that is immediately suggestive of an ultimately adversarial relationship -"hit them over their heads" to get them to do the right thing. It would seem that the 'otherness' of the people in the divine leadership model (or the 'otherness' of the leader from the people's perspective) makes this inevitable; conflict is bound to occur in a model which sees the leader as essentially separate from those he leads. In the Talmud, these two models seem to be presented as being mutually exclusive; Moshe understands Joshua's leadership one way and God disagrees with him. I would suggest that they can, and should, coexist. It is only when both these models - the very human need to work within a consensus, within a community, as well as the divine demand for absolute personal responsibility for and obedience to the goal - are present, that Joshua, or any leader, can really lead. The point, it seems to me, is to be able to work with the people whom one is leading, while, at the same time, understanding that, ultimately, one bears complete and total personal responsibility to the goals and aims which one hopes to achieve. To adopt only Moshe's model could lead to the very common situation of no one really taking responsibility, simply because it has been ceded to everyone. To adopt only God's model can, and in fact, historically, often has, lead to the tragedy of alienation, dictatorship and totalitarianism. Shabbat Shalom, Shimon