Devarim (Deuteronomy)

Whenever we begin reading a new book in the Torah we get a chance to reflect on the diverse influences, sometimes held in tension with one another, which inform who we are as Jews. The Book of Devarim (Deuteronomy), which we begin reading this week, proposes a vision of God and spirituality that is in several important respects radically different than those that have come before.

Contrast the Book of Devarim with The Book of Shmot (Exodus). The latter is a book about seeing. Tradition holds that those who crossed the Sea of Reeds out of Egypt actually saw God with their own eyes. Rashi tells that when the Israelites sang the word "this" in the line: "This is my God, whom I will enshrine" (Exodus 15:2), they were literally pointing their fingers toward God (or at least toward the miracle). Rashi affirms that at the Sea of Reeds "even a lowly maidservant saw more than the prophets" of later generations ever beheld. Likewise, at Sinai, God's presence was made visible in smoke and flame.

Not so in Devarim. Here, Moses recasts Sinai as an aural experience rather than a visual one: "the Lord spoke to you out of the fire; you heard the sound of words but perceived no shape—nothing but a voice" (Deut. 4:12). And, of course, Devarim's most-quoted line, the Shm'a, bids us to "Hear" (6:4), rather than to see. Dvarim's approach to God is less about vision and more about language—"the sound of words'—devoid of spectacle. Devarim's idea of God is considerably more abstract, and more rooted in the intellect rather than the senses than that of Shmot. The God of Shmot is immanent; God commands the Israelites to build a sanctuary so that God "may dwell amidst them" (25:8); in Devarim it is only God's ineffable "name" that dwells there (12:11).

Our tradition does a lot for us by offering us two such distinct spiritual paths. What makes life meaningful? Sometimes, it is a sense of wonder, the feeling of 'being there.' At other times, merely hearing the story suffices.

What motivates an 18-year-old to go to High Holy Day services at Hillel? Some students are drawn to High Holy Day services at their Hillel because they seek to be enthralled by a haunting melody. These students need to be rewarded by shlichei tsibur (prayer leaders) who take their job seriously. By this I do not mean whether the person in charge decides to include or omit, say, the Service of the Kohanim, or Minchah before Kol Nidrei. To take prayer seriously means to being open to the possibility that prayer has the power to transform a person. Whether we believe that prayer can actuate such a power is beyond our control; the desire to affirm that prayer can is within it.

Other students go because they hearkened to a voice that commanded them to — the voice of their parents. And why do parents command their children to go to High Holy Day services? If you ask them, some will reply: "Tradition, I suppose. But I'm really not sure. I guess it's because my parents made me go."

As Jewish educators, we don't like to hear this. We consign arguments such as "Do it because I did it, and your grandpa did it" to the lowest rung on the pedagogical ladder. But not so fast. This is more or less Moses' message in Devarim: you didn't see anything at Sinai; there was no unmitigated holy experience, no light show. The same with the High Holy Days: you will not actually see God move from the Throne of Judgment to the Throne of Mercy. But still, you go. And you will tell your children to go, even if for you, and for them, no one guarantees that you will have a "spiritual experience." Students such as these, those who go to High Holy Days because they've always gone, or because they don't want to disappoint their parents, deserve a reward as well. One way of doing this is to tell such students, as explicitly as possible, how noble it is that they have cared enough to link themselves to their tradition, even though that tradition does not guarantee a spectacle.

Written by Michael Goldman, Hillel rabbi of the Freeman Center for Jewish Life at Duke Univeristy.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Devarim
at MyJewishLearning.com.

Moshe Rabbenu, (our teacher) begins his valedictory address with the first parsha of Devarim. He's giving the final instructions before the reins of leadership are transferred to Yehoshua. In the course of describing the history of the land to which they are about to return, Moshe warns them in the following verse that they are not to provoke the descendents of Esav...

Devarim 2:2-5
Then the Lord said to me: You have been skirting this hill country long enough now turn north. And charge the people as follows: You will be passing through the territory of your kinsmen, the descendants of Esav, who live in Seir. Though they will be afraid of you, be very careful not to provoke them. For I will not give you of their land so much as a foot can tread on...

Your Torah Navigator
1. Why are the children of Esav referred to as kinsman?
2. How is the word provoke defined here?

The Midrash in Devarim Rabba, sees the fact that the descendents of Esav are called kinsmen as significant. Esav's descendents have no spiritual connection with the Jewish people. They are pagans, and they are not privy to any revelation, but God has promised them a parcel of land and it is important that the descendents of Jacob honor that promise.

Subsequent verses permit our forebears to buy food, drink and supplies from them, but not engage in provocative behavior-even though they must have been seen as an army marching on a mission of conquest.

The Midrash also states that origins are important, because origins often create the potential for deep connection as well as deep enmity. It says:

Devarim Rabba (Lieberman) Parshat Devarim 22
Your kinsmen, the descendants of Esav, even though they are the descendents of Esav, they are still your kinsmen. Another verse echoes this sentiment by saying, "Your kinsman who hate you..." (Isaiah 66:5) Even though they hate you, they are your kinsman... And this sentiment is also echoed in the verse, "...and the outrage that will be done to your brother Jacob... (Obadiah 1:10) Even though he may kill you and plunder you, he is still your brother...

Your Midrash Navigator
1. What's the difference between fraternal hatred and hatred of one who is not related to you?
2. Which hatred has the greatest potential to be transformed into love?
3. Is the adage "You can choose your friends, but you cannot choose your family" resonate with this midrash? How?

A Word
In times of great strife, when kinsmen become brothers in name only, origins of relationships offer the potential for a way back, when they once shared something in common. The Midrash is teaching that these origins were given, by God and cannot be removed by human design. No matter what outrage people perpetrate, they cannot abrogate the potential for reconciliation, because they were not the ones who created the relationship. It is this fact that humbles us and makes us see the world as a place that existed before us and will exist after us, and the darkest moments between peoples will give way to the memory of being kinsmen once upon a time.

As we explore the three weeks and the nine days that recall the destructions of the Jewish people, we are reminded that someday these will be days of rejoicing. And brothers who have become enemies will be brothers once again.

By Rabbi Avi Weinstein, Director, Hillel's Joseph Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Learning.

This week's parsha begins the final book of the Torah — the Book of Deuteronomy. Nearly the entire book is composed of a series of speeches Moses delivered to the children of Israel shortly before his death and shortly before the children of Israel were to enter Canaan.

Two Stories
Story 1: In the first chapter, Moses recounts the chain of events that led to the incident with the spies, in which Israelite spies returned to the people and told them they would not be able to conquer the land of Canaan. Nearly all of the Israelites took the spies' words to heart and did not have faith in God or Moses. God punished the Israelites by having them wander in the desert for 40 years.

Deuteronomy 1:22-35
1. Then you came near to me, all of you, and said, "Let us send men ahead to spy the land for us and bring back word on the route we shall follow and the cities we shall come to." 2. [The spies] made for the hill country, came to the Wadi Eshcol, and spied it out. 3. They took some of the fruit of the land with them and brought it down to us. 4. And they gave us this report: "It is a good land that the Lord our God is giving to us." 5. Yet you refused to go up, and flouted the command of the Lord your God... 6. When the Lord heard your loud complaint, He was angry. 7. He vowed: Not one of these men, this evil generation, shall see the good land that I swore to give your fathers.

Story 2: Moses recounts that after hearing God's voice at Mount Sinai, the Israelites were overwhelmed and requested that Moses receive the laws from God on their behalf.

Deuteronomy 5:20-24
1. When you [the children of Israel] heard [God's] voice [at Mt. Sinai], while the mountain was ablaze with fire, you came near to me, all your tribal heads and elders, and said, "The Lord our God has just shown us His majestic presence... 2. If we hear the voice of the Lord our God any longer, we will die. 3. You (Moses) go closer and hear all that the Lord our God says, and then you tell us everything that the Lord our God tells you, and we will willingly do it."

Rashi
Rashi, quoting the Midrash, connects the two stories because they both contain the expression "you came near to me."

1. Here, (in the first story) it states: "You came near to me, every one of you..." 2. Later in Deuteronomy (in the second story) it states: "You came near to me, all your tribal heads and elders"— 3. This later "coming near" was done properly, children honoring the elders, sending them first, and elders honoring the heads of the tribes by letting them go first.
4. However, here (in story 1), "You came to me, every one of you," in an unruly crowd, children pushing the elders and elders pushing the leaders.

Your Rashi Navigator
1. In the first story, the Israelites were unruly — they were mob-like — and the story is one of sin and punishment. In the second story, the Israelites were respectful and the story is positive. Is there a connection between how the Israelites behaved when interacting with Moses and the events that took place afterward? 2. What is problematic about the Israelites' behavior in the story of the spies? Is it the fact that the Israelites were skeptical of God (content), and/or the fact that when they went to protest to Moses they behaved contemptuously toward one another (form)?

A Word
These stories present us with two models for interacting with authority figures. In the first story, the Israelites are skeptical about what their leader is telling them and they protest. But in their protesting, there is a breakdown in society and a breakdown in the hierarchy of the community. In the second story, the Israelites have unquestioning faith in Moses. While this was appropriate immediately following Mount Sinai, it is not a wise approach to take toward fallible human leaders. Ultimately, when thinking about our relationship to our leaders today, each of these models represents an imprudent extreme. We must ask ourselves, how should we respond to our leaders?

This question is especially relevant today, when the United States has fought a war in Iraq and continues to have a huge military presence there. In addition, the recent report of the Senate Intelligence Committee has concluded that "warnings about Iraq's illicit weapons were largely unfounded, its ties to Al Qaeda were tenuous, and that Saddam Hussein's military [did not] pose a threat to regional stability and American interests" (New York Times, Sunday, July 11, 2004).

The incidents in Iraq remind us that when it comes to politics we must be skeptical. We must be willing to ask difficult questions of our leaders. These stories in the Torah challenge us to ask ourselves: How do we act on our skepticism while safeguarding the principles that we hold dear as Jews and Americans?

Prepared by Rabbi Michael Mishkin, Executive Director, The Fiedler Hillel Center at Northwestern University.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Parshat Devarim at MyJewishLearning.com.

Moshe Rabbbenu now becomes a man of words, as a whole book bursts forth and, appropriately enough this book is called, "And these are the words..." In the middle of this Parsha, Moshe warns his flock to be careful not to agitate the descendents of Esav. He exhorts:

1. And we faced about and marched into the wilderness, by the Reed Sea route, as YHWH had spoken to me; we circled around the hills of Se'ir for many days-and-years.
2. Now YHWH said to me, saying:
3. Enough for you, circling around these hills! Face about, northward!
4. And as for the people, command (them), saying: You are (about) to cross the territory of your brothers, the Children of Esav, who are settled in Se'ir. Though they are afraid of you, take exceeding care!
5. Do not stir yourselves up against them, For I will not give you of their land so much as the sole of a foot can tread on, for as a possession to Esav I gave the hill-country of Se'ir.

Your Torah Navigator

1. Why all this sensitivity to the children of Esav?
2. Why isn't Israel allowed to capitalize on the fearfulness of Esav?

A Midrash from Devarim Rabba

"Enough for you circling around these hills..." The following verse from Song of Songs was referring to this passage, "I swear to you daughters of Jerusalem like rams and deer of the field if you arouse or awaken the love that you desire." (Song of Songs Chapter 2:7) In Song of Songs the Holy One exacted three oaths from the children of Israel:
1. The end of days will not be revealed.
2. They should not try to hasten the end of days.
3. They will not rebel against the kingdoms who dominate them.
If you keep these oaths all will be well. If you don't, then I will release your flesh to the goats and deer of the field. Just as they have no one to claim their blood, you will also have no one to claim your blood..."

A Word

The midrash picks up on the fact that we are not supposed to be adventurous in war. It says that this is not only a lesson for the Biblical conquest, but as God's people we must always tread carefully, even when we are feared by our enemies. We are told in explicit terms that we are not entitled to the land of the children of idolatrous Esav, even though we may believe we could succeed in its conquest. Sometimes it is our restraint that is our greatest show of strength.

Tisha B?Av, the 9th day of Av falls on Shabbat this year and therefore the fast is postponed until the 10th day of Av on Sunday. It is a hard day for Jewish memory. We mourn the destruction of the Temple and the exile that immediately followed.

The mishna in the tractate Ta?anit teaches that "When Av enters we diminish our joy." It is a time to reflect on how our behavior has brought national calamity. It is a time when we acknowledge that individual indiscretions rarely remain individual, they always effect someone else.

Tisha B?av is the time when we consider seriously that things may not be getting better. The following Midrash on the book of Lamentations, the book attributed Jeremiah which is known as AYKaH (literally How as in how could this have happened?) It considers that the corruption of Adam foreshadows the corruption in the people, and brings forward the question "How is it that we never learn from our mistakes?" "How is it that we are doomed to repeat them?"

Tisha B?Av has a redemptive feature as well, as the day passes its peak we reclaim our optimism in measured modules. We begin to greet each other and tefillin find their place on heads during the afternoon prayer. We look toward the moment when we will eat again and be allowed to believe in a good future which we will help bring. When wine will be brought to our table and optimism returns to memory.

The following midrash from lamentations quotes a verse from Hosea. The word Adam can refer to the first human or refer to people in general. This midrash defines the word literally as the first human and then traces his fall by analogizing to the fall of Israel millennia later.

When the midrash is making this comparison, what is it trying to say, and how does it relate to the Temple?s destruction?

Midrash Rabbah - Lamentations Prologue IV

R. Abbahu opened his discourse with the text, "But they like Adam have transgressed the covenant (Hos. VI, 7)." This alludes to the first man, of whom the Holy One, said, ?I brought him into the Garden of Eden and imposed a command upon him, but he transgressed it; so I punished him by driving him out and sending him forth, and lamented over him, AYKaH.? '

I brought him into the Garden of Eden,? as it is said, And the Lord God took the man, and put him into the Garden of Eden (Gen. II, 15). ?I imposed a command upon him,? as it is said, And the Lord God commanded the man, saying (ib. 16). ?But he transgressed My command,? as it is said, Have you eaten of the tree, which I commanded you not to eat? (ib. III, 11).

?So I punished him by driving him out,? as it is said, ?So He drove out the man? (ib. 24), and ?by sending him forth?, as it is said, ?Therefore the Lord God sent him forth? (ib. 23), and ' lamented over him, AYKaH?, as it is said, Where are you?-(-AYeKaH) (ib. 9), this being written with the same letters as AYKaH.

Similarly with his descendants. I brought them into the land of Israel, as it is said, And I brought you into a land of fruitful fields (Jer. II, 7). I gave them commandments, as it is said, Command the children of Israel (Lev. XXIV, 2). They transgressed My ordinances, as it is said, Yea, all Israel have transgressed Your law (Dan. IX, 11).

So I punished them by driving them out, as it is said, I will drive them out of My house (Hos. IX, 15), and by sending them forth, as it is said, Cast them out of My sight and let them go forth (Jer. XV,); and I lamented over them, AYKaH, How sitteth solitary.?

Your Midrash Navigator

1. When you read the creation story and God asks Adam "AyeKaH" (literally "Where are you?" Does that question make sense to you?

2. Now read the same story having God say AYKaH (which means HOW?) Does that make more sense?

A Word

The Torah is written without vowels?literally without voice, the vocalization of the Torah is the way tradition has consented to read it, but new voices, or, in this case different vowel sounds bring a new and equally possible reading. This literally is the interplay between the written and oral law.

AyeKaH, may ask the question, "Where are you spiritually that you allowed yourself to decline so quickly. AYKaH is a more visceral and primal response. How did you do this to me, or How did you make Me do this to You, or How do you keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again? How do you disappoint Me and make Me dwell alone?

Whenever we begin reading a new book in the Torah we get a chance to reflect on the diverse influences, sometimes held in tension with one another, which inform who we are as Jews. The Book of Devarim (Deuteronomy), which we begin reading this week, proposes a vision of God and spirituality that is in several important respects radically different than those that have come before.

Contrast the Book of Devarim with The Book of Shmot (Exodus). The latter is a book about seeing. Tradition holds that those who crossed the Sea of Reeds out of Egypt actually saw God with their own eyes. Rashi tells that when the Israelites sang the word "this" in the line: "This is my God, whom I will enshrine" (Exodus 15:2), they were literally pointing their fingers toward God (or at least toward the miracle). Rashi affirms that at the Sea of Reeds "even a lowly maidservant saw more than the prophets" of later generations ever beheld. Likewise, at Sinai, God's presence was made visible in smoke and flame.

Not so in Devarim. Here, Moses recasts Sinai as an aural experience rather than a visual one: "the Lord spoke to you out of the fire; you heard the sound of words but perceived no shape—nothing but a voice" (Deut. 4:12). And, of course, Devarim's most-quoted line, the Shm'a, bids us to "Hear" (6:4), rather than to see. Dvarim's approach to God is less about vision and more about language—"the sound of words"—devoid of spectacle. Devarim's idea of God is considerably more abstract, and more rooted in the intellect rather than the senses than that of Shmot. The God of Shmot is immanent; God commands the Israelites to build a sanctuary so that God "may dwell amidst them" (25:8); in Devarim it is only God's ineffable "name" that dwells there (12:11).

Our tradition does a lot for us by offering us two such distinct spiritual paths. What makes life meaningful? Sometimes, it is a sense of wonder, the feeling of 'being there.' At other times, merely hearing the story suffices.

What motivates an 18-year-old to go to High Holy Day services at Hillel? Some students are drawn to High Holy Day services at their Hillel because they seek to be enthralled by a haunting melody. These students need to be rewarded by shlichei tsibur (prayer leaders) who take their job seriously. By this I do not mean whether the person in charge decides to include or omit, say, the Service of the Kohanim, or Minchah before Kol Nidrei. To take prayer seriously means to being open to the possibility that prayer has the power to transform a person. Whether we believe that prayer can actuate such a power is beyond our control; the desire to affirm that prayer can is within it.

Other students go because they hearkened to a voice that commanded them to — the voice of their parents. And why do parents command their children to go to High Holy Day services? If you ask them, some will reply: "Tradition, I suppose. But I'm really not sure. I guess it's because my parents made me go."

As Jewish educators, we don't like to hear this. We consign arguments such as "Do it because I did it, and your grandpa did it" to the lowest rung on the pedagogical ladder. But not so fast. This is more or less Moses' message in Devarim: you didn't see anything at Sinai; there was no unmitigated holy experience, no light show. The same with the High Holy Days: you will not actually see God move from the Throne of Judgment to the Throne of Mercy. But still, you go. And you will tell your children to go, even if for you, and for them, no one guarantees that you will have a "spiritual experience." Students such as these, those who go to High Holy Days because they've always gone, or because they don't want to disappoint their parents, deserve a reward as well. One way of doing this is to tell such students, as explicitly as possible, how noble it is that they have cared enough to link themselves to their tradition, even though that tradition does not guarantee a spectacle.

Written by Michael Goldman, Hillel rabbi of the Freeman Center for Jewish Life at Duke Univeristy

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Devarim
at MyJewishLearning.com.

The name of the portion of week - and indeed the name of this book of the Torah - come from its second word, devarim. The Midrash teaches that the word can also be read, or vocalized, as devorim, meaning bees. As we are reminded in the popular Israeli song, "Al kol eileh," bees are the source of both honey (d'vash) and sting (oketz). So too is it with our words, devarim, and our actions, which have the power of both sweetness and sting. In our portion Moses is careful to balance the honey and sting of his words, using both when they are appropriate to get his message across. May we be able to do the same.

Prepared by Rabbi Toby Manewith, Director: Hillel's She'arim – Gateways Initiative, Hillel: The Foundation for Jewish Campus Life.

In Parshat Devarim, Hebrew for "words," Moses addresses the Israelites as they are about to enter the Holy Land of Israel. The community is preparing for this remarkable transition, and as their leader, Moses is compelled to retrace the steps of the journey that led them to this point. He addresses the community directly and recounts not only the physical distances they have traveled together and the challenges the community faced, but those he had to contend with as their leader:

Deuteronomy 1:9-14
1. Thereupon I said to you, "I cannot bear the burden of you by myself. 2. The Eternal your God has multiplied you until you are today as numerous as the stars in the sky. 3. May the Eternal, the God of your ancestors, increase your numbers a thousandfold and bless you as promised. 4. How can I bear unaided the trouble of you, and the burden, and the bickering! 5. Pick from each of your tribes personages who are wise, discerning, and experienced, and I will appoint them as your heads." 6. You answered me and said, "What you propose to do is good."

Some Questions for Thought
1. Why would Moses have publicly expressed his distress during times of crisis within the community?
2. Why follow his remarks about the burden of leadership with words of praise and blessing for the continued growth of the community?
3. Why does Moses delegate to the community the responsibility of selecting those who will create this system of guidance, judgment and leadership?

An Idea
Throughout Devarim, Moses establishes some basic leadership principles that assisted him with this journey. His vision for shared leadership is developed in Devarim and is later put into practice by the Jewish people through the establishment of the Sandedrin and a judicial system. Delegating, in a very practical way, eased the burden that Moses bore throughout this journey.

Moses initially adopted this notion of sharing the burden of leadership in Exodus 18 from Yitro, his father-in-law. After watching his son-in-law endlessly provide counsel and help community members resolve disputes, Yitro asked: "What is this thing that you are doing to the people? Why do you do it alone, while all the people stand about you from morning until evening?" (Exodus 18:14) He continues, "The thing you are doing is not right; you will surely wear yourself out, and these people as well. For the task is too heavy for you; you cannot do it alone." (Exodus 18:17-18) Yitro provides a bit of a wake-up call to Moses as he instructs him to respect the importance of his position and mission by acknowledging that he needs help.

In Pirke Avot (Ethics of Our Ancestors), we learn more of this concept of delegating responsibility: "Moses received the Torah from Sinai, and passed it on to Joshua, and Joshua to the elders, and the elders to the prophets, and the prophets passed it on to the men of the Great Assembly." (Pirke Avot 1:1) The foundation of our peoplehood would certainly not have been sustained had it not been shared. By empowering others and widening the scope of those "in the know," our tradition is enriched through ongoing deliberation and dialogue.

The burden of leadership, and the knowledge, responsibilities and obligations it entails, must be shared in order to nurture future generations of leaders and ensure continuity. Those in power can learn humility by recognizing their interdependence and the need for supportive relationships. What made Moses such a strong leader in the end was not that he was loudest or most outspoken or most proud, but that he was humble and was eventually willing to share the leadership role with others. He knew that it wasn't about him, but about the future of the group and the generations to come.

In our society, which stresses independence, autonomy and a bureaucratic system of power, it is difficult to go against the grain and ask for help and support. For our own well-being and the health of the community, leaders must remember that personal suffering does not translate to sustainable leadership. Asking for help is not an admission of weakness, but rather an opportunity to strengthen yourself and empower others.

Prepared by Lisa David, acting director, KESHER

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Parshat Devarim at MyJewishLearning.com.

I think that the book of Deuteronomy, which we begin this week, is the most poignant and therefore the most human of the five books of the Torah. It consists of Moses' farewell to the Israelites as they - and not he - stand poised to enter the Land.

Moses faces the multitudes of people before him, knowing full well that they have not really listened to him ever before, that they are stubborn and stiff-necked. And the message he has to give them is so urgent. It is critical! Yet, he cannot accompany them across the river. They must go out on their own and he will remain to die on the foreign side of the Jordan.

Moses' frustration is seen throughout the book, but he does not despair altogether. In fact, the book begins with a hopeful strategy. The first verse says, "These are the words which Moses addressed to all Israel on the other side of the Jordan." Our tradition teaches that there is not a single superfluous word in the Torah. The fact that the verse says "*all* Israel," as opposed to simply "Israel" prompted the Chassidic rabbi Simchah Bunem of Prszysucha to comment, "Moses addressed each one according to [his/her] character and age, understanding and level of perception, and measure."

By speaking to all Israel, by addressing each Jew wherever he or she stood, Moses could establish a relationship with each person. The impact of this can be enormous, because relationships are what most often changes a person's life in a profound way. If each of us feels noticed and personally addressed, no one feels lost in the shuffle or marginalized. If we see that someone paid enough attention to us to teach us where we are, we are more likely to listen and to participate.

This is true in ancient days and in our own as well, for we are like Moses. The true results of the work we all do will be revealed in the years after our students leave campus. In most cases, we probably won't be there to see what happens and try to shape it further. All we can do is to speak and act with all the passion we can about being a Jew while our students are still on campus. This is the urgency of our work.

We, like Moses, are also faced with addressing all of the thousands of Jews before us, as a community, and also as individuals, according to many different characters, ages, understandings and measures. We know it is relationships that most profoundly change a person's life. Perhaps this is Moshe Rabbeinu, our Teacher Moses' lesson to us across the centuries.

Prepared by Rabbi Lisa L. Goldstein, Executive Director, Hillel of San Diego

"When the month of Av enters we diminish [with] [our] joy." Mishnah Ta'anit 4:6

"Just as when Av enters we diminish our joy, so, too, when the month of Adar enters, we increase with [our] joy." (Babylonian Talmud, Ta'anit 29a)

Your Mishnah and Talmud Navigator
1. Why do both joy and sadness require an introductory period of joy or sadness?
2. What does this say about the nature of anticipation?

A Word
Jewish holidays always engage in a reliving of Jewish events. If we are to be truly reenacting our great and tragic historical moments, this requires preparation. The rituals of mourning: abstaining from wine and meat and parties during the first nine days of Av help groom our souls to feel the visceral loss of a Temple we never knew as we focus on the bitterness of exile. Similarly, the joy of Purim requires preparation as well; it is the joy of the season that makes us feel lucky, just as the three weeks before Tisha B'Av is seen as an unlucky and therefore unhappy period.

In some schools of Hasidic thought where true sadness was considered sinful they picked up on a grammatical anomaly in the Hebrew which literally translated means "When Av enters we diminish with joy."

They understood it to mean that since it is natural to feel sad as we relive these sad anniversaries, the way to diminish the pain of exile and destruction is "with joy." The natural response to calamity is to not lose our perspective on joy.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein, director, Joseph Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Learning.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Parshat Devarim at MyJewishLearning.com.

The "Shema" as we call it, has become the cornerstorne of Jewish literacy. Sometimes it is the only stone that some of us have. We are given these words at a young age. Many of us commit these six words to memory and they become, at the very least, a basis for Jewish identification, if not faith. So, what do these six Hebrew words mean? In English, we translate "Hear Israel, YHWH, our God, YHWH is One."

Your Shema Navigator

1. Why "Hear" and not "See"? What's the difference?
2. Why is Israel alone addressed here?
3. Why is it our God, and not the God of the universe?
4. What does "YHWH is One" mean in this context?

Rashi Comments on the Words "...Yhwh Is One."

YHWH who is our God now, but not the God of the pagan nations, He will be one God in the future, as it is written "For then I will turn the peoples around to a clear language, that they may all call upon the name of YHWH..." Tzephaniah 3:9) and it is written, "On that designated day YHWH will be one and His Name one." (Zechariah 14:3)

Your Rashi Navigator

1. How does Rashi understand One God in this context?
2. How are the verses he quotes being used as prooftexts for his reading?
3. According to the verse in Zechariah, what makes God's Name one?
4. How does all the people calling on the same God, make God one?
5. According to Rashi, what is oneness?
6. Did you understand oneness the same way?

A Word

During World War II some Jewish parents were forced to hide their small children in Catholic orphanages in order to save them. Often, the parents were killed during the war and there would be no one to claim them after the war was over.

Rabbi Eliezer Silver took it upon himself to travel throughout Europe where he heard Jewish children had been hidden. In one of these places he was told by the people in charge that they had no record of the children's background, so that they had no way of telling which children came from Jewish families. Since the children were given over anonymously and had all been baptized, there was no reasonable way that Rabbi Silver could claim which of the children had come from Jewish homes.

Rabbi Silver made one request. Could he possibly come to see the children while they were being put to bed? The priest in charge said he could, but this would be as far as he was prepared to go.

As the children were being put to bed, Rabbi Silver said in a firm, but gentle voice, "Shema Yisrael, YHWH Elokeinu, YHWH Echad." Suddenly, the dormitory was filled with children's cries for their mother. Rabbi Silver looked at the Priest, and said, "These children are mine."

This first Jewish memory bestowed by loving mothers as they kissed their girls and boys good night gave these children a place among their people that they could claim. The power of rote declaration without comprehension has never been more clear.

The Oneness of God by definition is a mystical concept which no human can truly fathom. We do know, however, the unifying power this one sentence has had throughout the millenia. In the present, it brings many of us from different backgrounds together and the Prophets anticipate a time when the gift of Shema will be shared with all of humanity.

Parshat Eikev begins with Moses recounting the transgressions of the Israelites in the desert, carefully laying out a new set of laws, and reconnecting the people to the covenant and the promises to come.

"This shall be the reward when you hearken to the ordinances, and you observe and perform them; Hashem, your God, will safeguard for you the covenant and the kindness that he swore to your forefathers." (Deut. 7:12)

Moses recounts all of the things that God does for the people while in the wilderness. He goes back and forth with his story, reminding the people both of the miracles they witnessed and of the struggles they had with him and with God. He reminds them that God brought them out of Egypt and provided for them in the wilderness, and reminds them they were provided sustenance, so that they would not starve. A new substance, manna, falls from the sky. Every day, more manna comes just enough to sustain them until the following day. This had both a positive and negative association for the people.

"He afflicted you and let you hunger, then He fed you manna that you did not know, nor did your forefathers know, in order to make you know that not by bread alone does man live, rather by everything that emanates from the mouth of God does man live." 8:3

Here also is evidence to the people's struggle with God at the beginning. "He afflicted you…" Moses specifically distinguishes the people at Sinai from those in the past, because the present situation also poses different challenges. When Moses says, "Nor did your forefathers know," he acknowledges them in the present.

Most importantly, the verse notes that the manna is more than just food, it also holds a symbol. On one hand, God is continuing to take care of them, as God took them out of Egypt, and now is providing for their basic needs. On the other hand, God first let them experience hunger, and now gives them just enough manna each day to sustain them.

As Moses retells the story of leaving Egypt in Deuteronomy, one verse in particular from Eikev draws a lot of commentary relating to the manna that God provides. We read that a promise is made to the people that when they reach the Holy Land they will be able to "eat bread without poverty." (Deut. 8:9) What does this mean? Is it simply a blessing for prosperity, to always have enough to eat? Is it implying that while in the desert they were eating bread while in poverty? It seems the line denotes that bread, or manna, alone is not enough.

Rashi, a famous medieval scholar, comments on this verse, comparing physical sustenance to spiritual fulfillment. He says: "The Torah speaks not of poverty of insufficient calories nor of not enough money to buy food. The subject is spiritual poverty." There is more to life than simply taking what sustenance is provided to you.

Moses is preparing the people for the commandments, actions to live out the Torah. Rashi also says the answer to feed spiritual poverty is to perform all of the mitzvot, the commandments, in their entirety. Whatever we believe to be the true answer to spiritual fulfillment, we see that Moses is basically preparing the people to act.

Rebbe Menachem Mendl of Kotzk also taught about the importance and power of sincere action. Known as the Kotzker, he was the author of a specific line of thought in Chassidic Judaism at the turn of the 19th century. The Kotzker taught first to always act in search of truth "as if it had not been known before." He relates this to prayer, saying that every day one should approach prayer as if it is a new experience. The Kotzker's words also apply as an approach to spiritual poverty or fulfillment. There has to be something sincere and new about an experience. If one is simply taking what is placed before them, they have no ownership over it, making it less valuable.

We are compelled to interpret, discuss and learn from what we are presented with in order to set an example, or perhaps even to create our own experiences. We are faced often in our lives with making "Jewish choices." Sometimes that even means making the choice to be Jewish, and we learn from Parshat Eikev that to simply take what is given to us is not enough. Moses stressed to the people that this is their time to act. He states: "Rather, it is your own eyes that see all the great work of Hashem…" (Deut. 11:7) It is a recurring theme for Jews today to make an experience relevant to their lives. For example, at a Passover Seder we stress that it was not other people that were brought out of Egypt, but that it happened to us. We connect to our history by owning our experiences today and striving to find new meaning in them.

In the reality of the world we live in, on our respective (or hypothetical) campuses, this directly affects the work that we do. Are we in the business of creating spirituality? Do we just provide sustenance? Or should we be creating an environment in which we can each be comfortable wrestling with our Jewish decisions in a way that is meaningful to us? Perhaps the most spiritual experience we can have is the one we create for ourselves. Fulfillment does not rest merely on manna. As a people, we need an environment in which to explore, and the challenge to create meaning in our own experiences.

Prepared by Lisa Stella, former Soref fellow at Hillel's Charles and Lynn Schusterman International Center.

The word "forget" - root shin, chaf, chet - is used 16 times in the Torah, 13 in the book of Deuteronomy. Moses is concerned that the Israelites will forget their covenant with God, the miracles that God performed, or even forget God entirely.

Devarim 4:9
But guard yourselves and guard your souls scrupulously, lest you forget the things that you saw with your own eyes and so that they do not fade from your mind as long as you live.

Your Torah Navigator
1. Why does Moses think that forgetting is even in the realm of possibility? How could the Israelites forget what they'd experienced in slavery or the amazing things that happened on their way to freedom? 2. What does Moses really want them to remember? 3. How do they guard against forgetting?

Talmud Menachot 99B
Resh Lakish said anyone who forgets one word of his learning violates a negative commandment, as it says: "But take utmost care and watch yourselves scrupulously, lest you forget, etc." Ravina said: "take care," "lest," are two negative commandments. Rav Nachman bar Yitzhak said: he violates three negative commandments, as it says: "But take utmost care and watch yourselves scrupulously, so that you do not forget...." Could this be the case if it was unintentional? It is said, "And lest they depart from your heart;" one is not guilty unless he (deliberately) removes them from his heart.

A Word
The rabbis of the Talmud affirm Moses' admonition, and, like Moses', their concern is not solely for the knowledge acquired. What the Israelites "saw with [their] own eyes" was the glory of God's revelation at Mt. Sinai - the revelation of Torah and of God's own self to us. At this moment, all Jews (because tradition teaches that all Jews were present at Sinai) experienced connection and even unity with the Holy One. Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzato (18th century) suggests that experience fundamentally changed the essence of the Jewish people, leaving an indelible impression upon our hearts.

So what is intentional forgetting? It is separating ourselves from God, placing an obstacle between ourselves and the Divine, and changing our hearts so that God leaves no impression upon us.

Our hearts are made to be open to the Holy One. Let us listen for God's presence, accustom our hearts to perceiving it - whether it is a still, small voice or one from the whirlwind - and answer.

Prepared by Rabbi Lina Grazier-Zerbarini, Associate Rabbi, Slifka Center for Jewish Life at Yale.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Parshat Vaetchanan at MyJewishLearning.com.

This week's Torah portion, Va'eschanan, is the second in the book of Devarim (Deuteronomy). Moses continues his "recap" of the sojourning of the Jewish people in the desert on their way to their destination, the Land of Israel. After beginning this week's portion with a passionate (though failed) plea to God to reconsider God's decree that Moses would not enter Israel with the Jewish people, Moses acquiesces, and moves on to teaching the people the "decrees and ordinances" which God has commanded him to share with them.

Parshat Va'eschanan contains possibly the two most "famous" texts of the Torah -- the Shema (and the following paragraph, "V'ahavta") and the Ten Commandments. Moses' rendition of the Ten Commandments (5:6-18) is one of the most discussed sections in all of the Torah - both for its general content, and for the differences between this version and the Torah's earlier recounting of the Ten Commandments when they were given at Mount Sinai (Exodus 20:1-14). These differences lead some to conclude that the Books of Exodus and Deuteronomy were written by different authors. Others believe they were intended by Moses (and God) to teach us different things about each commandment. Either way, when looked at together, the two versions of the Ten Commandments can be very illuminating.

One of the most poignant differences occurs in the description of the Fourth Commandment, regarding Shabbat. The commandment in Exodus says that the Jewish people must "Zachor et ha Shabbat" (Remember the Sabbath). In this week's parsha, Moses commands the people to "Shamor et ha Shabbat" (Safeguard the Sabbath). Conversely, in Exodus the reason given for Shabbat observance is tied to the creation of the world ("and God Rested on the Seventh Day"). Here it is tied to our freedom from slavery in Egypt ("As a Remembrance of the Exodus from Egypt.")

Your Deuteronomy Navigator

1. What is the difference between the two words used to describe Shabbat observance ("remember" and "safeguard")?
2. How would each of these verbs change the way we conceptualize Shabbat?
3. What might the creation of the world and the exodus from Egypt have in common?
4. What can we learn about Shabbat from each of these parallels?

A Word

Once, I was leading a Friday afternoon "Kabbalat Shabbat" service for a group of eight year olds. I prefaced our ceremony by explaining that we keep Shabbat because God rested on the Seventh Day of Creation. One little girl raised her hand with a question that stumped me. "If we keep all the other Jewish holidays, like Passover, on the day they happened, why don't we only keep Shabbat on the seventh day of the year, and not every week?"

The 13th Century commentator Nachmanides (Ramban) explains the two words the Torah uses for Shabbat observance by saying that when God commanded the Jewish people regarding Shabbat, they heard "safeguard" while Moses heard "remember." The Jewish people understood that Shabbat would include Laws which must not be desecrated on that day. Moses, however, understood the commandment on a higher level - that we should "remember" Shabbat all the time, and make it such a part of us that desecrating it is not even a possibility; if one truly remembers Shabbat, then one won't need to be reminded not to desecrate it, and can focus on how he or she can integrate the values of Shabbat into his or her worldview. This is obviously a higher spiritual achievement than simply being reminded not to do specific types of work once a week.

Shabbat is connected to the stories of creation and the exodus from Egypt because both are such powerful examples of God's omnipresence and ability to shape our world. Shabbat is not just another Jewish holiday. By "remembering" the Sabbath, a person can remember many of the values the Torah teaches, and can act as a reminder of what the Jewish people have learned from God's two most powerful and talked about overt miracles.

The answer to the little girl's question was that Shabbat isn't just a day in which we rest because God rested. Shabbat is a parable which teaches us that Judaism as a whole cannot be viewed as a system of laws which simply need to be "safeguarded" (although this is one aspect of what God asks of us). The higher spiritual path is to "remember" our Judaism, to make it such a part of us that Jewish law and tradition becomes not a burden, but an opportunity to incorporate values and a connection to the Almighty into our everyday lives.

Prepared by Joel Lynn, Director, Goucher College.

In Parshat Va'etchanan, and in the book of Deuteronomy in general, there is a tangible sense of foreboding. The long journey that Moses has taken with the Israelites from Egypt and through 40 years in the desert is coming to an end. As befitting concluding remarks, Moses continues to warn the Israelites to stay on the straight path and remember all that God has done for them. Moses goes on to remind the Israelites of specific laws that they were already commanded to observe, including the 10 commandments, and mentions some new laws that are relevant for their new lives in Israel. Moses reminds them that their success in the land of Israel is contingent upon their compliance with God's commandments.

Despite the many important themes found in this week's portion, the most striking theme is unrelated to the Israelites. The parsha begins with a record of an earlier dialogue between God and Moses. Not content to accept God's earlier pronouncement (Numbers 20:12) that Moses will die in the desert rather than lead his people into Israel, Moses pleads with God to let him go to Israel.

I pleaded with the Lord at that time, saying, "O Lord God, You who let Your servant see the first works of Your greatness and Your mighty hand, You whose powerful deeds no god in heaven or on earth can equal! Let me, I pray, cross over and see the good land on the other side of the Jordan, that good hill country, and the Lebanon." But the Lord was wrathful with me on your account and would not listen to me. The Lord said to me, "Enough! Never speak to Me of this matter again! Go up to the summit of Pisgah and gaze about, to the west, the north, the south, and the east. Look at it well, for you shall not cross yonder Jordan. Give Joshua his instructions, and imbue him with strength and courage, for he shall go across at the head of this people, and he shall allot to them the land that you may only see."

The rabbis in the Babylonian Talmud (Sotah, 14a) ponder what feeds Moses' strong desire to go to Israel. According to Rabbi Simlai, Moses wants to go to Israel because of the many commandments relating to the land of Israel that can only be fulfilled there. But whatever the reason for God's refusal to allow Moses to enter the land of Israel (see commentaries on Numbers 20: 12 for a discussion), or Moses' motivation for wanting to go, Moses clearly has a burning desire to go to the land of Israel before he dies. According to the Beit Midrash (1, 124), Moses' desire to enter the land is so strong that he asks God if he can fly there as a bird or swim there as a fish, if he is not destined to enter the land in human form.

The very name of the portion, Va'etchanan, means "I pleaded." Rashi explains that Moses chooses his language carefully, using the root chet, nun, nun, rather than another Hebrew word for asking, because the root chet, nun, nun implies the giving of something for nothing. Moses, therefore, pleads with God to allow him to enter Israel, not based on Moses' merit (which had not worked thus far), but based upon God's goodness. Moses wants so much to go to Israel, not because he feels particularly worthy, but because he feels connected to this land. Moses wants a free ride to Israel because it is his birthright.

As Hillel professionals promoting birthright israel on our campuses, there is much we can learn from Moses' pleading with God to go to Israel. It's humbling to think that our students, regardless of their Jewish knowledge or level of observance, have the same connection to and same birthright to go to Israel as Moses. More importantly, we have the privilege of providing our students with the gift that not even Moses received.

Prepared by Leebie Mallin, director, Hillel at the College of Staten Island

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Parshat Vaetchanan at MyJewishLearning.com.

This Shabbat, "Shabbat Nachamu," offers us comfort after the intense mourning for Jerusalem and the Temple that we experience on the fast of Tisha B'Av and the three weeks that precede it. The name "Shabbat Nachamu" comes from the special haftara from the book of Isaiah, in which the prophet Isaiah instructs the people to be comforted.

On "Shabbat Nachamu" we read the Torah portion of Parshat Vaetchanan. It contains many important elements including Moses' recount of the Decalogue and God's revelation to the people at Sinai, and the first paragraph of the Shema, which is perhaps the most well known and frequently recited passage of the Torah. Parshat Vaetchanan also deals with the issue of the choseness and the uniqueness of the Jewish people. This is a difficult topic as it seems to directly contradict many of our values as Americans living in the 21st Century. There are two passages where this theme appears in the parsha.

Deuteronomy 4:5-8
See, I have imparted to you laws and rules, as the Lord my God has commanded me, for you to abide by in the land that you are about to enter and occupy. Observe them faithfully, for that will be proof of your wisdom and discernment to other peoples, who on hearing of all these laws will say, "Surely that great nation is a wise and discerning people." For what great nation is there that has a god so close at hand as is the Lord our God whenever we call upon Him? Or what great nation has laws and rules as perfect as all this Teaching that I set before you this day.

Deuteronomy 7:6-8
For you are a people consecrated to the Lord your God: of all the peoples on earth the Lord our God chose you to be His treasured people. It is not because you are the most numerous of peoples that the Lord set his heart on you and chose you - indeed, you are the smallest of peoples; but it was because the Lord favored you and kept the oath He made to your fathers that the Lord freed you with a mighty hand and rescued you from the house of bondage, from the power of Pharaoh king of Egypt.

Your Torah Navigator
1. Compare the two passages. Is the nature of the choseness of the Children of Israel different or the same in each passage? How so?
2. Look closely at the language used to describe the choseness of the Jewish people. What images do the descriptions evoke? What does the language used connote about our relationship with God? About our relationships with non-Jews? About non-Jews relationship with God?
3. According to Deuteronomy 4:5-8 what makes Jews unique? Do you agree with this assessment? Today, is there something that makes Jews or being Jewish unique?
(Note: The Hebrew word for "Teaching" in verse 8 is "Torah." Does this affect any of your answers?)

A Word
The notion of choseness is difficult to understand, and not always the most comfortable of topics. Does it mean that we are inherently better than non-Jews simply because we are Jewish? Are we capable of having a relationship with God not attainable by everyone? There are certainly many people throughout history who thought precisely that. Rabbi Yehuda HaLevy, for example, the famed 12th Century poet and philosopher felt that Jews were inherently at a higher spiritual level than non-Jews. In his monumental work, the Kuzari, he explains that Jews are capable of reaching levels of spirituality and closeness to God not available to non-Jews. HaLevy's attitude does not sit well with many contemporary thinkers. At the same time, however, many of us feel that there is a special set of Jewish values and principles and that Judaism has something unique to offer the world. More modern Jewish thinkers and/or movements tend to downplay the concept of choseness, and some movements have changed the traditional liturgy to eliminate all references to choseness.

What do you think of the concept of choseness? How do you relate to the issues outlined above?

Prepared by Elliot Kaplowitz, Iyyun Fellow, Schusterman International Center

Parshat Eikev begins with Moses recounting the transgressions of the Israelites in the desert, carefully laying out a new set of laws, and reconnecting the people to the covenant and the promises to come.

"This shall be the reward when you hearken to the ordinances, and you observe and perform them; Hashem, your God, will safeguard for you the covenant and the kindness that he swore to your forefathers." (Deut. 7:12)

Moses recounts all of the things that God does for the people while in the wilderness. He goes back and forth with his story, reminding the people both of the miracles they witnessed and of the struggles they had with him and with God. He reminds them that God brought them out of Egypt and provided for them in the wilderness, and reminds them they were provided sustenance, so that they would not starve. A new substance, manna, falls from the sky. Every day, more manna comes just enough to sustain them until the following day. This had both a positive and negative association for the people.

"He afflicted you and let you hunger, then He fed you manna that you did not know, nor did your forefathers know, in order to make you know that not by bread alone does man live, rather by everything that emanates from the mouth of God does man live." 8:3

Here also is evidence to the people's struggle with God at the beginning. "He afflicted you…" Moses specifically distinguishes the people at Sinai from those in the past, because the present situation also poses different challenges. When Moses says, "Nor did your forefathers know," he acknowledges them in the present.

Most importantly, the verse notes that the manna is more than just food, it also holds a symbol. On one hand, God is continuing to take care of them, as God took them out of Egypt, and now is providing for their basic needs. On the other hand, God first let them experience hunger, and now gives them just enough manna each day to sustain them.

As Moses retells the story of leaving Egypt in Deuteronomy, one verse in particular from Eikev draws a lot of commentary relating to the manna that God provides. We read that a promise is made to the people that when they reach the Holy Land they will be able to "eat bread without poverty." (Deut. 8:9) What does this mean? Is it simply a blessing for prosperity, to always have enough to eat? Is it implying that while in the desert they were eating bread while in poverty? It seems the line denotes that bread, or manna, alone is not enough.

Rashi, a famous medieval scholar, comments on this verse, comparing physical sustenance to spiritual fulfillment. He says: "The Torah speaks not of poverty of insufficient calories nor of not enough money to buy food. The subject is spiritual poverty." There is more to life than simply taking what sustenance is provided to you.

Moses is preparing the people for the commandments, actions to live out the Torah. Rashi also says the answer to feed spiritual poverty is to perform all of the mitzvot, the commandments, in their entirety. Whatever we believe to be the true answer to spiritual fulfillment, we see that Moses is basically preparing the people to act.

Rebbe Menachem Mendl of Kotzk also taught about the importance and power of sincere action. Known as the Kotzker, he was the author of a specific line of thought in Chassidic Judaism at the turn of the 19th century. The Kotzker taught first to always act in search of truth "as if it had not been known before." He relates this to prayer, saying that every day one should approach prayer as if it is a new experience. The Kotzker's words also apply as an approach to spiritual poverty or fulfillment. There has to be something sincere and new about an experience. If one is simply taking what is placed before them, they have no ownership over it, making it less valuable.

We are compelled to interpret, discuss and learn from what we are presented with in order to set an example, or perhaps even to create our own experiences. We are faced often in our lives with making "Jewish choices." Sometimes that even means making the choice to be Jewish, and we learn from Parshat Eikev that to simply take what is given to us is not enough. Moses stressed to the people that this is their time to act. He states: "Rather, it is your own eyes that see all the great work of Hashem…" (Deut. 11:7) It is a recurring theme for Jews today to make an experience relevant to their lives. For example, at a Passover Seder we stress that it was not other people that were brought out of Egypt, but that it happened to us. We connect to our history by owning our experiences today and striving to find new meaning in them.

In the reality of the world we live in, on our respective (or hypothetical) campuses, this directly affects the work that we do. Are we in the business of creating spirituality? Do we just provide sustenance? Or should we be creating an environment in which we can each be comfortable wrestling with our Jewish decisions in a way that is meaningful to us? Perhaps the most spiritual experience we can have is the one we create for ourselves. Fulfillment does not rest merely on manna. As a people, we need an environment in which to explore, and the challenge to create meaning in our own experiences.

Prepared by Lisa Stella of Hillel's Charles and Lynn Schusterman International Center.

In Parshat Ekev (Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25) Moses calls on the Israelites to demonstrate their continuing gratitude for the many ways God fulfilled the covenant with the Israelites so that they may continue to benefit as they move forward into the promised land: "And it shall come to pass (vehaya ekev), because you listen to these laws and do them, your God will observe the covenant and the mercy which He swore to your fathers."

Moses served as the quintessential rav, or spiritual teacher, reminding his pupils, the emerging Jewish people, of their history to help them create a better future. Nahum Sarna, who passed away a few weeks ago, was just such a teacher. One of the greatest Biblical scholars of the 20th century, Sarna was also a rabbi who infused his classroom with warmth, humor, intense scholarship and profound love for the Jewish story. Many Hillel professionals were privileged to study with him during his years at Brandeis University.

Sarna's unique style bridged the worlds of traditional Torah study and a modern historical approach to the text. A Sarna class would typically include references to archeology, ancient Near Eastern languages and Jewish tradition. Inevitably, his historical insights demonstrated how the Jewish people differed from their ancient contemporaries and added profound depth to students' understanding of the text.

Take, for example, his explanation of the Biblical story of the Golden Calf which is mentioned in this week's portion. "And I looked and, behold, you had sinned against the Lord your God; you had made a molten calf; ye had turned aside quickly out of the way which the Lord had commanded you. And I took hold of the two tablets and cast them out of my two hands and broke them before your eyes." (Deut. 9:16-17)

In his book Exploring Exodus, Sarna points out that the breaking of the tablets was not just an expression of Moses' frustration, but an ancient custom that symbolized the breaking of a covenant between two parties -- just as the Israelites had violated their covenant with God by creating a false god. Similarly, the burning, pulverizing and scattering of the Golden Calf over water was a common practice to demonstrate total annihilation of an enemy.

In the Torah story, Moses forced the Israelites to drink the water with the calf's ashes. Why such a strange act? Sarna draws from Talmudic commentators who noted that Jewish women accused of adultery were also forced to drink a bitter potion to assess their guilt. Is this a coincidence? Is it just an interesting theory proposed by later rabbis? Sarna finds support for the Talmudic theory in Akkadian marriage documents where the word for adultery is the same term the Torah uses for the "great sin" of the Golden Calf. Sarna writes: "It is reasonable, therefore, to perceive in Moses' action a strong intimation of a parallel with the suspected adulteress. Quite likely, the potion administered to all the Israelites…. and the breaking of the Tablets, are thus seen to be closely connected, both being symbols that express verdicts of infidelity." Thus, historical scholarship not only supports rabbinic Biblical interpretation, it also reinforces the image of a love pact between God and the Jewish people.

One of the joys of studying with Sarna was his humor. Unlike other scholars of his stature, humor was part of his teaching style and he punctuated his classes with puns, good and bad. I cannot read his commentary above on the bitter waters without thinking that he would have called them "sotah water," "sotah" being the Biblical term for an unfaithful wife. He once said that one of the smallest characters in the Bible was Job's friend, Bildad the Shuhite (get it: shoe-height).

I'm sure that the humor was meant to create a warm classroom environment. Sarna was a remarkable scholar who prided himself on his relationship with students. His office door was always open to even the lowliest of students, including me. I was not a stellar student in his class, to say the least. And yet he met with me to offer advice on a graduate-level paper I was writing years after I had my last class with him.

Although he was demanding of his students, he was equally demanding of himself. In a eulogy for his former teacher, Brandeis Prof. Marc Brettler, recalled that he once asked Sarna about his proudest accomplishment. He did not mention his honorary degrees, or his books, or his articles, or his numerous awards, but said "that I never came to class unprepared." Brettler also remembered that at least once a week, Sarna would read from one of his index cards: "On such and such a date, when I taught this passage, Mr. or Ms. So and So (a former student) suggested that this verse or word should be interpreted in the following way." When pressed, Sarna admitted that he meant to illustrate the rabbinic dictum, based on a verse in Esther: "anyone who cites a tradition in the name of its originator, brings redemption to the world."

In his teaching, his openness, his love of text and his commitment to the Jewish people, Sarna was a model for Hillel professionals and for Jewish studies teachers alike.

Other appreciations:
Biblical Scholar Nahum Sarna, 'Understanding Genesis' Author (registration required)
Nahum Sarna set the course for meaningful biblical scholarship

Selected Sarna writings:
Understanding Genesis, (1966); Exploring Exodus, (1986); Commentary on Genesis (1989); Commentary on Exodus (1991), and Songs of the Heart: An Introduction to the Book of Psalms (1993), a study of selected psalms.

Prepared by Jeff Rubin, associate vice president for communications

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Ekev at MyJewishLearning.com.

Parashat Va-etchanan contains some of the most noteworthy passages in the entire Torah. The Ten Commandments are recorded for a second time. The Shema and its first paragraph are also contained in this portion. But the lines of text that struck me are the lines that read as follows:

And now, O Israel, give heed to the laws and rules that I am instructing you to observe, so that you may live to enter and occupy the land…You shall not add anything to what I command you or take anything away from it, but keep the commandments of the Lord your God that I enjoin upon you. (Deuteronomy 4:1-2)

I, of course, am not the only one to have taken note of these lines. Rashi, a medieval French scholar, suggests that this passage simply means what it says. You literally should not add or subtract. The Torah says that there are four species, the lulav (palm), etrog (citron), hadasim (myrtle), and aravot (willow) that Jews take on the holiday of Sukkot (Festival of Booths). The Torah does not say to take five, so one should literally not add a fifth species or take away one of the four. Simply do not add and do not subtract.

The Sforno, another medieval commentator from Italy, understands these verses in a different way. He suggests that the verse comes to tell us that "one should not think that once the cause (reason) of the prohibition is removed, then it is not sinful to diminish." Meaning that it is not for us to determine cause or reason for our following of the commandments, rather we simply must follow what is written in the Torah.

These explanations sound simple enough. However, it seems to me that they do not speak to the modern reality of Judaism. The reality is that much of contemporary Jewish practice is not based on the words of the Torah. Practice has been dictated by the rabbis who added much to our understanding of the Torah, both literally and figuratively. In the Diaspora, many Jews celebrate eight days of Passover and eight days of Sukkot, yet nowhere in the Torah will you find a passage that talks about eight days of Passover. You will, however find passages that describe a seven-day holiday. We celebrate an eighth day because the rabbis added an extra day.

Also, let's be honest. It has been a long time since the Torah was understood and interpreted in one specific way. Perhaps it could even be argued that that time never existed. After all, at the original revelation the text of the Bible states specifically that everyone in the nation experienced it. Commentators suggest that not only did everyone experience revelation, but everyone understood it in their own way, "where they were at."

So where does this leave us? It is impossible to claim that over time Jews have not added and subtracted from the Torah. One needs only to look around and reflect on the cornucopia of Jewish practice and expression that exists today, to recognize that truth. We could then relegate our original passage of text to the purgatory that is "texts that made sense for the time they were written, but do not apply now." I think that is one potential easy answer, but that does not allow us to glean an important and applicable message.

Later on in the Torah portion, Moshe makes the following statement to the individuals who stand on the doorstep of the Land of Israel:

The Lord our God made a covenant with us…It was not with our fathers that the Lord made this covenant, but with us, the living, every one of us who is here today (Deuteronomy 5:2-3).

Moshe's words apply as much now as they did then. Each and every Jew has the opportunity and responsibility to make Judaism and their relationship to the Divine their own. Judaism is not something that exists in the past, but must be something that lives and breathes in the present.

To me, the key to understanding the first lines of text, is trying to understand what it means to be a part of the living covenant of the Jewish people. In my mind the prohibition to add or subtract things from the Torah does not refer to simple addition and subtraction. The essence of the idea is that we should not take our relationship to Judaism and God for granted. Frivolous additions and subtractions are forbidden. Intentional and thoughtful additions and subtractions should be embraced.

Why should they be embraced? The truth is that the additions and subtractions that we all make with regard to our personal Judaism have the potential to create divisiveness within the Jewish community, and indeed often do. Our challenge is to be intentional with our Judaism so that we can feel as though, we the living, are a part of the covenant described in the Torah, while embracing others in their quest to do the same.

Prepared by Reuben Posner, Jewish Education Associate in Hillel's Joseph Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Learning.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Vaetchanan
at MyJewishLearning.com.

This week's Torah reading embraces Moses's discourses to the Israelites at the end of the forty years of wandering prior to their entry into the land of Israel. He recounts the significant events which occurred and reiterates many of the laws already presented in earlier sections of the Torah (hence the name of the book, "Deuteronomy," which means "second law" or "repetition of the law." One of the names for Deuteronomy in Hebrew is "Mishneh Torah," i.e. "repetition of the law").

Perhaps the two most significant texts of the Jewish religion are found in this week's reading. In chapter 5 we find the repetition of the Ten Commandments, and in chapter six we have the presentation of the Shema. The second line of the Shema, Deuteronomy 6:5 begins "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your might." This paragraph is commonly known as the "ve'ahavta," and is recited twice a day by traditional Jews.

The commentator Sefat Emet analyzes this verse and identifies something logically troubling about the command to love: It is troubling: isn't love a human emotion? How can love be commanded? What would one do if the feeling of love is missing?

Rather, it seems to me that love of God is rooted in the innermost parts of the human soul. But sometimes it is necessary to arouse that love and bring it to the forefront through the power of action. This is what is meant by the commandment, "you shall love," i.e. that you should perform actions which arouse the power of the dormant to love God.

Our tradition has been one of action much more than of faith. While faith in God and faith in the divine nature of the Torah underlies Jewish practice, our tradition recognizes that faith cannot truly be regulated. We can demand action but we cannot really demand faith. No one can know for certain what someone else believes.

Another example of this is the commandment not to covet. Our tradition explains that this means we are not allowed to take actual steps which lead up to another transgression, such as creating an environment which will allow us to steal or commit adultery. In this case the coveting is a sin in addition to the actual theft or adultery. Merely desiring what is forbidden without taking any steps towards transgression is not a violation of the commandment against coveting.

According to Sefat Emet there are actions we take which arouse the love of God. Related to this the commentator Ben Ya'ir Ha'Cohen states on the same verse that "it is not possible to love God without first loving Israel." Love precedes and fosters love. Loving actions precede love. Human beings have been created in God's image, and if we take actions of love towards other human beings we will feel that love towards the whole of humanity and this will, in turn, arouse our love of God.

When we spend time in a homeless shelter, or teach someone illiterate to read, or bring comfort to someone else's life, or spark a sense of Jewishness in someone who is seeking meaning or identity in his or her life we are doing God's work and demonstrating our love of God.

Let us learn from the words of Sefat Emet. Let us take positive actions in our lives to make the world better for others and for ourselves. Let us see our participation in our community as enhancing humanity, and let us see human kindness as loving God.

Prepared by Jeffrey Kurtz-Lendner, Director of the New Orleans Hillel Center.

Parashat Va-etchanan contains some of the most noteworthy passages in the entire Torah. The Ten Commandments are recorded for a second time. The Shema and its first paragraph are also contained in this portion. But the lines of text that struck me are the lines that read as follows:

And now, O Israel, give heed to the laws and rules that I am instructing you to observe, so that you may live to enter and occupy the land…You shall not add anything to what I command you or take anything away from it, but keep the commandments of the Lord your God that I enjoin upon you. (Deuteronomy 4:1-2)

I, of course, am not the only one to have taken note of these lines. Rashi, a medieval French scholar, suggests that this passage simply means what it says. You literally should not add or subtract. The Torah says that there are four species, the lulav (palm), etrog (citron), hadasim (myrtle), and aravot (willow) that Jews take on the holiday of Sukkot (Festival of Booths). The Torah does not say to take five, so one should literally not add a fifth species or take away one of the four. Simply do not add and do not subtract.

The Sforno, another medieval commentator from Italy, understands these verses in a different way. He suggests that the verse comes to tell us that "one should not think that once the cause (reason) of the prohibition is removed, then it is not sinful to diminish." Meaning that it is not for us to determine cause or reason for our following of the commandments, rather we simply must follow what is written in the Torah.

These explanations sound simple enough. However, it seems to me that they do not speak to the modern reality of Judaism. The reality is that much of contemporary Jewish practice is not based on the words of the Torah. Practice has been dictated by the rabbis who added much to our understanding of the Torah, both literally and figuratively. In the Diaspora, many Jews celebrate eight days of Passover and eight days of Sukkot, yet nowhere in the Torah will you find a passage that talks about eight days of Passover. You will, however find passages that describe a seven-day holiday. We celebrate an eighth day because the rabbis added an extra day.

Also, let's be honest. It has been a long time since the Torah was understood and interpreted in one specific way. Perhaps it could even be argued that that time never existed. After all, at the original revelation the text of the Bible states specifically that everyone in the nation experienced it. Commentators suggest that not only did everyone experience revelation, but everyone understood it in their own way, "where they were at."

So where does this leave us? It is impossible to claim that over time Jews have not added and subtracted from the Torah. One needs only to look around and reflect on the cornucopia of Jewish practice and expression that exists today, to recognize that truth. We could then relegate our original passage of text to the purgatory that is "texts that made sense for the time they were written, but do not apply now." I think that is one potential easy answer, but that does not allow us to glean an important and applicable message.

Later on in the Torah portion, Moshe makes the following statement to the individuals who stand on the doorstep of the Land of Israel:

The Lord our God made a covenant with us…It was not with our fathers that the Lord made this covenant, but with us, the living, every one of us who is here today (Deuteronomy 5:2-3).

Moshe's words apply as much now as they did then. Each and every Jew has the opportunity and responsibility to make Judaism and their relationship to the Divine their own. Judaism is not something that exists in the past, but must be something that lives and breathes in the present.

To me, the key to understanding the first lines of text, is trying to understand what it means to be a part of the living covenant of the Jewish people. In my mind the prohibition to add or subtract things from the Torah does not refer to simple addition and subtraction. The essence of the idea is that we should not take our relationship to Judaism and God for granted. Frivolous additions and subtractions are forbidden. Intentional and thoughtful additions and subtractions should be embraced.

Why should they be embraced? The truth is that the additions and subtractions that we all make with regard to our personal Judaism have the potential to create divisiveness within the Jewish community, and indeed often do. Our challenge is to be intentional with our Judaism so that we can feel as though, we the living, are a part of the covenant described in the Torah, while embracing others in their quest to do the same.

Prepared by Reuben Posner, Jewish Education Associate in Hillel's Joseph Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Learning.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Vaetchanan
at MyJewishLearning.com.

This week's parsha, Nitzavim, contains a rebuking of the Jewish people as they prepare to enter the land that God has given them. Take the fact that this Torah portion is usually read on Shabbat Shuvah (the Shabbat of "repentance" between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) or, as is the case this year, the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah, and the rebuke packs an even greater wallop.

Fortunately, I was asked to both write a d'var Torah on this portion as well as read part of Nitzavim in my synagogue this coming Shabbat. In learning my assigned part of the parsha, I noticed something: The first 10 passages of Chapter 30 contain seven words that are derived from the root shin-vav-vet, or "shuv" - Hebrew for "turn" or "return" - the same root used for the Hebrew word for repentance: teshuvah. A quick flashback to fifth grade in Jewish day school reminded me that this can't be a fluke. I then turned (pardon the pun) to my favorite commentator, Nehama Leibowitz, for her take on things.

Leibowitz points out that this 10-sentence section of the text serves as words of consolation, following words of "dire retribution" and serious curses that would befall those who do not heed the covenant with God. In these words, the Torah seeks to clarify the relationship between repentance (teshuvah) and redemption (geulah), which typically is a "progressive arrangement" of 1) commit a sin, 2) be punished, 3) repent and 4) God will bring you to the land (redemption). But by using the words "turn" or "return," this passage takes a different direction. It says that the relationship between repentance and redemption is not a one-way street - that the usage of turn or return suggests, according to Leibowitz, a series of reciprocal movements.

Reading the passage is like following a tennis match. Here's how that "match" plays out in all seven usages of the root "shuv":

30:1 "...the blessing and the curse that I have set before you, and you take them (va-ha-shevota) to heart." Score: God 1, Jews 0.

30:2 "And you return (ve-shavta) to the Lord your God, and you and your children heed His command". God 2, Jews 0.

30:3 "Then the Lord your God will restore (ve-shav) your fortunes..." God 2, Jews 1.

30:3 "...He will bring you together (ve-shav) again" God 2, Jews 2.

30:8 "You will return (ta-shuv) and obey the voice of the Lord..." God 3, Jews 2.

30:9 "...For the Lord will again (ya-shuv) delight in your well-being." God 3, Jews 3.

30:10 "...once you return (ta-shuv) to the Lord your God with all your heart and soul."

God: game, set and match.

But why should this be back and forth? Why couldn't God simply win in a rout: We serve God repentance, God returns redemption, six-love?

To answer this, Leibowitz quotes Rabbi Yitzhak Arama, a 15th-century Spanish commentator. He observed that repentance cannot be a single act, where one goes from deep in sin to the "pinnacle of purity." In his book, "Akedat Yitzhak," he quotes the prophet Isaiah, who said: "Let the wicked forsake his path and the iniquitous man his thoughts and return to the Lord." Arama asks: if this person has forsaken his path, why did Isaiah need to say "return to the Lord?" Isn't forsaking the path in and of itself repentance? His answer: there are two stages of repentance. The first is a preliminary movement back to God, which is done with great difficulty and without much progress, but is enough to "leave the evil path behind." The second stage, achieved after a greater effort, brings one closer to God using the increased momentum of being on the "right path." Arama argues that in order for us to reach the second stage, our first step has to be immediately reciprocated - that the second stage may not come if God does not provide any encouragement or redemptive sign.

And sure enough, as we struggle through reading these instructions along with the threats, curses and rebukes concentrated in the last two Torah portions, wondering how to find that path, the Torah provides us with some encouragement:

30:11-14: "Surely 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...neither is it beyond the sea... No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it."

That provides us with some direction, in that we might look to things we know - things we know so well, that they are in our mouths and in my hearts (memory, prayer, ideas, family) - and use them to find the way.

Tizku LeShanim Rabot, Neimot Vetovot - We should all merit many more good and pleasant years ahead.

Prepared by Simon Amiel, former director of the Steinhardt Jewish Campus Service Corps, program professional advancement and student leadership development.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Netzavim at MyJewishLearning.com.

In this week's Parsha, "Ki Tetzeh," the Torah tells us:

"When you reap your field and forget a measure of grain do not return to gather it, for the stranger, the orphan, and the widow it shall be . . . remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt therefore I command you this thing."

Two questions come to mind: (1) Why leave a random amount of grain that you forgot in your field to the needy, why not just five them a fixed amount of direct and anonymous charity each year? and (2) Why is the phrase "remember that you were slaves in Egypt, therefore I command you this thing" added here?

The Kiley Yakar (Rabbi Shlomo Ephrayim ben Yehudah of Leneziza, 1602) writes the following comment on the verse, "Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt":

"Do not try to leave your money to your descendants, because who knows what the future holds, give it now to the orphan and widow, in your world, in your life. Do not worry and say, 'but with what will my progeny support themselves?' To this notion, the Torah answers, 'remember that you were a slave in Egypt who owned nothing . . . even so you now have fields and vineyards.' God will provide for your progeny as he has for you and your ancestors. . . "

I think the Kilay Yakar's message is actually twofold. He is stating the basic notion that it is God who moves us from slavery to freedom and on some level my wealth and status are not mine to control. But in addition, I think he answers our question above: Why give forgotten sheaves to the needy and not give charity directly?

The Kilay Yakiar tells us that when we remember that we were slaves and now are not, we also remember that we do not know what our own future holds for us. If I were to give charity directly, I may feel, appropriately so, that it my field and I am giving of it to another person. The problem with this notion is that no matter how charitable and humble I am, it implies a sense of hierarchy and dependence, the giver decided to give so that receiver can receive. The giver is powerful and the receiver powerless.

But, says our holy Torah, by leaving for the needy only that which I have forgotten in my field and not giving my own gift to them directly from my field which I own, I realize that perhaps I am not completely master over my field at all. In fact, I do not even "give" anything at all, the needy receive through no conscious, volitional act on my part.

The Torah teaches us that we must give charity, but not out of pity, not of our own desire as land owners to support the poor, but from the deep realization that I am no different than the one who receives from me. The Torah stresses that we are all, every man and every woman, in a very real sense, exactly the same; pawns of a higher system. Yesterday I was a slave and now I am not. If I see myself as any different than the person to whom I give charity I run the risk of pity and condescension.

Our students relate deeply to the idea of community service and social action, but we must teach them that in the view of this week's Parsha, attitude is everything. Charity and service are not only about providing for others. In the Torah's view they are also about how I view myself and those who receive from me. If I think I am the giver and they the receiver, the Torah admonishes me with the command to give not through my own volition, but accidentally. To realize that I was a slave and I amy soon be again. That we are all equal in the commonality of our cosmic powerlessness.

Shabbat Shalom.

Prepared by Rabbi Hyim Shafner, St. Louis Hillel.

Parshat Ki Tavo (Deuteronomy 26:1-29:8) presents us with the mitzvah of Bikurim, the process of bringing the first fruits to the Temple. This is meant to be a celebratory occasion, providing an opportunity to thank God for the bounty of the harvest. To help us articulate our gratitude, the parsha goes so far as to script a lengthy statement of what to say once the fruit basket has been handed to the priest and set before the altar. This statement assigns to the basket a much greater meaning than merely thanking God for the harvest. Indeed, one is supposed to recite verses that place the mitzvah of Bikurim in the overarching historical scheme of redemption from slavery in Egypt. Here is the statement accompanying the mitzvah of Bikurim:

Deuteronomy 26:5-10

My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor upon us. We cried to the LORD, the God of our fathers, and the LORD heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. The LORD freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents. He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Wherefore I now bring the first fruits of the soil which You, O LORD, have given me.

Your Torah Navigator

1) What series of events is outlined by these verses? How does the offering of the first fruits fit into this larger historical narrative?

2) What kind of impact would this long declaration have on the speaker? Do you find it inspiring?

3) Notice that this declaration begins in the first person singular ("my father was a fugitive Aramean") and then switches to the first person plural ("the Egyptians dealt harshly with us"). Finally, the declaration switches back to the first person singular ("wherefore I now bring the first fruits"). Why would the speaker shift voices from the singular, to the plural, and then back to the singular?

A Word

Anyone reciting these lines could not help but be struck by the magnitude of the historical events which have enabled him to visit the Temple on this day. The process goes as follows:

-We were slaves in Egypt;
-God heard our cries;
-God freed us from oppression;
-God brought us to the land of Israel and gave us the soil therein;
-We then planted fruits on that soil.

The basket of fruits is thus a manifestation of far more than our gratitude for agricultural bounty. Rather, it becomes a potent symbol of ALL that God has done for us in redeeming us from slavery and bringing us to independent existence on our own soil.

This statement could be considered inspiring for two reasons. First, the declaration is said out loud, vocalizing and actualizing for the speaker the fact that he can now literally reap the benefits of his own labor. Secondly, this statement weaves the individual into the colorful tapestry of Jewish history. Just by bringing his first fruits to the Temple, the speaker of this recitation represents the culmination of a process and the fulfillment of a vision. In this way, the statement poignantly roots the individual speaker in the dramatic turn of events in collective Jewish history.

The transitions in voice -- from individual to collective and back to individual--help illuminate the verses' emphasis on the individual's place in the historical process. By first speaking about his father, a wanderer without a home, the speaker asserts his heritage as a member of the people who suffered enslavement in Egypt. Having claimed the story of his ancestors as his own, the speaker then feels entitled to speak in the collective voice. The Egyptians "dealt harshly with US" and "oppressed US"; in reaction to this oppression, "WE cried to the LORD" and "the LORD heard OUR plea." This collective voice continues when explaining God's actions to save the Israelite nation: "The LORD freed US," "He brought US to this place and gave US this land" (emphasis added). Only in the last verse does the speaker finally switch back to the first person voice: "Where I now bring the first fruits of the soil which You, O LORD, have given me." The speaker's narrative now comes full circle: generations of wanderers and slaves have given rise to this free individual, who can proclaim before God that he has reaped fruits from the soil God has given him.

It makes sense that the speaker would changes modes from collective to individual at this point; he is shifting from describing the history of a people, to describing a particular action undertaken by a person. Yet the process of mentioning his people's history comes BEFORE the declaration of his own action; it is as if he must contextualize his personal situation within that of his people. In other words, the speaker reminds himself of where he has been in order to acknowledge where he now finds himself; this helps him fully prepare for where he is going.

Prepared by Hannah Graham, Iyyun Fellow, Hillel's International Center.

"The Torah, which began in the nameless, unknowable past, ends in the limitless present and future."
- Everett Fox, introduction to Deuteronomy in The Five Books of Moses

Moments of transition provide opportunities, and challenges to our comfort zones. The Torah, as Fox elucidates, invites us to stretch our conception of the boundaries of time and space. This week's double Torah portion, Nitzavim - Vayelech, challenges us to expand our understandings of inclusion and accessibility, and it holds timely lessons as we enter this season of reflection and renewal.

On campuses throughout the world, Hillel professionals are participating in rituals that mark the beginning of each year - welcome events, inaugural Shabbat dinners, leadership retreats, and so much more. We open our doors - and our hearts, souls, and minds - to students who we hope to engage in a journey of learning and growth. For some Hillel staff members, this is the start of a new career; for others, this is a renewal of energy. For all of us, this is an opportunity to re-establish our commitments to improve ourselves, our communities, and the world at large.

At this moment of new beginnings, we are also mindful of indelible moments in the calendar that bind us to our recent past. Monday marked the fifth year since terrorists killed thousands of Americans and shattered the lives of thousands more on September 11, a national tragedy that is both a unique experience of suffering and an event that opened the unfolding chapter of history that we are now part of shaping. On a personal and communal level, this Saturday night brings us Selichot, the moment when Jews begin to add intensive prayers for forgiveness and move into the final stages of the annual process of teshuvah (repentance/returning) in advance of Rosh Hoshanah and Yom Kippur.

Our Torah portion presents the Children of Israel at their own moment of transition. Literally standing on the steppes of Moav, they are nearing the time when they will cross over the Jordan River to take possession of the Promised Land. Moshe, fully aware that his long life and extraordinary leadership that has spanned generations of the Children of Israel from slavery through the desert is at its end, begins his final exhortations of the people to carry forth the legacy of holiness:

"You are stationed here today, all of you before the Lord your God, your heads, your tribes, your elders, and your overseers, every man of Israel. Your little ones, your wives, and your sojourner who is in the midst of your camps, from the hewer of your wood to the drawer of your water, for you to pass into the Covenant of the Lord your God….And not with you alone do I seal this covenant and this oath but with him who is here standing with us this day before the Lord our God and with him who is not here with us this day." (Deuteronomy 29: 9-11, 13-14)

What is astounding is not only the powerful language of Moshe's speech, but the extraordinary emphasis that the Torah places on who is meant to hear the message. It is addressed to everyone - not just those present, but those who are not present both temporally and spatially. We - you and I, as well as every Jewish person with whom we work and come into contact - are part of what Fox calls the "living audience." We are connected into this ongoing covenantal moment.

As we reflect upon the dual work of this season - the work of welcoming and building relationships with students, as well as the work of reflecting upon our transgressions and how we have measured up to our potential - the imperative to broaden our conception of inclusion beyond the boundaries of time and space is both compelling and daunting. The questions are pressing: How do we include the "sojourner who is in (our) midst"? How do we relate not only to those who are with us, but also to those who are "not here with us this day"? How have we fallen short? Our ability to stretch ourselves, to model inclusion in both a broad and deep way, will affect not only the lives of the students with whom we work but those of the generations to follow.

Yet inclusion is not enough; we must also make our work relevant and accessible. Our Torah portion guides us toward this challenge: "This command which I charge you today is not too wondrous for you nor is it distant. It is not in the heavens, to say, 'Who will go up for us to the heavens and take it for us and let us hear it, that we may do it?'…But the word is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to do it." (Deuteronomy 30: 11-12, 14)

It is not in the heavens. It is not out of our reach. The lessons of Torah - the Instruction on how to welcome the stranger, champion the oppressed, honor our ancestors, and reflect upon our role in our community and the cosmos - are all within our grasp. This is a lesson that girds us at our moments of transition.

But it is by no means easy. Just as the vision of all-encompassing inclusion challenges us to ask whether our comfort zone has become too cozy, so the promise of accessibility forces us to ask hard questions: How far are we stretching our own understanding? How are we making our work intelligible and relevant for others?

This week marks not only a moment of new beginnings, but also a moment of restoration of the better versions of ourselves and of our communities. The season of repentance is not only about mistakes and transgressions; it provides an opportunity to ask ourselves whether we have truly worked to transcend our comfort zones. The promise of a "limitless present and future" lies before us. My wish is that each and every one of us will reach beyond our usual grasp to engage our students - and ourselves - in a rich journey of learning and development and growth in the coming year.

Written by Michael Simon, Director of Programming for Harvard Hillel

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Nitzavim-Vayelech at MyJewishLearning.com.

These last two chapters of the Torah traditionally are read in the synagogue not on Shabbat, but during the holiday of Simchat Torah, when we celebrate both the completion of the year's cycle of Torah readings and the beginning of a new cycle. Chapter 33 contains the poetic blessings Moses conferred on the tribes of Israel before his death. Chapter 34 describes how Moses climbed Mount Nebo and viewed the Land of Israel, the Promised Land he never would enter, immediately before his death. The final verses of the Torah praise Moses in these words:

Deuteronomy 34

10. Never again did there arise in Israel a prophet like Moses - whom the Lord singled out, face to face,
11. for the various signs and portents that the Lord sent him to display in the land of Egypt, against Pharaoh and all his courtiers and his whole country,
12. and for all the great might and awesome power that Moses displayed before all Israel.

Your Torah Navigator

In what ways was Moses unique among Jewish leaders? Is leadership success a matter of innate personal qualities, inborn charisma; or does it result from skills that can be learned?

Midrash

A midrash says that the prophecy of Moses was qualitatively different from that of all the other prophets of the Biblical era. All other prophets perceived God as if they were looking through tinted glass; but Moses perceived God as if through clear glass; or, in the metaphor of our portion, "face to face."

A Word

By the time of his death at the age of 120, Moses is acknowledged the greatest leader ever known to ancient Israel. Yet this is the same Moses who, when God called him to lead Israel out of slavery, responded by pleading, "O Lord, make someone else Your agent." [Exodus 4:13] At the beginning of his career, Moses was hesitant and spoke with a stammer. Years later, he had become a commanding, self-confident man. He spoke truth to power when he confronted Pharaoh; he taught Israelite slaves how to live independently, serving God through the discipline of the Torah; he even stood up to God when God wanted to destroy the Israelites, and convinced God otherwise. Truly, Moses became an individual whose like the world had never seen and will never see again.

Life confronts each of us with unexpected challenges. Little did the shepherd Moses imagine that to him would fall the roles of liberator and lawgiver. The life of Moses demonstrates that we can rise beyond what we consider our personal limitations. We can rise to meet the occasion.

As a new year begins, we face new challenges, both personally and as a nation. As a nation, we pray for leaders with the wisdom to seek justice while preserving freedom. As individuals, while we hope to replicate the experience of Moses, who found within himself the resources to accomplish what life required him to do.

Prepared by Rabbi Neal Sheindlin, Los Angeles Regional Educator Hillel's She'arim - Gateways Initiative.

Parshat Netzavim could easily be labeled the Parsha of return. It is certainly read at the right time of the year, this year especially. Rosh Hashanah reminds us every year that we are responsible and appropriately burdened by our past choices. Humanity writ large does not live in harmony, and we, as individuals exemplify internal conflict. The small world that is the human, struggles with itself with all the force and fury of nations at war. There is no peace. In the following verses, once the consequences of wicked behavior have been fully explicated, we are given a hope that there will come a time when:

Deuteronomy 30:1-6

1 Now it shall be: when there come upon you all these things, the blessing and the curse that I have set before you, and you take them to your heart among all the nations where Yhwh your
G-d has thrust-you-away,

2 and you return to Yhwh your God and hearken to his voice, according to all that I command you today, you and your children, with all your heart and with all your being,

3 YHWH your God will restore your fortunes, and have-compassion on you: he will return to collect you from all the peoples wherein YHWH your God has scattered you.

4 If you be thrust-away to the ends of the heavens, from there YHWH your God will collect you, from there he will take you,

5 and YHWH your God will bring you to the land that your fathers possessed, and you shall possess it, he will do-well by you and make you many-more than your fathers.

6 Yhwh your God will circumcise your heart and the heart of your seed, to love YHWH your God with all your heart and with all your being, in order that you may live.

Your Torah Navigator

Does verse 2 issue a promise or a hope?
What is the result of this return?
What does it mean that God will circumcise your heart?
Nachmanides (Ramban) On Verse 6
"And YHWH your God will circumcise your heart"

The Talmud reflects what is written here, "One who comes to purity will be helped." It has been guaranteed that if you return to the Holy One with all your heart, the Holy One will help. One sees this stated throughout the writings, for from the time of creation Adam could choose to do what he wished; to be righteous or to be wicked.

This was also true when the Torah was given, so that people would be rewarded for their good choices and punished for the wicked ones. When the messianic era approaches, however, it will be natural to be good, the heart will not wish for that which is unsuitable and no one will ever desire that which is evil. This is the circumcision that is being spoken of here.

For all desire and greed is contained in the heart?s foreskin. The circumcision of the heart means that one no longer is covetous or lustful, and thus one returns to the time before the sin of the first Adam when doing good was natural, and he had no desire to do the opposite...

Your Ramban Navigator

Whom, according to the Ramban, has to make the first move?
According to the Ramban, why was the Torah given?
Will the Torah be necessary during the Messianic era? What will be the result of our circumcised hearts?

A Word

No Doctor would ever fiddle with a healthy heart, yet we are told that it is part of our nature that the heart contains that which is painful and destructive just as it contains that which is good, beautiful and life giving. It is this tension which makes the Torah necessary, so that we may all fight the good fight against the evil from within. The struggle is within all of us until that wonderful time when the exiles are ingathered and we, according to the Ramban, are allowed to rest and just be naturally good.

This will occur when there is a national awareness that makes us return and when we as a people return, our hearts will be transformed and we will be like Adam before the fall.
The Hasidic Master, Rabbi Simcha Bunim once said, "The great tragedy is not that humans sin--for the temptation is great and one?s power is weak. The tragedy is that at any given moment one can turn to God but does not do so."

This week's Torah portion, Re'eh, continues Moses' second discourse to the Israelites, who will soon enter into the land. It includes many laws intended to create a just and ethical society, including the commandment to give to the needy. In this context, the Torah addresses the situation of a needy person who was forced to sell himself into slavery.

Deuteronomy 15:12-15
If a fellow Hebrew, man or woman, is sold to you, he shall serve you six years, and in the seventh year you shall set him free. When you set him free, do not let him go empty-handed: Furnish him out of the flock, threshing floor, and vat, with which the Lord your God has blessed you. Bear in mind that you were slaves in the land of Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you; therefore I enjoin this commandment upon you today.

Deuteronomy 15:18
When you do set him free, do not feel aggrieved; for in the six years he has given you double the service of a hired man. Moreover, the Lord your God will bless you in all you do.

Your Torah Navigator
1. What is the relationship between the commandment to release the Hebrew slave in the seventh year and the Torah's overall attitude toward slavery?
2. When this law appears in Exodus 21:2, it reads "When you acquire a Hebrew slave, he shall serve six years; in the seventh year he shall go free without payment." Why does our text from Deuteronomy add the requirement that the freed slave be sent off with gifts?
3. Proper behavior can be prescribed by society, but feelings are impossible to legislate. Why then does the Torah command, "When you do set him free, do not feel aggrieved?"

A Word
As Moses prepares the people for the next stage of their journey, he seems to try to find a balance between presenting a utopian ideal for which the Israelites should strive, while still urging them to maintain high ethical standards within a realistically imperfect society. This is quite clear in the discussion of the slaves. The Israelites were expected to learn from their personal history as slaves in Egypt the important values of human equality, the preservation of dignity, and personal autonomy, but they also needed to find a way as a society to allow those in need to support themselves without abandoning those values entirely.

The requirements that slavery be only temporary, and that newly freed slaves would be sent off with provisions that would enable them to make a fresh start and avoid permanent economic dependence on others were ways of imposing ethical standards on an imperfect system. Clearly the grand vision was that ultimately the commandments regarding slaves would become irrelevant, for God's will was a nation of Israel in which all could prosper, "there shall be no needy among you…" (Deuteronomy 15:4). Until that day, the Israelites were to do the best they could not to oppress or exploit those who ended up disadvantaged in society and so they needed to periodically give those individuals a chance to make a fresh start.

By sending them off with gifts and hopefully doing so with an attitude of support and encouragement, the Israelites could live by their ethical values and work toward a better tomorrow for the whole community. May each of us try to imagine a world free of economic injustice for the next generations and may we have the compassion to work to reduce the very real challenges facing the needy members of the communities in which we live today.

Prepared by Rabbi Amber Powers, Dean of Admissions and Recruitment, Reconstructionist Rabbinical College.

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Re'eh at MyJewishLearning.com.

This Shabbat we read Ha'azinu, Moses' last words to the children of Israel before his death on Mt. Nebo, within view of Canaan, the promised land. After Moses is finished speaking, God speaks to Moses and says:

Deuteronomy 32

49. 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 Israelites as their holding.
50. 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;
51. for you both broke faith with Me among the Israelite people, at the waters of Meribath-Kadesh in the wilderness of Zin, by failing to uphold My sanctity among the Israelite people.
52. You may view the land from a distance, but you shall not enter the land that I am giving to the Israelite people.

Your Torah Navigator

What would it be like if, like Moses, we knew when we were about to die? Do you think Moses made "teshuva," repentance, before his death?

A Word

In the Talmud (Shabbat 153a) it says: What does Rabbi Eliezer mean when he says, "Repent one day before your death." How can one know when that day comes? Since no person can know this, one must repent every day of one's life. Moses was a unique individual, for God told him when and where he would die. However, unlike Moses we do not know the date and place of our death. And so we live life never quite knowing how long we have. It is a sobering thought. On Yom Kippur we remember something very important, our time here on earth is so incredibly precious and often so short. Let us remember this Yom Kippur that each of our days counts. We mortals do not know the date of our death. Let us use our days wisely, not merely living from one Day of Repentance to the next. Let us in turn make teshuva with the people important to us all the days of our lives. Gmar Chatima Tova! May you be inscribed for blessing in the Book of Life for a new year, 5761.

Prepared by Rabbi Andrea Lerner, Midwest Director, Hillel's Joseph Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Learning, University of Wisconsin, Madison Hillel

Deuteronomy 8:1

All the Commandment that I command you today, you are to take care and observe,
in order that you may live and become many and enter and possess the land.

Deuteronomy 30:11-14

For the Commandment that I command you this day:
it is not too extraordinary for you.
it is not too far away!
It is not in the heavens,
(for you) to say:
Who will go up for us to the heavens and 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 for us, across the sea, and get it for us and have us hear it, that we may observe it?
Rather near to you is the word, exceedingly, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it!

Your Torah Navigator

This is a very literal translation of the text, why would it read in Deuteronomy 6:1 "All the Commandment" instead of "All the commandments?" Is it talking about one commandment or is it talking about many? If it is talking about one commandment what might it be? In Deuteronomy 30:11, if you read the verse as speaking of only one commandment which one would it be?

A Word

In the first citation the people of Israel are exhorted to do the commandment as a condition for entering the land. While in the second citation, Israel is exhorted to keep the Commandment as an antidote to exile. If we return to God, then God returns to us, and therefore we will return together to the land that was promised.

Nachmanides says that in Deuteronomy 8, the Commandment is referring to the entire Torah and that the singular is used to emphasize that it represents all of God's word. In Deuteronomy 30 however, he said it is referring to only one commandment, to return to God, for this is the one thing that is never beyond reach, but "rather near to you is the word, exceedingly, in your mouth and in your heart..."

This is what change is all about- Nachmanides is empowering us to remember that we can always resolve to be different irrespective of where we live, what we have or who we have become. It is always close, it is always within reach because it is within all of us.

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Netzavim at MyJewishLearning.com.

Parshat Shoftim ("judges") discusses in extensive detail the inner workings of the Jewish judicial system. Beyond speaking of prophets, priests, monarchs and judges, the text also delineates checks and balances among all these entities. More importantly, each one of these entities is imbued with holiness and Godliness, as the refrain of "that God has chosen" (Deuteronomy 17:8) repeats many times throughout our parsha. However, it is not enough for kings or judges to be holy. They must be able to transfer a sense of this sacred task to other people. In their own ways, judges, priests, kings and prophets transmit and teach Torah to the masses. By teaching Torah, these people become respected and are constantly reminded that they were chosen by God for their respective tasks.

Torah is the wellspring of the Jewish people and is critical to daily Jewish living. While we often speak of Torah as an all-encompassing concept of Jewish civilization, I would like to spend some time delving into the meaning of the word Torah. While sometimes Torah means "five books of Moses," most of the time, the more precise translation would be "instruction" or "teaching." Our parsha uses this word three times within one chapter. In 17: 11, the people of Israel are instructed to listen to the judges and "act in accordance with the Torah that you shall be instructed and the judgment that shall be handed down to you… you shall not sway from what they (the judges) tell you left or right." In 17:18, the king is told to "write for himself a copy of this Torah in scroll form from in front of the levitical priests." Furthermore, the king is implored (17:19) to "let it remain with him and he shall read it so as to teach (others) to revere God, to observe all the words of this Torah and all of the laws." In each instance, Torah should be translated as "instruction," or more precisely, "teaching." The role of the judge is to read the instructions and laws carefully and to execute just decisions based on these instructions. The role of the king is to base himself on the teachings of Torah. It is not enough for the king to simply read the laws, edicts and statutes. He must make a copy for himself. But it is not enough to write and then place this writing in an archive. The Torah must travel with him both physically and figuratively. He must constantly study it, review it and keep it close to his heart at all times. By studying these "instructions" and living a life based on these "teachings," the king keeps himself humble and serves as a "check" on his own power.

Hebrew words can often be broken down to their three-letter shoresh (root). The root of Yud Resh Heh appears in several words in the Hebrew language. The shoresh serves as a link among seemingly disjointed words. The words moreh (teacher), horeh (parent) and Torah all have the same root. What is the unifying factor? All three of these words have something to do with education. It is not a mere coincidence that the words for "teacher" and "parent" have the same root as Torah. It is the role of a parent to teach a child the mores and customs of the Jewish people. It is the role of a teacher to make the Torah real in the lives of students and to allow pupils to take ownership of their own emerging Jewish renaissance. In the Hillel world, Hillel professionals (and students as well) serve as teachers and in loco parentis (in place of parents). Hillel becomes the home away from home for students. Pirke Avot 6:3 emphasizes this point that everyone can be a teacher in stating that "whoever learns from his friend a chapter, a law, a verse or even one letter, one must regard that person with respect." We are all teachers as well as simultaneously being students. And, indeed, one of the words for teacher (melamed) has the same root as talmid (student).

A key message of Parshat Shoftim is that no one is too busy to learn Torah. Love of learning and love of being instructed, guided, goaded and taught by our Torah starts at the top. If the king must constantly learn Torah in order not to become haughty, certainly this is a desirable trait to emulate. Comparatively, Hillel professionals and Jews everywhere and in every walk of life have an obligation to study Torah every day. That may entail a few minutes looking over the portion of the book. I would encourage people to study with others. Oftentimes, studying with a partner clarifies issues and leads you to learn while you are teaching. Studying even a short Jewish text can lead to further discussions, further readings and ultimately to personally significant Jewish interactions and experiences. Certainly Torah encompasses all of Judaism. Instead of focusing on the forest that is Torah, let us take the time to appreciate the individual trees of the Torah's instructions and teachings. Let us all strive to carry Torah with us not only in our studies but in our day-to-day interactions as well. After all, Torah is "a tree of life to all those who grasp onto it."

Prepared by Akiva D. Roth, Director, Drew University Hillel

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Shoftim at MyJewishLearning.com.

One of the many Mitzvot that the Jewish King was commanded upon assuming his throne was to write a Sefer Torah.. In Deutoronomy 17:18, he is inscribed to write a "Mishnah Torah Hazot - a copy of this Teaching" whereas in verse 19 he is ordered to observe "HaTorah Hazot - this Torah." No longer solely "Mishnah!"

What has changed and how can the word "Mishnah" be defined? The Talmud Bavli (Sanhedrin 21b) interprets the root of the word as "Shnayim - two" referring to the two Torot that needed to be written - `one that would be kept with him at all times when he travelled and one that would remain in the palace.' In contrast, the Sifre (a Midrashic source noted in the Torah Temimah) defines the root as "different" and devises a bold interpretation for the King's Torah, `HaAtid LeHeeshtanot - subject to change.'

How can we reconcile these two variant explanations? As Jewish professionals (Kings) we often need to leave the confines of the Hillel Palace to face our Jewish constituents. One of our challenges is to ensure that we constantly adhere to our value system. The Torah that travelled with the King and was exposed to outside elements and influences, was identical to the pristine one that remained in the palace. Upon returning to home base it was the king's duty to ensure that the Torah that left the premises was undamaged.

We, as Kings, face our mission with trepidation while, at the same time, we must acknowledge the reality of the Sifre - the Torah is apt to change. There has to be flexibility and the ability to absorb the positive qualities of the environment which surrounds us. The real challenge then lies in the integration of the two "Torahs" and their ideals. The external Torah must guide us through the beauty of the arts, sciences and philosophy incorporated into the Judaic system of Torah Umada , Torah and Science (academic pursuits); while that which we keep at home preserves our unique heritage, culture and religion.

These two Torot must always be harmonized to ensure `Jewish continuity' and to prevent a permanent schism between the internal and external aspects of Judaism. An additional underlying message which cannot be ignored is that when we do leave our home environment we need to carry with us the Torah, our value system.

We should not be afraid or ashamed to encourage the expression of our values and beliefs. Our Torah is too precious to be left in the synagogue Ark only to be passively viewed. We, the Kings of our nation, need to boldly carry our personal Torah with us wherever and whenever we travel.

Prepared by Rabbi Ari Israel, Rochester Area Hillel.

This week's parsha, Parshat Re'eh contains many interesting elements. One of the most fascinating passages deals with the false prophet.

Deuteronomy 13:2-4
If there appears among you a prophet or a dream-diviner and he gives you a sign or a portent saying, "Let us follow and worship another god" - whom you have not experienced - even if the sign or portent that he named to you comes true, do not heed the words of that prophet or dream-diviner. For the Lord your God is testing you to see whether you really love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul.

Your Torah Navigator
1. How is one to know whether a prophet is legitimate or not?
2. According to this passage what is the purpose of the false prophet?
3. How do you understand Moses' explanation that God is testing them with a false prophet? Why does God have a need to test the people?

Many Biblical commentators discuss the fact that God tests the people. Our parsha marks one of several incidents in the Torah that are described as a test. Perhaps the most well known of these incidents is the Binding of Isaac, where the Torah says: "After these things, God tested Abraham…" (Genesis 22:1). Because this is the first time the notion of God testing people is discussed in the Torah, many commentators discuss the concept here. Nahmanides provides an especially interesting insight.

Nahmanides Genesis 22:1
The issue of tests is, in my opinion, since humans have complete free will, if they want to they will act and if they want they won't act. It is called a test from the perspective of the one being tested, but the Tester (God) presents us with tests in order to help us bring things from potential to actual. All tests in the Torah are for the benefit of the one being tested.

Your Nahmanindes Navigator
1. How does free will relate to the realization (or lack of realization) of one's potential?
2. Does Nahmanides' explanation of tests fully explain our passage on the false prophet?
3. How might the false prophet help the Children of Israel to realize their potential?
4. Do you agree with Nahmanides' explanation of tests?

A Word
Nahmanides represents only one approach taken by the classical commentators to explain the notion of tests and of God testing humans. I think that he provides a particularly useful and relevant explanation. We are all familiar with expressions such as "When life deals you lemons, make lemonade." It is often difficult to see the positive element in some of the "lemons" that life throws our way. Nahmanides' explanation of the tests that God puts us through helps to remind us that we grow from all of life's experiences even the trying and difficult ones.

Prepared by Elliot Kaplowitz, Iyyun Fellow, Schusterman International Center.

This week's parsha of Ki Tetze is often lauded for the ability to pack the largest number of mitzvot (74 out of the Torah's 613) into a single parsha. Among these are such classic "feel good" mitzvot as, returning your fellow's ox if you see it has gone astray, building a fence around your roof to protect others from accidental injury, and sending away the mother bird before you take her eggs. Other important social laws dealing with war, justice in business practices and general stipulations for social order are also covered in this parsha. While most of these laws can be made relevant to our contemporary lives, one that has particular relevance to our work as Hillel professionals is the commandment of what to do with the "wayward son" or the ben sorer u'moreh.

The biblical passage about the "wayward son" states, "If a man has a wayward son who does not heed his father or mother and does not obey them even after they discipline him, his father and mother shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders of his town at the public place of his community. They shall say to the elders of his town, 'This son of ours is disloyal and defiant; he does not heed us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.' Thereupon, the men of his town shall stone him to death. Thus you will sweep out evil from your midst: all Israel will hear and be afraid." (Deuteronomy 21:18-21)

This passage is understandably somewhat fearful at face value, as it is stipulating a means for killing one's children. Even more troubling is the description of this child is strikingly similar to most stereotypical descriptions of college students: defies authority, eats large quantities of food, and has developed an inexplicable taste for warm beer…. sound familiar?

While trying to legalize and enact restrictions to make the law almost unenforceable, the Gemara rationalizes its existence through the concept stated in the Mishnah in Sanhedrin 71b, "Let him die while yet innocent, and let him not die guilty." The assumption put forth by Rabbi Yosi HaGalili on 72b is that the Torah foresees this child's destiny as one that leads him to sin and harming others and therefore the child is ultimately saved from that end by this law.

Although we usually do not have such fatalistic expectations for our students, these passages can be seen as asking a deeper question: To what extent am I responsible for my fellow person? In which person do I place my trust and loyalty? Should I care about the troubled individual I know, or the person s/he might harm in the future?

We do not have to search far for a possible answer. A few chapters later in the parsha we have a similar statement representing the other end of the obligation spectrum.

"Parents shall not be put to death for children, nor children be put to death for parents: A person shall be put to death only for his own crime," (Deut. 24:16).

In addition to the parallels in the analogy to family structure, this verse also deals with the problem of individual versus communal responsibility. However, the concluding clause of this verse strongly advocates for individual responsibility for behavior. Deuteronomic law is creating a balance between our responsibility to our community and our need for ownership of our actions.

As I prepare for the start of the upcoming year, with the arrival and confusion of first-year students and the joyful reunions of friends who lost touch over the summer, this sense of balance is an important lesson for me. Students -- even those who may sometimes act like "wayward children" -- are also just searching for the appropriate middle ground between responsibility to themselves and to their communities. All of our students struggle to balance their identities as Jews with the other demands of their coursework, jobs, families, friends and the many other joys and hardships of college life. Through our help, patience and free coffee dates, we can add meaningful support to all of their journeys.

Prepared by Miriam Ignatoff, program director for Oberlin College Hillel.

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Ki Tetze at MyJewishLearning.com.

As part of Moses' second discourse to the Israelites, our parsha this week, Shoftim, concentrates on issues of justice and governance as guideposts for the new Israelite society. Limits on power are set forth for judges, kings, religious leaders and prophets. The overwhelming theme is justice – a justice that is applied equally to all, regardless of status. This approach has served as the basis of governance for systems of justice in democratic societies for centuries.

Deuteronomy 16:18
You shall appoint magistrates and officials for your tribes, all the settlements that the Lord your God is giving you, and they shall govern the people with due justice.

Your Torah Navigator
1. Appointment of judges is put in the hands of the people and their representatives. The power of religious leaders, the kohanim and levi-im, are limited to matters of ritual. Why this early separation of "church and state"?

Tradition regards the appointment of judges as one of the seven "Noahide laws" applicable to all of humanity.

Just as Israel was commanded to appoint courts of law in every district and city, so were the sons of Noah commanded to appoint courts of laws in every district and city. (Talmud Sanhedrin, 56b)

2. Why are the sages so concerned about governance issues in other societies?

The Hatam Sofer (d.1839) notes the following on this verse:

The Holy Blessed One grants lovingkindness and mercy, and we [humanity] grant righteousness and justice.

3. How do we temper righteousness with lovingkindness? Justice with mercy?

Deuteronomy 16:20
Justice, justice shall you pursue, that you may thrive and occupy the land that the Lord your God is giving you.

Your Torah Navigator
1. This, arguably, is one of the most famous verses in the Torah. The most obvious question is why the word "justice" (tzedek) is repeated. Would it not have been enough simply to say "pursue justice" in the text?

The Kotzker Rebbe (d.1859) tells us that the first use of the word justice stands for the "means," and the second is for the "ends." Reb Simha Bunim of Peshiskha (d.1765) teaches us the following:

There must be justice involved in the pursuit of justice. One who pursues justice must do so justly – and not falsely.

Moshe Amiel in D'rashot El Ami (1929) suggests:

Justice by itself is not enough, because in the eyes of a human being, there are many different kinds of justice – just as there are many different kinds of truth. Some see justice in a lie, some see lovingkindness in a sin. Everybody has his or her own sense of justice. "Justice, justice you shall pursue" – this is the justice of justice – that is, justice at its source [i.e., not interpretation].

2. What do these commentators have in common with their explanations? What other reasons might you find to explain the repetition of the words?

By Richard Moline, director, KOACH College Outreach

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Shoftim at MyJewishLearning.com.

Vayelech is a prelude to a song. Moshe and the Holy One take turns encouraging Joshua to take heart as he leads his people into the Promised Land. Then Moshe gives a final mitzvah to the Priests, Levites and Elders of Israel. They are to hear "this teaching" during Succot when all are gathered once every seven years for the Sabbatical year. Then Moshe is told it is nearly time to "lie with your fathers."

The Holy One views Moshe's immanent demise as a signal for Israel to go astray seeing them as unable to resist the idolatrous ways of her neighbors. He dictates a song that He requires to be on the mouths of the people as a testimony to their wickedness. Moshe reiterates these words to the people with a personal imprimatur. "Throughout my life you have been defiant and stiff-necked, how much more so after I'm dead."

The Parsha ends and we get to hear the poem next week.

We know that earlier in Deuteronomy that Moshe pleaded with the Holy One to pardon Him and allow him to enter the land with his people. Moshe is rebuked harshly by the Holy One and told in no uncertain terms that the subject is closed. Now, Moshe is told that his demise is directly related to the degeneration of his people. The following Midrash when understood in this context not only has Moshe pleading for his own life, but maybe much more?

Midrash Tanchuma, Parshat Vaetchanan

The Holy One said: This is the way of the world, each generation has its teachers, each generation has its maintainers, each generation has its leaders. Until now it was your turn to serve, and now it is Joshua, your student's turn. Moses said, "Sovereign of the universe, if it is because of Joshua I must die, I'll go and be his student.

God said, "If this is what you wish, go ahead and try!" Moshe awakened early and hurried to the doorway of Joshua, and Joshua was sitting and teaching. Moshe stood stooped over, and placed his hand over his mouth, and Joshua was not aware of his presence and ignored him so that Moses would feel bad and reconcile himself to his fate.

The people of Israel went to Moses' tent but then found Moses at Joshua's tent, with Joshua sitting and Moses standing. They called out, "What is this, that Moses stands while you sit there and teach?" When Joshua tore his eyes away and saw Moses, he tore his clothes, and wailed, crying, "Rebbe, Rebbe, Father, Father, Master!!

The whole of Israel said to Moses, "Moses our Rebbe, teach us Torah. He said to them, "I don't have permission." They said to him, "We will not leave you." A heavenly voice called out, and said, "Learn from Joshua!" So, they accepted the voice and sat and learned from Joshua.

Joshua sat at the head, Moses was on the right and Elazar and Itamar (priestly sons of Aaron) were on the left, and Joshua taught the multitudes in front of Moses.

Rabbi Shmuel Bar Nachmani said in the name of Rabbi Yonatan: When Joshua began with the words, "Blessed be the One who chose the righteous and their teachings..." The tradition of wisdom was removed from Moses and given to Joshua, and Moses no longer understood what Joshua was teaching.

After awhile the whole of Israel arose and said to Moses, "Summarize the teaching for us!" Moses said, "I don't know what to tell you." Moses stumbled and fell, and at that moment, he said until now I have wished for life, and now my soul is offered up to you.

Your Midrash Navigator

1. Why does God allow Moshe to try to be Joshua's student?

2. Is it possible that Moshe would be allowed to live if he could tolerate his new status.

3. Why did God remove wisdom from Moshe?

4. Can wisdom be removed from one and given to another? What does this mean to you?

5. What makes Moshe accept his fate?

Now we have a different midrash which views Moshe as actively paving the way for his successor.

Sifre Devarim, Netzavim, Vayelech

"God said to Moses, Take for yourself Joshua Ben Nun..." (Number 27:18) A man such as you. The word "take" is used, for a friend is acquired through taking through the greatest of hardships. Thus it was stated in Avot of Rebbe Natan: A person should acquire a friend to eat with, to sleep with and reveal all secrets to him. Thus it is written: "A three stranded thread will not unravel quickly." (Ecclesiastes 4:9)

The Holy Spirit responded to Moses: Give a spokesman to Moses, and let him ask questions, interpret verses and give rulings while you are still alive, so that when you die Israel will not say to him, "When your teacher was alive you did not speak, and NOW you speak!!.

There are those who say, that Moses lifted Joshua up and placed himon his lap, and Moses and Israel together would lift their heads to hear the sound of Joshua's words. What would [Joshua] say, "Blessed be the Lord who gave the Torah to Israel through the hands of Moses our teacher," and these are the words of Joshua.

Your Midrash Navigator

1. Compare the two midrashim. Do they contradict or complement each other?

2. If you see the two midrashim as two different stages in Moshe's development, does this change your opinion?

3. The Midrash already acknowledges that Moshe has asked for a successor way before the beginning of Deuteronomy. How do you understand that Moshe is still arguing to go across the Jordan?

4. Can one lead when one's predecessor is still active within the community?

A Word

Moshe has been told that Israel will certainly revert to their old ways because of his absence. Even though Joshua is encouraged to take heart, there is an understanding that moral leadership under Joshua will not be the same.

Moshe doesn't understand why it is more important for him to depart than to supply the moral leadership that is essential for Israel not to go astray. It is as if the Holy One says, sooner or later, ready or not, there comes a time when a people must assume responsibility for its own behavior. Even though I expect Israel to fail the test, and I will now dictate a poem that will show my future hiding is a result of their moral decline,

Your place Moshe is on this side of the Jordan. They will rely on you no more.
One cannot blame one's own failings on the absence of moral leadership. Vicarious pride in the righteous among us says little of our own achievements. Ultimately, the place to look for moral failings is from within.

Gmar Tov Lekol Yisrael and may everyone have a Yom Kippur that works.

Most of us, as a rule, do not dwell on the "unpleasant" parts of the Torah. After all, who wants to dwell on unpleasant things any day of the week, let alone on Shabbat, a day where we are supposed to, dare I say, enjoy ourselves a bit. However, after a very optimistic beginning, where the children of Israel imagine bringing their first harvest to the Temple, thanking their Creator for the bounty that has been provided for them, suddenly, the Holy One introduces us to the "downside" of being part of this covenant. Just as the rewards are great for God's chosen, the punishments are very severe. What God threatens could ruin even a masochist's Shabbat. Even more depressing is that a close reading of the curses will show that the Jewish people have endured all the calamities mentioned, only taking solace that they lived to tell the tale.

Toward the end of the curses, the Torah says: "And your life will hang before you, and you will be frightened night and day, and you will not believe in your life." (Deuteronomy 28:66)

The Midrash that introduces the Book of Esther, the Pitichta of Esther Rabba, opens with this verse, and explains it the following way:

Midrash Esther Rabba, the Pitichta (Introduction):
"and your life will hang before (depend upon) you…" this refers to a person who has grain for one year.
"and you will be frightened night and day…" this refers to a person who must buy his flour each day from the miller.
"…and you will not believe in your life." This refers to one who must buy his bread from the baker.

Rabbi Berachya disagreed:
"and your life will hang before (depend upon) you…" This refers to one who has grain for three years.
"and you will be frightened night and day…" This refers to one who has grain for one year.
"…and you will not believe in your life." This refers to one who must get his grain each day from the miller.

The other rabbis asked: What about the one who must get his bread from the baker? Rabbi Berachya answered, "The Torah did not address the dead."

Your Midrash Navigator

1. The Hebrew word "Talui" can mean either "hang before" or "depend upon." Read the verse both ways and describe how it changes the meaning of the verse. If the verse means "depend upon" is this saying something positive or negative?
2. Describe the emotions clarified in this verse? Do things get better or worse? Is being frightened better than not believing in your life?
3. Why does Rabbi Berachya presume that the one who does buy his bread from the baker is already not among the living?
4. What happens to a person whose responsibility for his/her own life is taken from them? According to the midrash, is the ability to provide for ourselves a privilege?

A Word

If you notice, I have translated the first clause in the verse two ways, one which assumes that you are barely able to exist, and the other which assumes that you are still in control of your life. The reason for this ambiguity is that the Hebrew word "Talui" can mean both these things. The rabbis have chosen to interpret the word "talui" as depend on, and they seem to think that one who has wheat for a year feels secure. He only becomes terrified when he does not know from where the next day's wheat will be. And he is only considered in total despair when he is too depressed or incapable of baking his own bread, and thus relies on the baker for his own survival.

Rav Berachya says anxiety kicks in when one watches his annual stock deplete for he is already worried about next year. If he has no wheat stored and is living day to day, this is already a life of complete despair. If, however, someone has given up to the point they no longer bake their own bread, such a person is no longer considered to be alive enough for the Torah to address. This is the ultimate curse, when the will to endure and work toward that end is no longer present. At this stage, Rav Berachya says, the Torah ceases to be interested in us.

Despair is the Torah's enemy, for in moments of despair the miracle of creation and God's love are not felt. The beauty of connecting with another is beyond reach and yet, God wishes this upon those who deny the covenant. It is as if the Holy One says, "To deny the source of existence is to deny existence itself. Do not think, your life depends on you even when things are going well." For once you assume you are the master of all the good in your life, that is when your existence may come into question. It is these curses that have humbled us as a nation, and have made us strong with the knowledge that we will not only endure, but we will also grow, with the help of the Holy One, into a truly holy people, worthy of being declared chosen.

Another question: Why would the midrash on the Purim story open with such a devastating passage? The rabbis wish to remind us that there is an underlying obscenity in the Purim story. It happened in exile where we were dependent upon a foreign king through whom hidden miracles of elegant timing were performed. Had we been in our own land none of the pain, terror and despair prior to the salvation of Esther and her good uncle would have been necessary. Despair is synonymous with exile.

There are more difficult portions of Torah, and there are easier portions of Torah. But what if some of the verses in the Torah that are the hardest to swallow appeared in the same portion as some of the most palatable and delicious ones?

Two verses, both alike in dignity:
1) The "easy" verse: the "attitude of gratitude"
Every time a religious Jew eats a meal, she recites Birkat Hamazon, the "blessing for food" after the meal. The second blessing of Birkat Hamazon concludes with this quote from our portion:

"V'achalta v'savata oovay'rachta et Adoshem Elokecha, al ha'aretz hatova asher natan lach." (Deuteronomy 8:10) "When you have eaten your fill, give thanks to the L-rd your G-d for the good land which He has given you." (JPS translation)

Even for atheist or less religious Jews, the idea of thanksgiving for the blessing of food is an easy one to comprehend. We know that in a world where resources are still distributed unequally and even unfairly, we are lucky to enjoy the privilege of not wondering where our next meal is coming from. The tradition, by including this quote in the blessing, moves the focus from the food to the land, reminding us that we depend on G-d for the food, and that we have a unique connection to the Land of Israel.

2) The "difficult" verses: reward and punishment
Twice a day religious Jews recite the Sh'ma, the three paragraphs from the Torah that proclaim G-d's unity and sovereignty. Many Jews could quote the first paragraph, the v'ahavta, by heart. Almost any Jew who has had a Bar or Bat mitzvah remembers the commandment to wear tzitzit, from the last paragraph. Yet the middle paragraph remains less familiar to most, possibly due to its content:

"If, then, you obey the commandments that I enjoin upon you this day, loving the L-rd your G-d and serving Him with all your heart and soul, I will grant the rain for your land in season, the early rain and the late. You shall gather in your new grain and wine and oil - I will also provide grass in the fields for your cattle - and thus you shall eat your fill. Take care not to be lured away to serve other gods and bow to them. For the L-rd's anger will flare up against you, and He will shut up the skies so that there will be no rain and the ground will not yield its produce; and you will soon perish from the good land that the L-rd is assigning to you." (Deuteronomy 11:13-17; JPS translation)

These verses speak of reward and punishment, a deity who is kind and merciful when obeyed, harsh and angry when disobeyed. Even the most devout and pious among us can find this description of G-d troubling. Why will we suffer so unavoidably if we disobey? Where are the traces of G-d's mercy and patience, so often invoked in other portions of the Torah?

A Word
Hebrew has both singular and plural versions of the word "you." The first text, from Birkat Hamazon, speaks of individual gratitude. Each one of us should be personally grateful for the blessings bestowed upon us. The other text, from the Sh'ma, speaks of collective responsibility. If we, as a community, fail to follow G-d's laws of blessings and life, then the results - not so much as punishments, but rather, consequences - will be curses and death.

The shared lesson of both texts is to evoke our faith and understanding that G-d's world does follow predictable laws of nature. The blessing of Birkat Hamazon reminds us to express our thanks when we partake of nature's bounty. The warning of the Sh'ma reminds us to accept our part in obeying the laws of nature. The teachings of the Torah connect our moral behavior, the life of the Land, and our ultimate destiny.

Prepared by Rabbi Ben Lanckton , Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Ekev at MyJewishLearning.com.

For the last five cycles of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur I have been responsible for delivering sermons as the rabbi of a congregation in Ontario. This year, I have taken on a new position: Director of the Newberger Hillel Center at the University of Chicago.

For the first time, I will be teaching on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur rather than preaching. My preparation for the Days of Awe have been more relaxed than in the past. Ironically, my own experience of these days can be more focused on the texts, themes and purpose of this time in our year.

Parashat Ha'azinu (Deuteronomy chapter 32) represents one of the less prominent texts of the Days of Awe. As is the case this year, Ha'azinu is sometimes read on Shabbat Shuvah, the Shabbat of Repentance that comes between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This Shabbat is unique for falling within the Ten Days of Repentance, when the theme of God's judgement figures so prominently: "You are judge and arbiter...inscribing and recording all forgotten things.... The day of judgment is here!... How many shall pass away and how many shall be brought into existence..." (Unetaneh Tokef, from the liturgy of the High Holy Days).

Ha'azinu, likewise, deals with God's judgment. In his introduction to Ha'azinu, Moses says: "Gather to me all the elders of your tribes...that I may call heaven and earth to witness against them. For I know that, when I am dead, you will act wickedly...and that in time to come misfortune will befall you for having done evil in the sight of the Lord" (Deut. 31:28,29). One of the few long poems of the Torah, Ha'azinu outlines God's faithfulness to the people of Israel and contrasts it with Israel's ingratitude. Israel abandon's God for idols and God responds by punishing His people. Ultimately, God delivers Israel from the hands of its enemies.

In Ha'azinu Israel is saved, but not on account of its own merit. Even the theme of teshuvah, or turning back to God, plays no part in the flow of the poem. Ha'azinu thus stands in strong contrast to the Haftarah (prophetic reading) of Shabbat Shuvah:

"Yet even now" - says the Lord - "Turn back to Me with all your hearts, And with fasting, weeping, and lamenting." Rend your hearts... And turn back to the Lord your God. For He is gracious and compassionate, Slow to anger, abounding in kindness, And renouncing punishment. (Joel 2:12-13)

It is also striking to compare Ha'azinu to the Haftarah for Yom Kippur, in which the king of the wicked city of Nineveh tells his citizens: "Let everyone turn back from his evil ways and from the injustice of which he is guilty. Who knows but that God may turn and relent? He may turn back from His wrath, so that we do not perish." God saw what they did...and God renounced the punishment... (Jonah 3:8-10).

Teshuvah is present in these passages from the Prophets. It is not present in Ha'azinu. So it is appropriate that, while we read Ha'azinu during the days of Repentance, the Shabbat of Ha'azinu is named Shabbat Shuvah after its Haftarah rather than Shabbat Ha'azinu after its Torah reading.
One might say that Ha'azinu is part of the story, but not the whole story. a'azinu is honest about our inadequacies:

"So Jeshurun grew fat and kicked-- You grew fat and gross and coarse-- He forsook the God who made him And spurned the Rock of his support... They sacrificed to demons, no-gods..." (Deut. 32:15,17)

Ha'azinu also describes our sufferings in language that bespeaks the memories of our own cruel century: "I will hide My countenance from them, And see how they fare in the end... I will sweep misfortunes on them, Use up My arrowss on them: Wasting famine, ravaging plague, Deadly pestilence, and fanged beasts" (Deut. 32:20,23,24)

By itself, Ha'azinu is part of the story, but not the whole story: There is impiety, and there is punishment, but there is neither teshuvah nore forgiveness. If we only had Ha'azinu, we would all be inspired to be self-righteous and judgmental towards those who are less pious than us. Ha'azinu might inspire us to lash out at fellow Jews with "the venom of asps, the pitiless poison of vipers" (Deut. 32:33).

Since Ha'azinu describes God as having no patience, we would have no patience either. Since Ha'azinu describes God's punishment in violent terms, we would become violent and punishing. Might it be that the heinous name calling and spitting that some Jews directed at other Jews at the Kotel this past Shavuot was inspired by such an understanding of God's ways?

If Ha'azinu were the whole story, some Jews might feel compelled to put in place a policy of "zero tolerance" towards Jews who do not lead a traditional Jewish life. But Ha'azinu is not the whole story. Teshuvah, forgiveness and forbearance must also be included in a Jewish understanding of the relationship of people and God. This is a central message of Yom Kippur, during which it is traditional to read the book of Jonah.

The last chapter of that book is dedicated to Jonah's learning, the hard way, that God wants human teshuvah and responds to it. Jonah learns that God prefers that his creatures live: "Should not I care about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not yet know their right hand from their left...?!" (Jonah 4:11).

In a world where "zero tolerance" is a popular attitude, where repentance and forgiveness are rare commodities, we need to read Shuvah/Return! after reading Ha'azinu. We need regular reminding that strict justice--divine or human--must be tempered with rachmones.

Prepared by Rabbi David Rosenberg, Director, Newberger Hillel Center at the University of Chicago.

Most of us, as a rule, do not dwell on the "unpleasant" parts of the Torah. After all, who wants to dwell on unpleasant things any day of the week, let alone on Shabbat. Shabbat, a day, where we are supposed to, dare I say, enjoy ourselves a bit.

Yet after a very optimistic beginning, where the children of Israel imagine bringing their first harvest to the Temple, thanking their Creator for the bounty that has been provided for them, all of the sudden the Holy One introduces us to the "downside" of being part of this covenant. Just as the rewards are great for God's chosen, the punishments are very severe.

What God threatens could ruin even a masochist's Shabbat. More depressing is the fact that a close reading of the curses will show that the Jewish people have endured all the calamities mentioned only taking solace in the fact that they lived to tell the tale.

Toward the end of the curses, the Torah says: "And your life will hang before you, and you will be frightened night and day, and you will not believe in your life." (Deuteronomy 28:66)

The Midrash that introduces the Book of Esther, the Pitichta of Esther Rabba opens with this verse, and explicates it the following way:

The Midrash that introduces the Book of Esther, the Pitichta of Esther Rabba opens with this verse, and explicates it the following way:

"AND YOUR LIFE WILL HANG BEFORE (DEPEND UPON) YOU..." this refers to a person who has grain for one year. ...AND YOU WILL BE FRIGHTENED NIGHT AND DAY..."this refers to a person who must buy his flour each day from the miller. "...AND YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE IN YOUR LIFE." This refers to one who must buy his bread from the baker."

Rabbi Berachya disagreed "AND YOUR LIFE WILL HANG BEFORE (DEPEND UPON) YOU..." This refers to one who has grain for three years. ...AND YOU WILL BE FRIGHTENED NIGHT AND DAY..." This refers to one who has grain for one year. "...AND YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE IN YOUR LIFE." This refers to one who must get his grain each day from the miller.

The other rabbis asked: What about the one who must get his bread from the baker? Rabbi Berachya answered, "The Torah did not address the dead."

If you notice I have translated the first clause in the verse in two ways, one which assumes that you are barely able to exist, and the other which assumes that you are still in control of your life. The reason for this ambiguity is that the hebrew word "Talui" can mean both these things. The rabbis have chosen to interpret the word "talui" as depend on, and they seem to think that one who has wheat for a year feels secure. He only becomes terrified when he does not know from where the next day's wheat will be. And he is only considered in total despair when he is too depressed or incapable of baking his own bread, and thus relies on the baker for his own survival.

Rav Berachya says anxiety kicks in when one watches his annual stock deplete for he is already worried about next year. If he has no wheat stored and is living day to day, this is already a life of complete despair. If, however, someone has given up to the point they no longer bake their own bread, than such a person is no longer considered to be alive enough for the Torah to address. This is the ultimate curse, when the will to endure and work toward that end is no longer present. At this stage Rav Berachya says the Torah ceases to be interested in us.

Despair is the Torah's enemy, for in moments of despair the miracle of creation and God's love are not felt. The beauty of connecting with another is beyond reach and yet God wishes this upon those who deny the covenant. It is as if the Holy One says "To deny the source of existence is to deny existence itself.

Do not think that "YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON YOU even when things are going well." For once you assume that you are the master of all the good that occurs in your life, that is when your existence may come into question. It is these curses that have humbled us as a nation and have made us strong with the knowledge that we will not only endure, but we will also grow with the help of the Holy One into a truly holy people, worthy of being declared chosen.

Another question: Why would the midrash on the Purim story open with such a devastating passage? The rabbis wish to remind us that there is an underlying obscenity in the Purim story. It happened in exile where we were dependent upon a foreign king through whom hidden miracles of elegant timing were performed. Had we been in our own land none of the pain and terror and despair prior to the salvation of Esther and her good uncle would have been necessary. Despair is synonymous with exile.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein.

This week's parsha, Ki Tavo, opens with the description of the mitzvah of Bikurim, whereby the Israelites are commanded to bring the first fruits of their soil to the Temple and offer them as gifts to God. However, the mitzvah does not end there. Once the priest accepts the offering, the Israelites are further commanded to explicitly state that they have brought the first fruits of the soil which God has given them. It is not enough to simply offer the fruits of our labor to God. Rather, we must recognize that the land does not belong to us; it was given to us to use by God. The parsha goes on to enumerate many blessings the Israelites will enjoy given they abide by God's commandments, including that God will hold us above all nations and make us a holy people. However, these blessings are followed by horrendous, catastrophic curses if the Israelites deviate from God's commandments. These curses include everything from death, disease, drought, slavery, famine, thirst, outliving one's own children, and complete destruction:

Deuteronomy 28:58-61

If you fail to observe faithfully all the terms of this Teaching that are written in this book, to reverence this honored and awesome Name, the Lord our God will inflict extraordinary plagues upon you and your offspring, strange and lasting plagues, malignant and chronic diseases. He will bring back upon you all the sicknesses of Egypt that you dreaded so, and they shall cling to you. Moreover, the Lord will bring upon you all the other diseases and plagues that are not mentioned in this book of Teaching, until you are wiped out.

Your Torah Navigator
Why does the text say "fail to observe faithfully" instead of just "fail to observe?" What extra piece does the "faithfully" add to our understanding of observing the mitzvot?

What is the connection between the mitzvah of bikurim and the presence of these blessings and curses? Is there a connection between recognizing that the fruits of our labor are due to God and receiving blessings, between failing to recognize the source of the Earth and receiving disease, famine, and pestilence?

A Word
The system of reward and punishment laid out here is very explicit, yet we know that many flourish with countless blessings or suffer from severe curses who, according to this model, do not deserve such outcomes. Rarely do we connect our behavior to the presence of famine, disease, and devastation. Perhaps the presence of the mitzvah of Bikurim in this same parsha can teach us to look beyond this binary idea of how and why we receive blessings and curses. At the beginning of the parsha, we learn that not only are we commanded to return the fruits of our soil to God, but we are commanded to recognize that God is the source of all the Earth. We may use the soil to produce sweet fruits, yet we cannot forget from where we received this gift. However, if we neglect to observe the mitzvot and therefore forget to acknowledge the Source of all life, we risk seeing our Earth turn infertile and our fellow human beings go hungry and ill.

Today there is ongoing debate about our individual and societal actions and its possible connections to the very things that the Torah warns us may happen if we forsake the commandments and fail to acknowledge the Source of our fruits. Perhaps this connection can help us to see that though our actions may not directly bring about blessings and curses from a punitive God, our actions themselves do have the power to affect the blessings and curses we receive. May we take the mitzvah of Bikurim to heart and never forget to stop and count our blessings so that they are there for our children, and our children's children.

Prepared by Dena Wigder, Iyyun Fellow, Schusterman International Center.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Ki Tavo at MyJewishLearning.com.

Deuteronomy 16:18-22

18 Judges and officials you are to provide for yourselves, within all your gates that YHWH your God is giving you, for your tribal-districts; they are to judge the people (with) equitable justice.

19 You are not to cast aside a case-for-judgment, you are not to (specially) recognize (anyone's) face, and you are not to take a bribe 'for a bribe blinds the eyes of the wise, and twists the words of the equitable'.

20 Equity, equity (Tzedek, Tzedek) you are to pursue,
in order that you may live
and possess the land that YHWH your God is giving you!

21 You are not to plant yourself an Ashera ( A tree associated with idolatry) (or) any-kind of tree-structure beside the slaughter-site of YHWH your God that you make yourself;

22 and you are not to raise yourself a standing-stone (such) as YHWH your God hates.

Your Torah Navigator

1. Moshe is now instructing the people that it is up to them to have judges and officials in place. Read each verse and ask the question: To whom is Moshe speaking? Sometimes he is addressing the people and sometimes he seems to be addressing the judges. Sometimes it could be both. If we say he is addressing the judges, the verses mean one thing. If we say he is addressing the people the verses may mean something else altogehter, experiment and see how you can conjure up different meanings by changing who the subject is.

2. The verse "equity, equity (Tzedek, Tzedek) you are to pursue, in order that you may live and possess the land that YHWH your God is giving you!" is often translated as "Justice, justice shall you pursue..." Have you heard the verse before? How have you heard the phrase used? In this context who is being told to pursue justice? The judges or the people?

3. One of the midrashic ways of reading is to take a verse and to totally remove it from its context and view the verse independent of its context. If you take the verse "Equity, equity (Tzedek, Tzedek) shall you pursue..." and remove it from its context what does it mean to you?
The verse states, "The verse "equity, equity (Tzedek, Tzedek) you are to pursue, in order that you may live and possess the land that YHWH your God is giving you!" What is the connection between equity (Tzedek) and living and possessing the land"?

Is everyone affected by inequity? Even if you are not the one who suffers injustice, how does injustice affect your living on the land?

If we live in a land of corrupt judges, does that mean the people themselves are corrupt? Does the Torah think that the judges are truly representative of the people? Do you?

The Torah portion of this week contains one of the most poetic texts in our tradition, the death song of Moses.

The following is an excerpt:

"Listen heaven! I will speak! Earth! Hear the words of my mouth! My lesson shall drop like rain, my saying shall flow down like the dew - like a downpour on the herb, like a shower on the grass when I proclaim God's name, praise God for His greatness. The deeds of the Mighty One are perfect, for all His ways are just. He is a faithful God, never unfair; righteous and moral is He. Destruction is His children's fault, not His own, you warped and twisted generation. Is this the way you repay God, you ungrateful, unwise nation? Is He not your Father, your Master, the One who made and established you? Remember days long gone by. Ponder the years of each generation. Ask your father and let him tell you, and your grandfather, who will explain it..."

Your Torah Navigator

1. What is the purpose of this song?

2. Why did Moses choose the heaven and earth as witnesses?

3. Throughout the song Moses is very critical when describing the Jewish people. Is this the proper way to get the Jewish people to listen and obey?

4. Is this the approach we expect from Moses?

5. What is our perspective on the perfection of the Mighty One?

The Midrash tries to explains who is Moses:

"Rabbi Tanhuma said: If [Moses] is referred to as 'God,' why [is he also termed] 'man,' and if 'man,' why also 'God?' The reason is this: when he was cast into the river of Egypt [the Nile] he was a man; but when the river was turned into blood [by Moses] he was as God.

"Another explanation: When he fled from before Pharaoh he was a man, but when he drowned [Pharaoh in the sea] he was as God. Another explanation: When he went up to heaven he was a man. And in which respect was he a man? Compared with the angels who are made entirely of fire. But when he came down from heaven he was as God. Whence this? For Scripture says, and they were afraid to come nigh him (Ex. 34, 30).

"Another explanation: When he went up to heaven he was as God. Just as the angels neither eat nor drink, so too he neither ate nor drank. Whence this? For it is said, and he was there with the Lord... he did neither eat bread, nor drink water.

"Another explanation: What is the meaning of THE MAN, GOD? Rabbi Abin said - His lower half was 'man,' but his upper half was as God."

Your Midrash Navigator

1. Can a man be a god? Or transform to an immortal being?

2. What does it mean to be half god, half man?

3. Can we reach this level of God? Do we want this level of godliness to be revealed to us?

4. All the above opinions maintain that Moses was spiritually changed through certain actions, though there is argument as to which action was the cause of the transformation. Which opinion seems most likely?

A Word

Life is a process of decisions and choices between good and better, evil and pain.

A daily struggle is the way of life. We all have questions to ask, we all have decisions to make.

Sometimes it is easy, sometimes it is hard, but we have to make those decisions in order to move forward in life.

One of those decisions is between hypocrisy and truth. In many ways it is easy to join the voice of the majority because we are afraid, because we think people will like us better. Moses chose a way of life and made it clear to all that only the truth would guide him. He understood that truth would be the only way to reach God and to reach inner peace. This is the hardest of tests and the essence of our being. We may see hypocrisy and lies all over but our destiny is to fight it, to prove it wrong and expose it.

Prepared by Menachem Even-Israel, Former Campus Rabbi/Jewish Educator, University of Maryland, College Park.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Ha'azinu at MyJewishLearning.com.

Ha'azinu is the second-last parsha in the Chumash, but it's the last one we read in full on Shabbat morning. Ha'azinu is a toughie. It consists almost completely of a long poem, a very special one. This is Moses' swan song. As he is about to die, Moses offers a poetic presentation of the history of the rocky relationship between Israel and its – our – God, and his perspective on the future. The poem is difficult because even if you know Hebrew, it is not easy to get at the exact sense of the words and verses. But we must not give up on our attempt to find important things here. Indeed, right after the poem, at the end of the parsha, Moses says this of the poem and of the whole Torah he has been teaching:

For it is not an empty thing for you, but it is your very life; through it you shall long endure on the land to which you are crossing over the Jordan to possess it. (Deuteronomy 32:47)

The Jerusalem Talmud has a sobering comment on this verse: "It [Torah] is not an empty thing. And if you find it empty, the emptiness is in you!" (This is like the literature professor who, responding to a student who said he didn't have a clue to what T.S. Eliot's poem "The Wasteland" meant, asked the student, "To what defect in your character do you attribute your inability to understand this poem?")

In any case, the Jerusalem Talmud's comment stands as a perpetual challenge to us. When we don't immediately understand something in our tradition we cannot facilely take ourselves off the hook by saying, "Well, this just makes no sense."

So with Ha'azinu our work is cut out for us. If we are serious about understanding this seminal poem we have to read it very closely, examine the imagery, get a sense of the structure. We'd have to see how it connects with some things prophets like Hosea, Jeremiah and Ezekiel said, and how it Hebraizes motifs from Canaanite poetry. Such matters are beyond the scope of this discussion, but there is the JPS Torah commentary, for starters, and other fine discussions readily available. Ha'azinu is a demanding text but a key one for understanding closure in the Chumash.

Ha'azinu functions like all the other major poems in the Chumash: It expands on what is told in the narrative, but it does so in verse. We have here a poetic projection of how God and Israel will treat each other in the future, after Moses will have passed on. It is not a pleasant vision, but it does offer ultimate hope. As they have in the past, the people will abandon God in their illusory sense of affluence and security, and God will "hide His face from them." Yet God will not utterly destroy them because God has a larger agenda with the nations of the world, who decry and deny the covenant between God and Israel. In redeeming Israel at the end of time, God will show the nations the falseness of their understanding of ultimate reality and will vindicate Israel as God's people. At the end of his comments on the song, the great medieval commentator Nachmanides (1195 - ca. 1270) writes:

This Song ... tells us clearly all that will happen to us. ... [It] is a clear promise of the future redemption. And so it is stated in the [Midrash] Sifre: "This song is great in that it contains the present, the past, and the future; it contains issues of this world and of the World to Come." ... And while it is small in size, nevertheless it contains many things. Were this song one of the writings of the astrologers which predicted future events, it would justifiably command our belief because all of its predictions have been fulfilled up until the present. Nothing has gone unfulfilled. We therefore should also believe and anticipate [the future fulfillment of this Song] with all our heart for these are the words of God as conveyed by His prophet [Moses], "the faithful one of His house."

Ha'azinu, then, presents us with the core ideas of biblical theology, the grand narrative of Judaism as a religion. For that reason it repays careful study and contemplation.

The last parsha in the Torah, Ve-zot Ha-Berachah, which details the death of Moses, never gets read in full on a Shabbat (though in some years the first verses are read on the previous Monday and Thursday). This is a shame because there are some really interesting issues in it and they never get discussed, like the fact that we never really get to finish the Torah. As soon as we reach the end, we roll right back to the beginning. Within the linear progression of Jewish history, from the imperfection of the present to the Redemption in the future, there is the recurring circularity of the weekly Torah cycle, which means that with each passing year we should be reading and understanding Torah on a deeper and deeper level.

Prepared by Rabbi James S. Diamond, Senior consultant to the Meyerhoff Center.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Ha'azinu at MyJewishLearning.com.

Ha'azinu is the second-last parsha in the Chumash, but it's the last one we read in full on Shabbat morning. Ha'azinu is a toughie. It consists almost completely of a long poem, a very special one. This is Moses' swan song. As he is about to die, Moses offers a poetic presentation of the history of the rocky relationship between Israel and its - our - God, and his perspective on the future. The poem is difficult because even if you know Hebrew, it is not easy to get at the exact sense of the words and verses. But we must not give up on our attempt to find important things here. Indeed, right after the poem, at the end of the parsha, Moses says this of the poem and of the whole Torah he has been teaching:

For it is not an empty thing for you, but it is your very life; through it you shall long endure on the land to which you are crossing over the Jordan to possess it. (Deuteronomy 32:47)

The Jerusalem Talmud has a sobering comment on this verse: "It [Torah] is not an empty thing. And if you find it empty, the emptiness is in you!" (This is like the literature professor who, responding to a student who said he didn't have a clue to what T.S. Eliot's poem "The Wasteland" meant, asked the student, "To what defect in your character do you attribute your inability to understand this poem?")

In any case, the Jerusalem Talmud's comment stands as a perpetual challenge to us. When we don't immediately understand something in our tradition we cannot facilely take ourselves off the hook by saying, "Well, this just makes no sense."

So with Ha'azinu our work is cut out for us. If we are serious about understanding this seminal poem we have to read it very closely, examine the imagery, get a sense of the structure. We'd have to see how it connects with some things prophets like Hosea, Jeremiah and Ezekiel said, and how it Hebraizes motifs from Canaanite poetry. Such matters are beyond the scope of this discussion, but there is the JPS Torah commentary, for starters, and other fine discussions readily available. Ha'azinu is a demanding text but a key one for understanding closure in the Chumash.

Ha'azinu functions like all the other major poems in the Chumash: It expands on what is told in the narrative, but it does so in verse. We have here a poetic projection of how God and Israel will treat each other in the future, after Moses will have passed on. It is not a pleasant vision, but it does offer ultimate hope. As they have in the past, the people will abandon God in their illusory sense of affluence and security, and God will "hide His face from them." Yet God will not utterly destroy them because God has a larger agenda with the nations of the world, who decry and deny the covenant between God and Israel. In redeeming Israel at the end of time, God will show the nations the falseness of their understanding of ultimate reality and will vindicate Israel as God's people. At the end of his comments on the song, the great medieval commentator Nachmanides (1195 - ca. 1270) writes:

This Song ... tells us clearly all that will happen to us. ... [It] is a clear promise of the future redemption. And so it is stated in the [Midrash] Sifre: "This song is great in that it contains the present, the past, and the future; it contains issues of this world and of the World to Come." ... And while it is small in size, nevertheless it contains many things. Were this song one of the writings of the astrologers which predicted future events, it would justifiably command our belief because all of its predictions have been fulfilled up until the present. Nothing has gone unfulfilled. We therefore should also believe and anticipate [the future fulfillment of this Song] with all our heart for these are the words of God as conveyed by His prophet [Moses], "the faithful one of His house."

Ha'azinu, then, presents us with the core ideas of biblical theology, the grand narrative of Judaism as a religion. For that reason it repays careful study and contemplation.

The last parsha in the Torah, Ve-zot Ha-Berachah, which details the death of Moses, never gets read in full on a Shabbat (though in some years the first verses are read on the previous Monday and Thursday). This is a shame because there are some really interesting issues in it and they never get discussed, like the fact that we never really get to finish the Torah. As soon as we reach the end, we roll right back to the beginning. Within the linear progression of Jewish history, from the imperfection of the present to the Redemption in the future, there is the recurring circularity of the weekly Torah cycle, which means that with each passing year we should be reading and understanding Torah on a deeper and deeper level.

Prepared by Rabbi James S. Diamond, Senior consultant to the Meyerhoff Center.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Ha'azinu at MyJewishLearning.com.

This week's parsha, Ki Tetze, is notable for the fact that it contains the most commandments of any of the weekly portions: 72 according to the count of Maimonides. And the commandments deal entirely with laws governing relationships between people so that human society will be orderly, healthy and infused with dignity for all members of that society. The enormous range of commandments that appear here deal with all aspects of life including: paying your workers on time; building a parapet around your roof so that no one falls off, giving a groom a year of reprieve from army service after his wedding; ensuring that a husband does not defame his wife and divorce her unfairly, and many, many more.

What connects all these, and other, diverse commandments? What patterns or underlying themes can we identify that might shed light on the portion as a whole?

One of the themes that appears here in a variety of different forms is that of ownership. What does it mean that a person owns some thing or, in Biblical law, some one? How does that ownership express itself, and what are its limits? In this portion the Torah offers us an extremely nuanced and varied picture of different forms of ownership. Let's take a look at just two of them.

"You shall not see the ox of your brother or his lamb cast off [i.e., lost] and hide yourself from them; you shall surely return them to your brother. If your brother is not near you and you do not know him, then you shall bring it inside your house, and it shall remain with you until your brother's inquiring about it, then you shall return it to him." (Deuteronomy 22:1-2)

In this case a person loses his animal and it is found by someone else. It appears that ownership has now passed to the finder of the animal, according to the logical principle that if something is in your possession, you own it. But no, not in this case. Rather, the Torah is making the point that ownership doesn't depend totally on physical possession of a thing. In fact, later midrashim (interpretive commentaries) even bring cases where people who cared for the lost or abandoned possessions of others for years on end were still required to return them when the owner returned, even after investing and profiting from the thing that actually still doesn't belong to them

In another example in the portion, we learn, "When you come into the vineyard of your fellow, you may eat grapes as is your desire, your fill, but you may not put into your vessel."

Why is a person allowed to eat the grapes from someone else's land? Well, according to the Talmud the verse is referring to a worker who is working in that vineyard, and is allowed to eat some of the grapes during the normal course of his work. It appears, according to this interpretation, that the worker does have some rights over the grapes. By working with them he is allowed to assert a form of ownership over them, and to feel more entitled to them than a stranger who might wander into the vineyard but, at the same time, the Torah limits this sense of ownership and reminds him that he can only eat the grapes in the vineyard itself, and is not allowed to collect the grapes in a basket to take home.

This parsha offers us a cumulative picture of a society where, on one hand, we find many forms of ownership which imply control and power over the things we own, with the resulting ability to create and shape our lives and the situations that surround us, and, on the other hand, a heavy responsibility to the things we own. At the same time as human beings most imitate God when they own and control other things, the Torah comes to limit our ownership, emphasizing that the power we may feel when owning something is only temporary or partial.

In the context of Jewish life on campus the ownership we deal with is not the ownership of an object, but the multiple ways in which Jewish students own their Jewish identities and experiences. We strive to create environments in which students are encouraged to take ownership over their own Jewish lives and feel responsible for their own Jewish experiences. Some students need help in finding something in Jewish life that they want to own. Others benefit from limiting their own sense of ownership in order to make space for others to be welcome. We hope that they all learn from those around them, their peers and their Hillel professionals, in order to build a sophisticated sense of ownership that is tempered by mutual responsibility and care for others. We hope that Jewish life on all campuses will reflect healthy relationships, at all levels, and that the lessons that this week's parsha offers us will encourage us to fully own our own Jewish experiences, at the same time as we recognize that there is always more to learn.

Prepared by Clare Goldwater, associate vice president for Jewish Life at Hillel's Charles and Lynn Schusterman International Center

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Ki Tetze at MyJewishLearning.com.

Exodus 23:4
When you encounter your enemy's ox or ass wandering you must take it back to him.

Deuteronomy 22:1-3
If you see your fellow's ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your fellow. If your fellow does not live near you or you do not know who he is, you shall bring it home and it shall remain with you until your fellow claims it, then you shall give it back to him. You shall do the same with his ass; you shall do the same with his garment; and so too shall you do with anything that your fellow loses and you find; you must not remain indifferent.

Your Torah Navigator
What does the verse in Deuteronomy add to the verse in Exodus? How do the verses differ? How would you reconcile the verse in Exodus which talks about the "enemy's ox" with the verse in Deuteronomy which refers to the "sheep of your fellow (and not your enemy)? Is it fair for the Torah require that we trouble ourselves to return lost objects?

A Word
The Talmud takes this Biblical injunction very seriously, elucidating how responsible we are regarding each item's care. Animals have to be fed and all efforts must be made to return these lost objects.

Most commentators reconcile the discrepancy between fellow and enemy as not a discrepancy at all, but an injunction that the property of your enemy be treated the same as the property of your friend. In fact, if one has to choose between returning the lost object of a friend or an enemy, the enemy comes first and the friend comes second.

This is viewed as an opportunity to not only return a lost object to its rightful owner, but to restore affection between two people who have become embittered against each other. From this hopeful reconciliation, Rabbenu Bechaya, a medieval Kabbalistic commentator says that we will ultimately be restored to our rightful owner, the Holy One. During this month of Elul, we, too, look to return to the self of whom we are most proud as we
resolve to start this year anew.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein, director, Joseph Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Learning.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Ki Tetze at MyJewishLearning.com.

All of our modern training and western education helps us to think critically and to absorb information from written texts. It is often the very same set of skills that prevents us from encountering the true power and multiple layers of meaning contained in the words of the Torah. We often read for details, facts and information and overlook the most subtle and profound wisdom contained within the text. Rabbi Zadok ha-Kohen of Lublin, a 19th century Chassidic master, makes this same distinction when he explains that "the light of Torah which saves and protects has its effect only on those who use it in the right way." (Zidkat Ha-Tsakid 59) In other words, it's only when we dig beneath the surface that we are able unlock the deeper meaning of the Torah.

In this week's Parshat Re'eh, we read the beginning of Moshe's third discourse to the children of Israel as they are about to enter the land. At this moment of transition, Moshe prepares the children of Israel for their future by reiterating central themes we have seen throughout the Torah. He urges the careful observance of the laws concerning centralization of worship, kashrut, false prophecy and the three pilgrimage holidays. The subtext for Moshe's pleas for observance is the theological understanding that if we follow God's commandments we will be blessed, and if we do not we will be cursed. In this way, the future of Israel is not preordained but is contingent upon the choices and actions of the children of Israel.

But amidst these laws, there is a subtle redundancy in the text that deserves our attention. It is written, "For you are about to cross the Jordan to come to possess of the land that the Lord your God is giving you." (Deuteronomy 11:31) Why did the text go out of its way to command that the children of Israel both "come" to the land and "possess" it? Surely, either of these phrases by itself would have made it clear what the children of Israel were supposed to do when they crossed the Jordan River. Why use two verbs when one would have been sufficient?

Upon closer reflection, this redundancy suggests a more nuanced reading. The text seems to be suggesting that only through two complete actions could the children of Israel transform the land into the fertile home that they were promised. In other words, the simple act of being there was not enough. Their future required the additional act of "possessing" the land and taking ownership of the responsibility to transform their future.

This message applies to us as Hillel professionals. As another year is about to begin, we stand, just like the children of Israel, looking out into our future - in our case, the campus Jewish community. Just like the children of Israel, we must do more than simply "come to the land" and inherit with complacency its existing conditions. This redundancy in Parshat Re'eh reminds us that we must go a step further and "possess the land." By being proactive in the way we participate in the campus community, we can transform the impact of our Hillels on campus. Just as the children of Israel had to make their future happen, we, too, must go farther and meet new students, discover new areas of campus in which we can make our presence felt, inspire our leaders to grow in new ways and help students create new programming ideas that build stronger communities and transform lives. The future of our respective campus communities is not yet decided. Being on campus ("coming to the land") is just the first step. We are also obligated to "possess it" and actively shape our futures. When we do this, we empower ourselves to create a transformative culture in our Hillels, making us more in touch, more welcoming and more productive.

Prepared by Rabbi Mike Uram, associate director, University of Pennsylvania Hillel

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Re'eh at MyJewishLearning.com.

One theme that Moshe repeats throughout this parsha is gratitude to God. He worries and warns the people that they will enjoy the luxuries of the land but forget where they came from; that they will give themselves credit when credit to God is due. One of the most oft-quoted verses in the whole Torah reinforces this idea:

"V'achalta v'savata oovayrachta et Ad-nai El-hecha al ha'aretz hatovah asher natan lach."

"And you shall eat and be satisfied and you shall bless Ad-nai your God for the good land which He has given you."

Questions to Consider:

1. How much do you have to eat to be satisfied?
2. Once you are satisfied, how should you bless?
3. Why do you thank God for the land and not for the food?

Rabbi Yishma'el: Why Birkat Hamzon is as long as it is:

When we recite the full Birkat Hamazon after a meal, it has four distinct, paragraph-long blessings: for food, for the land, for Jerusalem, and for God's goodness. (We add extra paragraphs to the section for Jerusalem if it is Shabbat or a holiday.) In the Jerusalem Talmud, Rabbi Ishmael explains that each paragraph of our Birkat Hamazon is derived from one word or phrase of this verse:

[Jerusalem Talmud, 'Blessings', Chapter 7, 5:1]
Rabbi Yishmael says: "And you shall bless" -- Birkat Hamazon (the whole idea); "Ad-nai your God" -- for food; "for the land" -- for the land, "good" -- for Jerusalem; and "which He has given you" -- for God's goodness.

The question of the moment: How do we thank God for the land?

At Shabbat dinners and lunches across the country, in our homes, dining halls and kosher kitchens, we will sing this verse over and over again in the coming weeks and months. One question which probably did not occur to Rabbi Yishmael is: exactly how much land did God give us? Or, to put it in terms of the verse, how do we make sure that the land which God gave us remains good? We in the Hillels of North America can enjoy singing Birkat Hamazon in relative peace and security. The verse expresses gratitude for land, not food. When we recite this verse, we should direct our attention to the state of the State of Israel, and redouble our efforts and prayers on her behalf.

Prepared by Rabbi Ben Lanckton, Boston University Hillel.

There are aspects of Succot which are immediately attractive to most members of a Jewish community. Who doesn't enjoy building a structure and then celebrating that building by feasting for a week with song, with joy and celebration. Intuitively, one can immediately imagine that this activity has something to do with the last harvest and certainly the fact that we adorn our succahs with seasonal fruit reinforces that impression.

Still, why is it the custom to move out of our homes and live as much as possible in this temporary dwelling. Why, at a time, when we should bring the harvest home, are we obliged to leave that home, and feel what it is like to be "temporary", "on the move", or "homeless" on a festival that was supposed to be a family celebration. Let's take a look at the origins of the festival and see if we can gain some insight into what the celebration of this joyous feast can teach the spirit.

In the Torah it is written: Leviticus 23:42-43

42 in huts you are to stay for seven days, every native in Israel is to stay in huts-

43 in order that your generations may know that in huts I had the Children of Israel stay
when I brought them out of the land of Egypt, I am YHWH your God!

Your Torah Navigator

1. Verse 42 tells us that this is a festival for all Israelites and that everyone has to do it.

2. Verse 43 comes along and tells us why. But wait, if you read the verse literally, it sounds like we were put in booths, and not that we built them. The sages of the Talmud noticed this problem and wondered, "If we were placed in Succot, which Succot are they referring to? The Torah never tells us that they built Succot In fact, we're never given any details about their housing conditions until this verse. Were they like the ones we build nowadays?" Or is it referring to another kind of shelter that was provided to them, miraculously, by the Holy One?

The Babylonian Talmud, Succah 37b

"That in huts I had the children of Israel stay...." These were the "clouds of glory (See Exodus 13:20-24 where it is explained that when the Hebrews traveled through the desert they were escorted by a "cloud" during the day and protected by a pillar of fire at night. R. Eliezer refers to this cloud as the "clouds of glory".), so says R. Eliezer. R. Akiba says, "This is referring to the actual huts, succot, they made for themselves."

Navigating Rabbi Eliezer

Rabbi Eliezer assumes that because the verse says that God placed the people of Israel in Succot, that the verse must be referring to something that God did. Since the text never says that God built little huts for the people the verse must be considering another kind of shelter.

Navigating Rabbi Akiba

Rabbi Akiba seems to be taking the verse less literally. He seems to be saying that the Exodus from Egypt created the situation in which the people had to reside in these huts for forty years. So, what the text is saying is that "I placed you in a situation where you had to build these succot.

Connecting With Rabbi Eliezer

According to Rabbi Eliezer, a succah is supposed to make me feel appreciative that I have shelter, that I am nurtured and to remind me that there are forces out there that could leave me feeling helpless, impoverished and alone. When we go out to the temporary dwelling we are acknowledging that the forces beyond our control have to be cooperative in order for us to have a life of plenty and meaning. By going out to the succah we attempt to be intimate with those "clouds of glory", acknowledging the limits of our power and the fragility of our lives.

Connecting With Rabbi Akiba

Rabbi Akiba seems to say that the succah accentuates the role of human creativity. We are not passive in acknowledging God's role in providing, but we are given situations in life that requires us to respond. We honor the fact that we take what- ever is thrown at us and that we as partners with the greater forces in history react with creativity and dignity. We remember that we are able to improvise and be creative with flexibility in our wandering. In life, we travel through time always capable of responding to new situations with appropriate solutions. A stone house with solid foundations would not have made sense in the desert. By recalling our response in the desert, we are emphasizing our role in making the most of our circumstances.

Dancing Between The Sages

Between these two opinions lies great wisdom. Sometimes at night when you look up to the succah's roof you can get a feeling of being enveloped, embraced by a spirit of contentment as if the world has a plan for you but you may not know what it is. So, in the spirit of Rabbi Eliezer, you relate to the succah as a reminder of those clouds of glory which guided the people through the desert and the succah may become an opportunity for a prayerful moment.

But during the day we may see things the way Rabbi Akiba does. When the weather may be just a little bit nippy, you may need to bring appropriate clothing, or have a thermos of hot soup handy in order to make your time in the succah pleasant. The weather and the outdoors present challenges and in order to create opportunity, we have to respond. One who lives outdoors, lives by their wits and that creative spirit is what makes our Jewish lives dynamic, creative and renewing. We put ourselves in the succah as we choose how to reckon with the vagaries of the outdoors.

Some Contemporary Thoughts

The succah teaches us that even when we are in the comfort of our homes, we need to go out to the succah to remember that we began as slaves, without homes. This behooves us especially to use this holiday as an opportunity to help those without homes using our succah of plenty to reach out to others.

Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9
Isaiah 51:12-52:12

This week's parasha focuses on how we, the children of Israel become a community, learn how to treat one another and also how to protect ourselves, by appointing judges and watch-officers at the gates of our settlements. When read in conjunction with the haftarah reading, Isaiah, how appropriate it is that these words fall at the beginning of the month of Elul, a time for introspection and outward acts of teshuva to other people.

The parasha begins:
Deuteronomy 16:18-20

"You shall appoint judges and watch-officers for your tribes, in all the settlements that YHWH your God is giving you, and they shall govern the people with due justice. You shall not judge unfairly: you shall show no partiality; you shall not take bribes, for bribes blind the eyes of the discerning and upset the plea of the just. Justice, justice shall you pursue, that you may thrive and occupy the land that YHWH your God is giving you.

Your Shoftim Navigator

1. What is the purpose of appointing watchers and judges over the community? Who are they guarding? From what or from whom?
2. In the verse, "Justice, justice shall you pursue" why is the word "justice" repeated?
3. How can these words, which are meant for a community, be applied to the individual?

On this fourth Shabbat after Tisha B'Av we read the fourth prophecy out of seven weeks of consolation between Tisha B'Av and Rosh Hashanah. In this week's haftarah portion, Isaiah comforts the children of Israel, who are in the midst of exile and are suffering. Isaiah's message to us is that our troubles will end. Therefore, we must prepare ourselves spiritually to go back to our homeland Zion. Interestingly, in addition to the doubled word "justice, justice" in our parasha, we find four more examples of word-doubling in the Haftarah.

Isaiah 51:12-52:12

(51:1) I, I am the One who comforts you: what is wrong with you, that you are afraid of mortals, of human beings who become like grass...
(51:12) Rouse yourself, rouse yourself, rise up, Jerusalem, you have drunk from the Eternal's hand the cup of wrath, and drained to the dregs the bowl that made you stagger...
(52:1) Awake, awake! Clothe yourself in strength, O Zion; array yourself in robes of splendor...
(52:11) Depart, depart! Go out from there! Touch nothing impure; go out from her midst...

Your Haftarah Navigator

1. What is the significance of the word repetitions in Isaiah?
2. Are the words themselves significant? Several of these words are imperatives, commands-- why?
3. Are these commands for the individual or the community or both? Why?
4. If these commands are all a part of bringing ourselves out of exile and into our homeland, how do we make the connection between these instructions and the days of Elul?

A Word

Shoftim is the first parasha of the Hebrew month of Elul, the days we spend looking inside ourselves and repairing our actions prior to Yom Kippur. Elul is a time for doing acts of teshuva, of turning ourselves around, taking another look at ourselves, and making amends with the people in our life. Elul can be a month of reflection, in which we act as our own judges, taking care of our "gates," i.e., what we let in and out of our lives.

Moses spoke these words to the whole community of the children of Israel. And yet, he spoke them to each individual as well. Perhaps this is why words are doubled in our text this week. To remind us that even as we mend our ways as individuals, we know that Jewish people everywhere are doing the same.

We Jews live a complicated life during Elul. We simultaneously look back at the past year, anticipate the coming year, and focus on the present tense, connecting to the people in our lives who mean something to us. Perhaps this is why words are doubled in our text this week. To remind us once to look ahead and back, and once to remain in the present tense, to focus on watching and judging ourselves seriously. Taking a second chance at mending the holes in our lives.

As Elul begins, may we double our words. May we think twice about our actions. About what comes in and out of our gates. May Elul be a month of intention for us as we go about repairing our world.

"One who says Torah in the name of the person who said it, hastens the redemption of the world." Megillah 15a

Thank you to Michael Jacobs who showed me the doubled words.

Prepared by Rabbi Andrea Lerner, Midwest Director of Hillel's Joseph Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Learning, University of Wisconsin

Leviticus 22

26 Yhwh spoke to Moshe, saying:

27 An ox or a sheep or a goat, when it is born, shall remain seven days under its mother, and from the eighth day and forward it will be accepted as a near-offering, as a fire-offering to Yhwh. And an ox or a sheep?it and its young you are not to slay (for sacrificial purposes) on one day.

Deuteronomy 22

6 When you encounter the nest of a bird before you in the way, in any tree or on the ground, (whether) fledglings or eggs, with the mother crouching upon the fledglings or upon the eggs, you are not to take away the mother along with the children.

7 Send-free, send-free the mother, but the children you may take for yourself, in order that it may go-well with you and you may prolong (your) days

Your Torah Navigator

1. What do the verses in Leviticus and Deuteronomy have in common?

2. How do the circumstances of both texts differ?

3. Are they significant?

4. What lessons do you draw from these instructions?

5. What is the connection between sending the mother bird away and the lengthening of one?s days.

A Look At Nachmanides (commonly known as Ramban, an acronym for Rabbi Moshe Ben Nachman) on the verses in Deuteronomy. When you encounter the nest of a bird before you. This commandment can be given the same explanation as the mitzvah in Leviticus 22:28: "And an ox or a sheep?it and its young you are not to slay (for sacrificial purposes) on one day".

For the reason for both these commandments is so that we will not be cruel-hearted and merciless. Or so the verse would not permit a type of slaughter that would eradicate a species, even if it permitted slaughtering an animal from this species. See that one who kills the mother and its young in one day or one who takes the fledglings without sending the mother away is like one who is cutting off this species.

A Word

In Ramban?s commentary, he mentions that Maimonides agrees and says that the verse enjoins us not to slaughter the young in front of the mother for animals also fear for their children for "mother love for the young they bear is not an intellectual phenomenon borne of speech, but it is activated from a thought process found in animals just as it is found in humans..."

Both Maimonides and Nachmanides emphasize that the commandments are given to help us improve as human beings, to refine ourselves as a holy people. It is a subtle process. On the one hand, we are allowed to slaughter animals, on the other, we are told that we are stewards of this earth and its species. The slaughtering of animals has to be regulated.

In Leviticus, we are told how the Holy One wants sacrifices, while in Deuteronomy, we are told how to behave when we happen upon a nest. Either way, the Holy One does not want the world ignored. Part of a holy consciousness is to be aware that compassion and mercy apply in some small degree to all living creatures, even those we are permitted to eat.

Some will no doubt see this as hypocritical, and will opt for vegetarianism. Nachmanides, however, sees this mitzvah as a reflection of the gray areas of sacred aspiration in a world of hard choices. Yes, the animal kingdom serves humanity and yes we have to remember our humanity even when we are permitted to take their lives. There are times when the difficult choice, the harsh one, is what may be required, but even harsh outcomes require a humane process.

At the beginning of this week's parsha, Nitzavim-Vayelech, we find Moses giving his final preparations to the children of Israel to enter the land that God has given them. He reminds them once again that they are God's chosen people and instructs them to be holy through observing God's commandments. In last week's parsha, Ki Tavo, Moses warns of a multitude of horrific curses lest the Israelites forsake God's commandments and again in Nitzavim, he reminds them of this admonition. Undoubtedly, this extraordinarily long list of commandments and the severe consequences they carry seems daunting, intimidating, and remote. The children of Israel were likely thinking similar thoughts that we as modern Jews do when we read this final section of Devarim: how are we supposed to not only make sense of these hundreds of Mitzvot, but use them as a means to sanctify our lives? Moses answers this question with one of the most essential concepts of Torah, learning, and Judaism:

Deuteronomy 30:11-14
Surely 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, "Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us that we may observe it?" Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, "Who 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?" No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it.

Your Torah Navigator
Three times in these four verses, Moses uses two examples to prove one underlying point. We know that there are no wasted or extra words in the Torah, thus what can we learn from the presence of these three pairs of imagery?
1. Why does Moses say that Torah is not too baffling in addition to beyond reach? What are the differences in these two justifications for not learning Torah? How do we shy away from something that is too baffling versus something that is beyond our reach?
2. Moses uses two metaphors to describe where Torah is not: the heavens and the sea. How are these metaphors different and what does this teach us about our relationship to Torah?
3. Once again, Moses uses this motif of couples when he imparts that Torah is in our hearts and our mouths. How do you act upon something that is in your heart and something that is on your lips?

A Word
It is appropriate that we read these words as we approach Rosh Hashanah and we re-evaluate our commitments and relationships to our families, our work, and to making our lives holy through learning and engaging with our Judaism. Parshat Nitzavim reminds us that these important aspects of our lives are not in the heavens, the sea, too baffling or not beyond our reach, but instead are in our hearts, mouths, and thus fully in our realm of capability and action. We make room in our hearts and our minds for the study Jewish texts, let its teachings inform our thinking as we make choices about how to live our lives as modern Jews, and translate this wisdom into action that makes us a holy people. We use our mouths as ways to impart Jewish values and teachings, to speak ethically about and to one another, to speak up for those who cannot speak up for themselves. May we always remember that our Torah and Judaism are too never too baffling or beyond the reach of any one of us, but instead here on Earth, in our hands, and if we make room, in our hearts and mouths.

Prepared by Dena Wigder, Iyyun Fellow, Schusterman International Center.

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Netzavim at MyJewishLearning.com.

This week's parsha of Ki Tetze is often lauded for the ability to pack the largest number of mitzvot (74 out of the Torah's 613) into a single parsha. Among these are such classic "feel good" mitzvot as, returning your fellow's ox if you see it has gone astray, building a fence around your roof to protect others from accidental injury, and sending away the mother bird before you take her eggs. Other important social laws dealing with war, justice in business practices and general stipulations for social order are also covered in this parsha. While most of these laws can be made relevant to our contemporary lives, one that has particular relevance to our work as Hillel professionals is the commandment of what to do with the "wayward son" or the ben sorer u'moreh.

The biblical passage about the "wayward son" states, "If a man has a wayward son who does not heed his father or mother and does not obey them even after they discipline him, his father and mother shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders of his town at the public place of his community. They shall say to the elders of his town, 'This son of ours is disloyal and defiant; he does not heed us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.' Thereupon, the men of his town shall stone him to death. Thus you will sweep out evil from your midst: all Israel will hear and be afraid." (Deuteronomy 21:18-21)

This passage is understandably somewhat fearful at face value, as it is stipulating a means for killing one's children. Even more troubling is the description of this child is strikingly similar to most stereotypical descriptions of college students: defies authority, eats large quantities of food, and has developed an inexplicable taste for warm beer…. sound familiar?

While trying to legalize and enact restrictions to make the law almost unenforceable, the Gemara rationalizes its existence through the concept stated in the Mishnah in Sanhedrin 71b, "Let him die while yet innocent, and let him not die guilty." The assumption put forth by Rabbi Yosi HaGalili on 72b is that the Torah foresees this child's destiny as one that leads him to sin and harming others and therefore the child is ultimately saved from that end by this law.

Although we usually do not have such fatalistic expectations for our students, these passages can be seen as asking a deeper question: To what extent am I responsible for my fellow person? In which person do I place my trust and loyalty? Should I care about the troubled individual I know, or the person s/he might harm in the future?

We do not have to search far for a possible answer. A few chapters later in the parsha we have a similar statement representing the other end of the obligation spectrum.

"Parents shall not be put to death for children, nor children be put to death for parents: A person shall be put to death only for his own crime," (Deut. 24:16).

In addition to the parallels in the analogy to family structure, this verse also deals with the problem of individual versus communal responsibility. However, the concluding clause of this verse strongly advocates for individual responsibility for behavior. Deuteronomic law is creating a balance between our responsibility to our community and our need for ownership of our actions.

As I prepare for the start of the upcoming year, with the arrival and confusion of first-year students and the joyful reunions of friends who lost touch over the summer, this sense of balance is an important lesson for me. Students -- even those who may sometimes act like "wayward children" -- are also just searching for the appropriate middle ground between responsibility to themselves and to their communities. All of our students struggle to balance their identities as Jews with the other demands of their coursework, jobs, families, friends and the many other joys and hardships of college life. Through our help, patience and free coffee dates, we can add meaningful support to all of their journeys.

Prepared by Miriam Ignatoff, program director for Oberlin College Hillel.

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Ki Tetze at MyJewishLearning.com.

In this week's parsha, Ki Tetze (literally, when you go out), Moses continues his final speech to the Israelites by outlining 74 of the Torah's 613 mitzvot (commandments). The majority of the laws outlined are concerned with moral values, ethics and the creation of a just society. The parsha also includes laws concerning inheritance, dignified burials of the dead, fair treatment of the debtor, the laborer and the unloved wife, and judicial procedures and penalties for adultery, rape and false accusations. In Ki Tetze we also find the commandment to wear tassels, later interpreted to be talit or tzitzit, on our four-cornered garments. Ki Tetze concludes with the obligation to remember "what Amalek did to you on the road, on your way out of Egypt."

Among the long list of mitzvot in Ki Tetze is a commandment that states, "You shall not plow with an ox and a donkey together" (Deut. 22:10). While this statement may not seem applicable to many of our lives today, the meaning behind this commandment conveys an important modern-day message for the Jewish community.

Ibn Ezra, a medieval Jewish commentator, explains that this commandment demonstrates that "the smaller donkey is unequal in strength to the mighty ox and is unable to pull a plow with the same force. Yoking them together would cause the donkey to exert itself beyond its natural capacity, and is therefore forbidden." Others believe that plowing and bounding the two animals together would be an unfair strain on the ox, which would take on much more of the burden and would overexert itself. What both interpretations demonstrate are the differences between the ox and the donkey.

While the ox and the donkey are two distinct animals, each with their own skill sets and strengths, they are both strong. Each animal is capable in its own way of pulling the plow and manages to get the job done. While we are commanded to separate the two and recognize their individuality, we also must not forget the end result, a field that has been successfully plowed by the strengths of each individual.

While many of us no longer live in an agriculturally dependent society, ideas of individuality and communal achievement still resonate in the Jewish community today. The Jewish community is a diverse one, comprised of uniquely talented individuals. It is impossible today to generalize about what Jewish people do or do not do, where a Jewish person might live, or even what a Jewish person looks like. As Hillel professionals we recognize the wide variety of Jewish people, and through this diversity we strive to enrich the lives of Jewish students around the world. We offer countless creative opportunities for students to express their individuality and to connect to the Jewish community in their own ways.

Rashi, another medieval Jewish commentator comments on this mitzvah as well when he says, "This law applies to [merely] leading them together when they are bound to each other as a pair, for transporting any load." For Rashi, the issue is not simply about finishing the job of plowing the field, but that the individual's differences must be taken into consideration when moving along on a journey. Just as the ox and donkey are not able to make a journey in the same way, our students are on distinctive journeys of personal Jewish discovery. As Hillel professionals, we are challenged to create environments where students are not only comfortable expressing their Jewish identities in unique and exciting ways, but where students are also inspired to grow, learn more and continue on their journey.

Unlike the ox and donkey that would hinder each other's progress by working and traveling together, the individuals that create the Jewish community can learn a great deal from one another. Conversations among our staff and students and common understandings about our differences and similarities can only make our community stronger. Much like the ox and the donkey plowing the field in their own ways, no member of the Jewish community can be seen as stronger or more important. Each individual approach to Judaism should be celebrated equally, creating a space where everyone feels proud to express their Jewish identity in their own unique style, and where we are excited to learn from each others approaches. What our students individually bring to our community are essential components to creating and strengthening a vibrant, welcoming and ever-growing Jewish community.

Prepared by Julie Finkelstein, Hochberg Israel education fellow

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Ki Tetze at MyJewishLearning.com.

Deuteronomy 8:2-3
2. You are to bear-in-mind the route that YHWH had you go these forty years in the wilderness, in order to afflict you, by testing you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep his commandments, or not.
3. So he afflicted you and made-you-hungry, and had you eat the mahn (mannah) which you had not known and which your fathers had not known, in order to make you know that not by bread alone do humans stay-alive, but rather by all that issues at YHWH's order do humans stay-alive.

Deuteronomy 8:16-18
16. the one who had you eat mahn in the wilderness, which your fathers had not known, in order to afflict you and in order to test you, for it to go-well with you, in your future.
17. Now should you say in your heart: My power and the might of my hand have produced all this wealth for me;
18. then you must bear-in-mind YHWH your God,

Your Torah Navigator
1. What is the relationship between hardship and knowing your heart?
2. What was the purpose of the "mahn"?
3. Why was "mahn" considered an affliction?
4. How does the way God gives the "mahn" achieve this purpose?

Talmud, Yoma 86a
Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai's students asked him: Why wasn't the "mahn" allocated once a year [instead of every day]? He answered with an analogy. Think of a human king who would allocate his son's yearly wages once a year. What would his son do? He would come to see his father only once a year.

The king changed his mind and allocated his son's wages on a daily basis, so that his son would come see him every day.

So too it is with Israel. Anyone who had four or five children would be anxious if they would have food for the following day and they would worry if they would die from hunger. So, they would direct their hearts to their father in heaven...

Your Talmud Navigator
1. What does the "mahn" come to teach us according to Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai?
2. How is this reflected in the Torah itself?

A Word
The most difficult aspect of religious belief is to make an incorporeal abstraction such as God immediate, intimate and real. We are given a story that before the Torah was given, we were literally fed by God and prior to that we were made to feel anxious and hungry. The anxiety and the hunger were also gifts that were necessary for us to understand that beyond the illusions of control, and autonomy stands God, who is only desirous of one thing: a relationship that gives us true perspective on what matters. Toward this end, we are told that we were dependent as children, and that we should always remember that no matter how secure we feel, it was not of our own doing, and bread alone does not indicate that we are in control.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein, former director, Hillel's Joseph Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Learning

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Ekev at MyJewishLearning.com.

This week's Parsha, Parshat Re'eh, continues Moses' farewell speech to the Children of Israel. In it, Moses anticipates their entry into the Land of Israel and the covenantal relationship upon which their success in the Land depends. Moses discusses the implications of their covenant with God and pays special attention the societal obligations that it imparts to them - and to us.

In that context we read (Deuteronomy, Chapter 15, Verses 7-8): "If, however, there is a needy person among you, one of your kinsmen in any of your settlements in the land that the Lord your God is giving you, do not harden your heart and shut your hand against your needy kinsman. Rather, you must open your hand and provide him that which is sufficient for all he is lacking."

Your Bible Navigator

1. How do we measure the "lacking" for which we are obligated to provide?
2. What, if any, are the limits on our obligation?
3. Are there circumstances under which we can refuse to help?
4. Exactly what loss are we making up for?
5. What is the nature of the obligation of Tzedakah as understood by these passages?

Talmud, Tractate Ketuboth, 67b

The rabbis taught: "That which is sufficient..." - You are commanded to provide a pauper with sustenance [i.e. his basic needs] but you are not commanded to make him wealthy.

"for all he is lacking" - Even if he is lacking a horse to ride upon and a servant to run before him, you must provide these for him. It is said that Hillel the Elder regularly took a horse and a servant for a pauper who was of aristocratic parentage. Once, when he could not find a servant [available] to run before the pauper, Hillel himself ran before him for three millin [a distance of about 2 miles].

The rabbis taught: If an orphan boy and an orphan girl come before the administrators of a charity fund to be supported, we first provide for the girl and then we provide for the boy. For it is common for a man to go begging from door to door but not for a woman [who would therefore be more embarrassed].

The rabbis taught: When an orphan boy comes for charity funds in order to get married, we rent a house for him, supply him with a bed and all the furnishings required for his use, and only then do we marry off a wife to him, for it says, "You must open your hand and provide him that which is sufficient for all he is lacking."

Your Talmud Navigator

1. What is the difference between "providing for that which is lacking" (for which we are obligated), and "making him wealthy" (for which we are not obligated)?

2. In the anecdote regarding Hillel the Elder, what is the significance of the information that the pauper involved was of aristocratic parentage? Would it have made a difference had he been a pauper the son of paupers? Why?

3. Based on the last excerpt quoted from the Talmud, whose responsibility is it to ascertain "that which is lacking?" On what basis is that determination made?

4. What reason does the Talmud give for the requirement that the Fund administrators help the pauper girl before the pauper boy? How might the principle involved deepen our understanding of the rest of this Talmudic passage?

Maimonides, Laws of Gifts To the Poor:

A pauper who owns a home and household utensils, even utensils of gold and silver, is not obliged to sell his home and utensils [in order to receive Tzedakah]. It is forbidden to pressure a pauper or to raise one's voice at him because his heart will break. One who gives less than a Prutah is not credited with having given anything. One who gives Tzedakah rudely loses all merit even if one gave one-thousand gold pieces.

Concluding Observations

One might conclude that "that which is lacking" is not to be measured in material terms at all. Sustaining a pauper is important as a means of restoring that which is really lacking: his (or her) dignity and sense of self-worth. Deprived of possessions, a person experiences a loss of dignity and a diminution of self; restored to them, his dignity is returned. As understood by Maimonides and by the rabbis of the Talmud, our parsha tells us to recognize the loss of dignity and sense of self that accompanies material depravation and commands us to act and to restore "that is lacking." The Jewish society envisioned by the Torah is a society in which all its inhabitants are allowed lives of dignity and value and in which each member cares for the dignity of all others.

Prepared by Rabbi Howard Alpert, Executive Director, Hillel of Greater Philadelphia.

Exodus 23:4

If you see the ass of someone you despise struggling under its burden and you wish to ignore him, you must unload his burden with him.

Deuteronomy 22:4

If you see your fellow's ass or ox fallen on the road, do not ignore it; you must help him raise it.

Your Torah Navigator

In the verse in Exodus the context is helping an enemy. In the verse in our Parsha, the context is helping a fellow. If I'm supposed to help an enemy, wouldn't I assume I should help a fellow?

Rabbeynu Bechaya on this verse:

In Parshat Mishpatim it is mentioned: "When you see the ass of someone you despise" but in this parsha it says: the ass of your fellow." This comes to teach you that if you despise a person that he will become your "fellow" through your helping him, that you will work with him and through that forget the hate and remember love.

A Word

Rabbeynu Bechayya reminds us that relationships are inert because we choose to keep them that way. The Torah requires us to keep trying, to keep caring, to reverse the dynamic and transform feelings of contempt into feelings of concern through acts of caring and love.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein, Director Hillel's Joseph Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Learning.

The world has gone mad! Normally, I love this week's Torah portion, Parshat Shoftim, which is filled with many of the laws and ideas that form the basis of the ethical Jewish tradition of which we are often so proud. We read this week's Torah portion and think to ourselves it is good to be a Jew and I am proud of the contribution that our people has made to world religion and legal ethics. After all, Parshat Shoftim is the torah portion that brings us the ideas that we can only convict someone of a capitol offense with two witnesses, that we must offer terms of peace to an enemy before we attack, and that we must set aside cities of refuge to protect against acts of revenge. All of these wonderful laws usually make this Torah portion quite thrilling. The reader can sit back and admire the proud and honorable tradition of which she is a part.

But this week, the parsha reads differently, you cannot read all of the laws about war and revenge and justice without thinking of what the media calls "the bloodshed and violence in the Middle East." That phrase has been used so many times in the newspapers and blogs that it almost means nothing. The use of these types of generic phrases relate to many of the more complex issues discussed in this week's Torah portion. The conflicts in Afghanistan, Iraq and Lebanon are filled with accidental and purposeful deaths, with unsanctioned revenge in place of justice, and with acts of war that have no regard for natural resources or innocent life.

When we read this week's portion, it hits very close to home. As the Torah outlines its view of a just world, it seems like a mirror that is reflecting and mocking our current reality. It seems that all of the lofty ideals of the parsha have no connection to the crazy reality we live in. This disparity is not only depressing, it is morally exhausting.

So what do we do as Jews, as Hillel professionals and as human beings when we are confronted with such a problem and such a sense of powerlessness? This week's Torah portion provides part of the answer when it challenges us with the famous words: "Justice, justice you shall pursue!" While the plain meaning of this verse seems simple, a great deal of scholarly and rabbinic ink has been spilled trying to understand why the word "justice" is repeated. The Sfat Emet (Rabbi Yehudah Leib Alter), however, takes issue with a different part of the phrase. He is more concerned with the word "pursue." He explains that "There is no final depth or end to justice and truth, we always have to go deeper, seeking out the truth within truths… Thus the word emet (truth) contains the first, middle and last letters of the Hebrew alphabet."

The Sfat Emet's shift in emphasis reminds us that a just world is not something easily achieved and that this statement from this week's Torah portion commands us to achieve a more modest goal. It is not incumbent upon us to complete a just world, only to pursue this goal to the best of our ability. This shift in emphasis challenges us not to simply observe the world as it is, or to allow ourselves to succumb to moral exhaustion or a sense of failure. According to the Sfat Emet's interpretation, the obligation to pursue justice precedes the obligation to achieve it. While this may sound easy at first, the obligation to stay engaged in an ongoing process that does not have a specific achievable end in mind is actually quite difficult. We can never throw up our hands in frustration because of all of the failures of our society and the world around us. We must always "pursue," even when the disparity between the world in which we envision and the world in which we live is great.

Now that we have entered the Hebrew month of Elul which leads into both the new school year and the Jewish High Holidays, we are reminded of our heavy responsibility. As Jews and as human beings, we must not fail to act in ways that improve our word; whether through social justice, political activism or simple acts of loving-kindness. As Hillel professionals, we have to continue to challenge ourselves and our students not to become apathetic because of the feeling that our contribution is too small in a world with so many problems. If we maintain the courage to continually pursue justice, we may be able to help the world a little and transform ourselves in the process. As the New Year approaches, I wish all of us the strength to make a difference and year filled with justice and joy.

Prepared by Rabbi Mike Uram, Associate Director/Rabbi Educator at Penn Hillel

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Shoftim at MyJewishLearning.com.

This week's Torah portion, Ki Tetze, contains a large number of the commandments in the Hebrew Bible. Nearly one-eighth of the six hundred and thirteen are found here, seventy-two according to Maimonides and seventy-four according to the Sefer HaChinuch, an anonymous medieval work focusing on the meaning and practice of the mitzvot.

Included here are prohibitions against the mixing of cotton and wool and against wearing clothing associated with the opposite gender. We also find the commandment to wear tassels, later interpreted as tzitzit, on our four cornered garments. Although the majority of the laws are concerned with moral values and the creation of a just society, here we find laws concerning fair treatment of the debtor, the laborer and the unloved wife.

Following are two excerpts from the parasha.

Deuteronomy 22:1-4
If you see your fellow's ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your fellow. If your fellow does not live near you or you do not know who he is, you shall bring it home and it shall remain with you until your fellow claims it; then you shall give it back to him. You shall do the same with his ass. You shall do the same with his garment, and so too shall you do with anything that your fellow loses and you find. You must not remain indifferent. If you see your fellow's ass or ox fallen on the road, do not ignore it; you must help him raise it.

Deuteronomy 22:23-27
In the case of a virgin who is engaged to a man: If a man comes upon her in town and lies with her, you shall take the two of them out to the gate of that town and stone them to death - the girl because she did not cry for help in the town, and the man because he violated another man's wife. Thus you will sweep away evil from your midst. But if the man comes upon the engaged girl in the open country, and the man lies with her by force, only the man who lay with her shall die, but you shall do nothing to the girl. The girl did not incur the death penalty, for this case is like that of a man attacking another and murdering him. He came upon her in the open; though the engaged girl cried for help, there was no one to save her.

Your Deuteronomy Navigator
1. What communal responsibilities are laid out in the above passages? How do these inform a just society?
2. From what do you turn away?
3. Is it easier to turn away if you are turning from something or someone that is silent or dehumanized?

The first text assumes that human beings would naturally turn away or hide, according to more literal translations - from an animal that had gone astray or, if not from the animal itself, the responsibility that the care and safe return of that animal implies. It is natural, the text assumes, to want to shy away from an extra burden or hassle, and therefore, if we are to create a just society, we must be cautioned against following our own nature in this instance.

Taken at face value, the second text seems not to pertain to societal but rather individual responsibility - that of the woman or man engaged in adultery. It asserts that a betrothed woman who is raped in the city should be put to death as she did not cry for help and thereby was complicit in an adulterous act. The elliptical message contained in the text is that human beings respond to the cries of other human beings; she must not have cried out, because if she had, someone would have come to her aid.

Whereas the first text assumes that the people would not naturally go out of their way to help their fellow man (through care of his property) and must be commanded to do so, the second text assumes just the opposite, that help was not requested as, if it had been, it would have been provided.

Three 20th-Century Stories
New highway signs are being posted across the country raising awareness of a new cell phone number to call in case of emergency. A glut of cell phones and well-meaning passers-by have wreaked havoc on local emergency phone systems as travelers in car after car call to report accidents.

Almost every day in recent memory we hear stories of those who walked toward a bomb scene instead of away. Not able to ignore what was too horrific to imagine, they cared for loved ones and strangers in equal measure.

Nearly forty years ago, a woman named Kitty Genovese was stabbed to death in the courtyard of a Queens apartment building. No less than thirty-eight witnesses reported later that, though they heard her screams, they hadn't called for help because they thought that someone else surely had or because they didn't want to get involved.

Phil Ochs, wrote the following lyrics about the incident:

Oh look outside the window, there's a woman being grabbed.
They've dragged her to the bushes and now she's being stabbed.
Maybe we should call the cops and try to stop the pain.
But Monopoly is so much fun, I'd hate to blow the game.
And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends.

The "small circle of friends" is our society. As we move toward the beginning of the New Year may we have the strength and courage to do our part to ensure that it is just and moral.

Prepared by Rabbi Toby Manewith, formerly at George Washington University Hillel.

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Ki Tetze at MyJewishLearning.com.

During my senior year of high school, my classmates voted me "most likely to succeed." I was 17 years old and thrilled to have been given the honor, but I was miles away from understanding the expectation and meaning behind it. I knew that to succeed I would have to work hard. I knew there would be a lot of learning involved. I knew basically what I wanted to be doing 20 years from then. What I did not have a clue about, however, was how I would get there. I had no plan for success, just a vague idea of what that meant to me and what my life goals were. There were no "rules to life" mapped out before me as I set out on my journey as an adult.

In Parshat Ki Tavo, Moshe continues his final speech to the Israelites before finally sending them off into the unknown land of Israel. At this point, the Israelites had some idea about what life would be like in the land of Israel, having sent Caleb and Joshua and the other spies ahead to report back. Additionally, they had been told by God what the land was like. In this parsha Moshe does not dwell on what is ahead of them in the distant future.

After giving the people of Israel brief instructions on what to do upon first arriving, Moshe says to them, "As soon as you have crossed the Jordan into the land that the Lord your God is giving you, you shall set up large stones." He then spends this time with the Israelites reminding them of the many commandments placed upon them. Additionally, he tells them what is to be expected of them: "Now, if you obey the Lord your God, to observe faithfully all His commandments which I enjoin upon you this day, the Lord your God will set you high above all the nations of the earth," (Deut. 28:1) and what behaviors are to be punished: "Cursed be he who will not uphold the terms of this Teaching and observe them." (Deut. 27:26) Moshe gives them a set of guidelines for living as Jews in the land of Israel. When he concludes his instructions he says to the people, "And you shall observe the words of this covenant and fulfill them, in order that you will succeed in all that you do." (Deut. 29:8)

I was struck by this translation, as it jumped off the page at me, shouting, "Follow the commandments and you will be successful!" Surely this could not mean that by observing the laws of Judaism I would find success in all I did in life. I wrestled with this idea, searching for commentary that would explain its meaning. There is plenty of commentary about each commandment on its own, but nothing I could find explained this summary claim to my satisfaction. One explanation I did find came from the Sforno, a rabbi from the late 15th century early 16th century Italy. He makes note of the all-encompassing nature of the word choice of the verse. The word "all," according to the Sforno, denotes that if a person "observes the words of this covenant and fulfill[s] them" then success will come to a person in the material world as well as in the world to come.

Not being satisfied with this explanation, I found an alternate translation. It reads, "Observe therefore the words of this covenant, and do them that ye may make all that ye do to prosper." This also seemed to me to promise something that in reality does not always happen in life. It was then that I found a translation of the Hebrew root that made sense. It was not "to be successful," not "to prosper," but that if you followed the commandments, you would "act intelligently."

Of course! For if you do not have the guidance you need to act intelligently, you cannot succeed or prosper. By providing us with the guidance of the commandments, God gives us the tools to act intelligently, and what's more, to act rightly toward others. Moshe is not telling us that living by the commandments will automatically give us the good life. He is saying that these are the tools by which one lives the good life, the commandments are the tools that inform our decisions. This is how we find our own definition of success.

In the time that has transpired since my high school graduation, I have begun to learn what it means to be successful and I have learned some guidelines for pursuing that success. For example, to succeed in planning a leadership conference, one needs the support of colleagues. To double the number of Jewish students having meaningful Jewish experiences, we must use the tools set out for us to guide our actions as a community. And to be successful in our personal goals, we are fortunate to have some guidelines for our approach.

Prepared by Brianne Nadeau, assistant director, student leadership development

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Ki Tavo at MyJewishLearning.com.

This week's parsha, Nitzavim, contains a rebuking of the Jewish people as they prepare to enter the land that God has given them. Take the fact that this Torah portion is usually read on Shabbat Shuvah (the Shabbat of "repentance" between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) or, as is the case this year, the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah, and the rebuke packs an even greater wallop.

Fortunately, I was asked to both write a d'var Torah on this portion as well as read part of Nitzavim in my synagogue this coming Shabbat. In learning my assigned part of the parsha, I noticed something: The first 10 passages of Chapter 30 contain seven words that are derived from the root shin-vav-vet, or "shuv" - Hebrew for "turn" or "return" - the same root used for the Hebrew word for repentance: teshuvah. A quick flashback to fifth grade in Jewish day school reminded me that this can't be a fluke. I then turned (pardon the pun) to my favorite commentator, Nehama Leibowitz, for her take on things.

Leibowitz points out that this 10-sentence section of the text serves as words of consolation, following words of "dire retribution" and serious curses that would befall those who do not heed the covenant with God. In these words, the Torah seeks to clarify the relationship between repentance (teshuvah) and redemption (geulah), which typically is a "progressive arrangement" of 1) commit a sin, 2) be punished, 3) repent and 4) God will bring you to the land (redemption). But by using the words "turn" or "return," this passage takes a different direction. It says that the relationship between repentance and redemption is not a one-way street - that the usage of turn or return suggests, according to Leibowitz, a series of reciprocal movements.

Reading the passage is like following a tennis match. Here's how that "match" plays out in all seven usages of the root "shuv":

30:1 "...the blessing and the curse that I have set before you, and you take them (va-ha-shevota) to heart." Score: God 1, Jews 0.

30:2 "And you return (ve-shavta) to the Lord your God, and you and your children heed His command". God 2, Jews 0.

30:3 "Then the Lord your God will restore (ve-shav) your fortunes..." God 2, Jews 1.

30:3 "...He will bring you together (ve-shav) again" God 2, Jews 2.

30:8 "You will return (ta-shuv) and obey the voice of the Lord..." God 3, Jews 2.

30:9 "...For the Lord will again (ya-shuv) delight in your well-being." God 3, Jews 3.

30:10 "...once you return (ta-shuv) to the Lord your God with all your heart and soul."

God: game, set and match.

But why should this be back and forth? Why couldn't God simply win in a rout: We serve God repentance, God returns redemption, six-love?

To answer this, Leibowitz quotes Rabbi Yitzhak Arama, a 15th-century Spanish commentator. He observed that repentance cannot be a single act, where one goes from deep in sin to the "pinnacle of purity." In his book, "Akedat Yitzhak," he quotes the prophet Isaiah, who said: "Let the wicked forsake his path and the iniquitous man his thoughts and return to the Lord." Arama asks: if this person has forsaken his path, why did Isaiah need to say "return to the Lord?" Isn't forsaking the path in and of itself repentance? His answer: there are two stages of repentance. The first is a preliminary movement back to God, which is done with great difficulty and without much progress, but is enough to "leave the evil path behind." The second stage, achieved after a greater effort, brings one closer to God using the increased momentum of being on the "right path." Arama argues that in order for us to reach the second stage, our first step has to be immediately reciprocated - that the second stage may not come if God does not provide any encouragement or redemptive sign.

And sure enough, as we struggle through reading these instructions along with the threats, curses and rebukes concentrated in the last two Torah portions, wondering how to find that path, the Torah provides us with some encouragement:

30:11-14: "Surely 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...neither is it beyond the sea... No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it."

That provides us with some direction, in that we might look to things we know - things we know so well, that they are in our mouths and in my hearts (memory, prayer, ideas, family) - and use them to find the way.

Tizku LeShanim Rabot, Neimot Vetovot - We should all merit many more good and pleasant years ahead.

Prepared by Simon Amiel, director of the Steinhardt Jewish Campus Service Corps, program professional advancement and student leadership development

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Netzavim at MyJewishLearning.com.

Unlike many Torah portions that deal with complex and seemingly remote issues, Parshat Re'eh features the foundational sources of several holidays. What could be more popular than that!

With Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot all present in the parsha, the only challenge is choosing one topic for discussion. Because my bar mitzvah happened to take place on Sukkot, I chose to write a few words about this charming holiday.

Every Jewish holiday is accompanied by basic fundamental questions. The classic example is Pesach, filled with questions such as: Why do we eat matzo? And why four cups of wine?

So, what is Sukkot's basic question? Well, actually, it's a very simple one. Why do we celebrate Sukkot when we do?

Rabbi Yaakov Baal Haturim, a 14th century Spanish scholar, suggests that we intentionally construct the sukkah, a hut or booth, in the chillier fall season in order to attract attention. He comments that, "Even though He took us out of Egypt on the month of Nissan, He did not command us to make a sukkah at that time, because it is the summer time when people already make sukkot for shade, and therefore if we sat in sukkot then it would not be obvious that we are doing so because it is commanded by the Creator. Rather, we do so in Tishri, during the rainy season, a time when people are leaving their shade-huts and moving indoors, thereby distinguishing that we are building sukkot for the specific purpose of fulfilling the commandment."

In other words, we celebrate Sukkot at the "wrong time." Perhaps we should be sitting in the sukkah on the night of the Seder. After all, that is when we went out of Egypt. So why do we wait half a year? The answer of the Baal Haturim at first seems strange. To sit in the sukkah in the spring - that would be too easy. Let's see you sit outside in the cold and rain! That's serious! Or as my grandmother would say, "It's no trick to make chocolate mousse from good chocolate cream and eggs. The trick is to make it from breadcrumbs and sugar!"

Is there perhaps a deeper notion here than merely the idea of challenging ourselves? Sukkot follows the end of summer, filled with outdoor social activities. It also comes at the end of the High Holidays, a time of spiritual elevation and moral improvement. Before we move indoors for the winter, totally sheltering ourselves within our homes, Sukkot comes to teach us the meaning of true shelter inside a home. Looking up in the sukkah, we see heaven as a roof over our heads, and are reminded of a different kind of security in the world than the security of a home with four walls and a locked door. More so, in contrast to our notion of private property and private space, the doors to the sukkah are always open, signifying that our homes should always be open and welcoming to guests.

In reality, Sukkot's occurrence during the rainy and cold fall is not meant to simply make celebrating a more challenging experience. Instead, Sukkot was moved from the spring to the fall in order to give us a timely training seminar in kindness and hospitality. It helps us realize we must always welcome others into our homes and our lives, even when the task is not easily completed. Although Sukkot may still be a little bit away, we at Hillel can still draw valuable principles from the lessons of Sukkot. As we prepare for students returning to campus, we should take the time to reflect and consider how we can better create an atmosphere that truly welcome students into Jewish spaces and invites them to open our doors.

Prepared by Rabbi Ori Melamed, Jewish Learning on Campus Initiative of Rutgers University Hillel.

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Re'eh at MyJewishLearning.com.

Most of us, as a rule, do not dwell on the "unpleasant" parts of the Torah. After all, who wants to dwell on unpleasant things any day of the week, let alone on Shabbat, a day where we are supposed to, dare I say, enjoy ourselves a bit. However, after a very optimistic beginning, where the children of Israel imagine bringing their first harvest to the Temple, thanking their Creator for the bounty that has been provided for them, suddenly, the Holy One introduces us to the "downside" of being part of this covenant. Just as the rewards are great for God's chosen, the punishments are very severe. What God threatens could ruin even a masochist's Shabbat. Even more depressing is that a close reading of the curses will show that the Jewish people have endured all the calamities mentioned, only taking solace that they lived to tell the tale.

Toward the end of the curses, the Torah says: "And your life will hang before you, and you will be frightened night and day, and you will not believe in your life." (Deuteronomy 28:66)

The Midrash that introduces the Book of Esther, the Pitichta of Esther Rabba, opens with this verse, and explains it the following way:

Midrash Esther Rabba, the Pitichta (Introduction):
"and your life will hang before (depend upon) you…" this refers to a person who has grain for one year. "and you will be frightened night and day…" this refers to a person who must buy his flour each day from the miller. "…and you will not believe in your life." This refers to one who must buy his bread from the baker.

Rabbi Berachya disagreed:
"and your life will hang before (depend upon) you…" This refers to one who has grain for three years. "and you will be frightened night and day…" This refers to one who has grain for one year. "…and you will not believe in your life." This refers to one who must get his grain each day from the miller.

The other rabbis asked: What about the one who must get his bread from the baker? Rabbi Berachya answered, "The Torah did not address the dead."

Your Midrash Navigator
1. The Hebrew word "talui" can mean either "hang before" or "depend upon." Read the verse both ways and describe how it changes the meaning of the verse. If the verse means "depend upon" is this saying something positive or negative? 2. Describe the emotions clarified in this verse? Do things get better or worse? Is being frightened better than not believing in your life? 3. Why does Rabbi Berachya presume that the one who does buy his bread from the baker is already not among the living? 4. What happens to a person whose responsibility for his/her own life is taken from them? According to the midrash, is the ability to provide for ourselves a privilege?

A Word
If you notice, I have translated the first clause in the verse two ways, one which assumes that you are barely able to exist, and the other which assumes that you are still in control of your life. The reason for this ambiguity is that the Hebrew word "talui" can mean both things. The rabbis have chosen to interpret the word "talui" as depend on, and they seem to think that one who has wheat for a year feels secure. He only becomes terrified when he does not know from where the next day's wheat will be. And he is only considered in total despair when he is too depressed or incapable of baking his own bread, and thus relies on the baker for his own survival.

Rav Berachya says anxiety kicks in when one watches his annual stock deplete for he is already worried about next year. If he has no wheat stored and is living day to day, this is already a life of complete despair. If, however, someone has given up to the point they no longer bake their own bread, such a person is no longer considered to be alive enough for the Torah to address. This is the ultimate curse, when the will to endure and work toward that end is no longer present. At this stage, Rav Berachya says, the Torah ceases to be interested in us.

Despair is the Torah's enemy, for in moments of despair the miracle of creation and God's love are not felt. The beauty of connecting with another is beyond reach and yet, God wishes this upon those who deny the covenant. It is as if the Holy One says, "To deny the source of existence is to deny existence itself. Do not think, your life depends on you even when things are going well." For once you assume you are the master of all the good in your life, that is when your existence may come into question. It is these curses that have humbled us as a nation, and have made us strong with the knowledge that we will not only endure, but we will also grow, with the help of the Holy One, into a truly holy people, worthy of being declared chosen.

Another question: Why would the midrash on the Purim story open with such a devastating passage? The rabbis wish to remind us that there is an underlying obscenity in the Purim story. It happened in exile where we were dependent upon a foreign king through whom hidden miracles of elegant timing were performed. Had we been in our own land none of the pain, terror and despair prior to the salvation of Esther and her good uncle would have been necessary. Despair is synonymous with exile.

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Ki Tavo at MyJewishLearning.com.

One of my regrets as a musician was that I never really learned to improvise. While great classical musicians of the nineteenth century improvised their own cadenzas during solo works, by the time I was studying music in the late 20th Century only the most brilliant performers would ever even consider departing from the notes on the page. The question of performance in classical music when I was growing up was not, "What original statement can I make?" but rather, "What new interpretation can I make?" Even that was pretty bold. More often the question was, "How can I be faithful to the music?" or "How can I play this piece the way the composer wanted it to sound?" Jazz was where improvisation happened. In jazz the imperative was to come up with something new, not to produce a faithful replica.

There is of course something lost and something gained in both these models. There is something deeply powerful in playing a sonata or a symphony composed by Mozart. We imagine we are playing the piece exactly as the composer intended it - and we may in fact be doing so. We feel we are re-creating a moment in history, that as we play the notes of Schubert we find ourselves in 19th-Century Vienna. If we find meaning in the music it is not through bringing ourselves into the music, but through subjugating ourselves to its directives. And this is of course what is lost in classical music and gained in jazz - the spontaneity, the newness and the risk of something less than a self-contained unit of perfection. By not taking the risk, we settle for works of magnificence; but by taking it, we might achieve different, deeper, moments of meaning, or we might fall short.

These tensions, between a prescribed piece and an improvised one, find expression in Parashat Ki Tavo. The parsha brings us several moments of scripted speech: the formula to be recited when one brings first fruits to the Temple (Deut. 26:5-9); 'vidui ma'aser', the confession made over tithes (26:13-14); and the curses to be recited at Mt. Gerizim and Mt. Ebal upon entry into the land of Israel (27:14-26). In each of these cases, the Torah prescribes exact words to be recited at particular moments in the life of the individual and the community.

Pre-scriptions are a bold projection of power. When we utter the words of a script, the author, though he may be long since dead, still exercises authority over us. The formulae of Ki Tavo hold sway over the people who will recite them years and centuries later. And even today, thousands of years after the writing of the Torah, its words still wield great power over the many Jews who faithfully and precisely recite them every week in synagogue. Formulae, both verbal and behavioral, have accumulated over the centuries to create a religious life that can be almost entirely about subjugating individual expression to the demands of legal authority. Halakhic Judaism is much closer to classical music than to jazz.

And yet: The Rabbis of the Mishnah did a great deal of adaptation, if not improvisation. They invented an entirely new religion, built not around the Temple and the priests, but around the home and Torah study. But - and this is the crucial point - they were careful to root their claims in the same written text that had provided the foundation of Temple-centered Judaism. Their invention came through interpretation, and they were able to maintain the appearance that they were being faithful to the tradition in a seamless way.

The Rabbis' example is illustrated nowhere as well as in their treatment of the opening verses of Ki Tavo. As you may recall from Passover, the verses of the first-fruits formula, beginning with "arami oved avi," "My father was a wandering Aramean," provide the basis for the Maggid section of the Seder. Rather than simply read or recite the formula, however, the Mishnah instructs us "l'drosh," to interpret the verses (Pesachim 10:4). With this simple word, the Rabbis transform the act of recitation from an exercise in submitting to the Torah's script, to an act of partnership with the Torah. Individual experience is refracted through the lens of Torah, and Torah is refracted through the lens of individual experience. The Torah provides the basis for conversation, but the individual is expected to bring his or her own thoughts and reflections to the table, and in the process create something new.

Over the centuries, this model created an amazing tapestry of texts by authors separated by generations and continents, all weaving their words on a loom of a shared tradition of Torah. Michael Walzer puts it beautifully: "What makes this body of work a distinct and more or less unified tradition, and what marks its limits, is its intertextuality. A long series of writers have addressed… questions by referring themselves to the same authoritative texts and to the critical events on which these texts are focused: the exodus from Egypt, the Sinai revelation and covenant, the winning of the land… And the same writers, despite their radical dispersion and the absence of all modern means of communication, refer endlessly to one another, agree and disagree with each other's interpretation of both texts and events." (The Jewish Political Tradition, Vol. I, p. xxii-xxiii)

The achievement of modernity was to create a break with all that. This happened in Judaism just as it happened in music: What Schoenberg was to Beethoven, the Pittsburgh Platform was to Maimonides. And while in the first generation even the break itself was still part of the multi-generational conversation, by later generations the scripts of the past lost their status as the basis of discussion, and instead became museum pieces. As Walzer puts it: "Writers who opted out of the referential system and who avoided or escaped the common experience are not part of the… tradition." (ibid.) Since he starts with the Bible and engages Maimonides, Spinoza falls within the tradition, according to Walzer. But figures like Marx, Freud, and Durkheim, though they were Jews, were not part of this tradition, because they did participate in the process of textual interpretation - or rejection, in the case of Spinoza - that wove the tapestry together.

In our generation we are witnessing a return to Jewish texts among Jews of all stripes, just as we see a return to traditional forms - like tonality, melody and harmony - in music. There is a general consensus among many that the radical break of modernity, though it may have been necessary to achieve the level of individual freedom that it did, left behind a lot of valuable stuff. So we talk about "rebuilding community," "traditional values," and the like. This is a healthy movement, though dangers lurk in the shadows: the danger of losing ourselves in the text, of losing our freedom in the traditional forms. As we embark on this journey of fusing classical and jazz, individual and tradition, we would be wise to take our cues from the Rabbis and their model of a simultaneously tense and elastic relationship with Torah.

Written by Josh Feigelson, Campus Rabbi of Fiedler Hillel at Northwestern University

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Ki Tavo at MyJewishLearning.com.

Deuteronomy 15:4-11
Take a look at this passage from Parshat Re'eh. A close reading of verse 4 and verse 11 reveals an apparent contradiction. Take a look.
4 However, there will not be among you any needy-person, for YHWH will bless, yes, bless you in the land that YHWH your God is giving you as an inheritance, to possess.
5 Only: if you hearken, yes, hearken to the voice of YHWH your God, by taking-care to observe all this commandment that I command you today,
6 indeed, YHWH your God will bless you as he promised you; you will cause many nations to give-pledges, but you will not (have to) give-pledges; you will rule over many nations, but over you they shall not rule.
7 When there is among you a needy-person from any-one of your brothers, within one of your gates in the land that YHWH your God is giving you, you are not to toughen your heart, you are not to shut your hand to your brother, the needy-one.
8 Rather, you are to open, yes, open your hand to him, and are to give-pledge, yes, pledge to him, sufficient for his lack that is lacking to him.
9 Take-you-care, lest there be a word in your heart, a base-one, saying:
The seventh year, the Year of Release, is nearing and your eye be set-on-ill toward your brother, the needy-one, and you not give to him, so that he calls out because of you to YHWH, and sin be incurred by you.
10 You are to give, yes, give (freely) to him, your heart is not to be ill-disposed in your giving to him, for on account of this matter YHWH your God will bless you in all your doings and in all the enterprises of your hand!
11 For the needy will never be-gone from amid the land; therefore I command you, saying: You are to open, yes, open your hand to your brother, to your afflicted-one, and to your needy-one in your land!

Your Torah Navigator
So, which is it? Will there be no poor or will there always be poor people and if there will always be poor people irrespective of what we do, how is that an incentive to feed them?

In the midrash halacha, the Sifre on the book of Devarim, the apparent contradiction is reconciled by saying verse 4 is speaking of a time when all the commandments are being obeyed by Israel and verse 11 is speaking of a time when the commandments are not being observed.

Your Midrash Navigator
1. Does this mean when it says, "the needy will never be-gone from amid the land" that God has given up on us ever fulfilling the commandments?
2. Would the Torah say such a thing?
3. Why should we continue to alleviate human suffering if verse 11 is true? Why bother?

Shmuel, a Talmudic sage, brings verse 11 as a proof that the messianic period will be a time when the only major difference will be that we there will be an ingathering of exiles and we will be politically autonomous. For as long as there is a land, the fact that there will be poverty indicates that the world itself will have changed very little. How would Shmuel handle the contradiction between verses 4 and 11, if he feels that poverty will never be erased from the earth?

A Word
In the Sifre's understanding, we are taught that poverty is a communal affliction. Even if we are not afflicted by it, the fact that poverty exists among us is proof of the Holy One's dissatisfaction with all of us. The way we are told that we are supposed to behave at this time is to open our hands and do what the Holy One has refrained from doing. Even though we understand that we will never be able to eliminate poverty from the earth, we are engaged in the task of trying to make someone's life a little better.

We are humbled by the fact that the completion of this work requires more than generosity. It requires a consciousness that appreciates there are other aspects of God's Torah which need to be addressed if poverty is to be completely obliterated. Somehow, a consciousness of God through the recitation of blessings, the sanctification of Shabbat, the way we eat, also has an impact on whether our society will be afflicted with poverty.

Some commentators say God understands that His people are incapable of such devotion and thus verse 11 resigns itself to a reality of poverty. Shumuel's statement echoes this, that even a messianic era some will be left wanting.

If this pessimistic view is true then at the very least we can humbly try to alleviate what suffering we can, for according to the verse, poverty diminishes all of us.

Unlike many Torah portions that deal with complex and seemingly remote issues, Parshat Re'eh features the foundational sources of several holidays. What could be more popular than that!

With Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot all present in the parsha, the only challenge is choosing one topic for discussion. Because my bar mitzvah happened to take place on Sukkot, I chose to write a few words about this charming holiday.

Every Jewish holiday is accompanied by basic fundamental questions. The classic example is Pesach, filled with questions such as: Why do we eat matzo? And why four cups of wine?

So, what is Sukkot's basic question? Well, actually, it's a very simple one. Why do we celebrate Sukkot when we do?

Rabbi Yaakov Baal Haturim, a 14th century Spanish scholar, suggests that we intentionally construct the sukkah, a hut or booth, in the chillier fall season in order to attract attention. He comments that, "Even though He took us out of Egypt on the month of Nissan, He did not command us to make a sukkah at that time, because it is the summer time when people already make sukkot for shade, and therefore if we sat in sukkot then it would not be obvious that we are doing so because it is commanded by the Creator. Rather, we do so in Tishri, during the rainy season, a time when people are leaving their shade-huts and moving indoors, thereby distinguishing that we are building sukkot for the specific purpose of fulfilling the commandment."

In other words, we celebrate Sukkot at the "wrong time." Perhaps we should be sitting in the sukkah on the night of the Seder. After all, that is when we went out of Egypt. So why do we wait half a year? The answer of the Baal Haturim at first seems strange. To sit in the sukkah in the spring - that would be too easy. Let's see you sit outside in the cold and rain! That's serious! Or as my grandmother would say, "It's no trick to make chocolate mousse from good chocolate cream and eggs. The trick is to make it from breadcrumbs and sugar!"

Is there perhaps a deeper notion here than merely the idea of challenging ourselves? Sukkot follows the end of summer, filled with outdoor social activities. It also comes at the end of the High Holidays, a time of spiritual elevation and moral improvement. Before we move indoors for the winter, totally sheltering ourselves within our homes, Sukkot comes to teach us the meaning of true shelter inside a home. Looking up in the sukkah, we see heaven as a roof over our heads, and are reminded of a different kind of security in the world than the security of a home with four walls and a locked door. More so, in contrast to our notion of private property and private space, the doors to the sukkah are always open, signifying that our homes should always be open and welcoming to guests.

In reality, Sukkot's occurrence during the rainy and cold fall is not meant to simply make celebrating a more challenging experience. Instead, Sukkot was moved from the spring to the fall in order to give us a timely training seminar in kindness and hospitality. It helps us realize we must always welcome others into our homes and our lives, even when the task is not easily completed. Although Sukkot may still be a little bit away, we at Hillel can still draw valuable principles from the lessons of Sukkot. As we prepare for students returning to campus, we should take the time to reflect and consider how we can better create an atmosphere that truly welcome students into Jewish spaces and invites them to open our doors.

Prepared by Rabbi Ori Melamed, Jewish Learning on Campus Initiative of Rutgers University Hillel.

Learn More
Additional commentaries and text studies on Re'eh at MyJewishLearning.com.

This week's parasha, Shoftim, contains a series of laws directing the nascent Israelite community on how to establish a just society. The issues it covers include many that we still struggle with in our society today: setting up a fair and impartial legal system, making distinctions between murder and manslaughter, establishing the level of testimony necessary to convict someone in a capital crime, laying forth the principles for conducting a just war. These varied concepts, however, are all tied together through one guiding principle found at the beginning of the parasha:

Deuteronomy 16: 18-20
You shall appoint magistrates and officials for your tribes, in all the settlements that the Lord your God is giving you, and they shall govern the people with due justice You shall not judge unfairly: you shall show no partiality; you shall not take bribes, for bribes blind the eye of the discerning and upset the plea of the just. Justice, justice, shall you pursue, that you may thrive and occupy the land that the Lord your God is giving you.

Your Torah Navigator:
Who is the commandment "justice, justice, shall you pursue" directed at - the judges or the people?
What is the significance of using the verb "pursue" in this commandment? What else, either from our text or our own lives, do we pursue?
Few passages in Torah include the "reward" for fulfilling the commandment. How does having this information affect your understanding of the passage?

Biblical commentators also discuss the meaning of the doubling of the word tzedek, justice in verse 20. Rashi explains that this means one should seek to have their case tried before the best court available. Nahmanides takes this idea, but applies it to the judges themselves, who should make sure to be just in their rulings, but also pursue justice by seeking out the advice of sages greater than themselves. The Talmud includes this provocative interpretation:

Talmud Sanhedrin 32b
As it has been taught: Justice, justice you shall pursue. The first [mention of justice] refers to a decision based on strict law; the second, to a compromise. How so? Where two boats sailing on a river meet, if both attempt to pass simultaneously, both will sink. However, if one makes way for the other, both can pass [without mishap]. Likewise, if two camels met each other while on the ascent to Beth-Horon [a high mountain with a narrow path]; if they both ascend [at the same time] both may tumble down [into the valley]; but if [they ascend] after each other, both can go up [safely]. How then should they act? If one is laden and the other unladen, the latter should give way to the former. If one is nearer [to its destination] than the other, the former should give way to the latter. If both are [equally] near or far [from their destination,] make a compromise between them, with the one [which is to go forward] compensating the other [which has to give way].

Your Talmud Navigator
How does this sugya (passage) understand the meaning of the word "justice"? What implications does this interpretation have for how it is pursued?
What are some other ways to interpret the meaning of "justice" and how does that change how one should pursue it?
In the example of the camel, the passage suggests that the unladen camel should give way to the laden one. How can we understand this metaphor in our own terms? What modern issues might it apply to?

A Word
In the movie A Beautiful Mind, Dr. John Nash is portrayed as coming up with a "truly original idea" in which he suggests that the best result is not one in which everyone pursues his or her own selfish best interest, but where one pursues one's self-interest within the context of the entire group's best interest. Thus, he suggests that one should be willing to make minor individual sacrifices for the good of the group. Our sugya makes the same point, recognizing that true justice is reached when all members of the group's needs are taken into consideration, not only our individual needs. Consider the implications for your own life of using this understanding of justice.

Prepared by Rabbi Marc Israel, Director, KESHER and the UAHC College Education Department.

Chapter 20 of Deuteronomy, occurring toward the end of this week's parashah, deals with the laws of warfare. The section ends with the following two verses:

"When in your war against a city you have to besiege it a long time in order to capture it, you must not destroy its trees, wielding the ax against them. You may eat of them, but you must not cut them down. Are trees of the field human to withdraw before you into the besieged city? Only trees which you know do not yield food may be destroyed; you may cut them down for constructing siegeworks against the city that is waging war on you, until it has been reduced." (Deut.20:19-20)

Torah Navigator
1. Why does the Torah command us not to cut fruit trees, but allows non-fruit bearing trees to be used for implements of offensive war?
2. How do you understand the phrase, "Are trees of the field human to withdraw before you"? Is this a statement of mercy towards trees, or towards the humans who will need the fruit of those trees after hostilities have ceased?

In Rabbinic times, the prohibition of causing damage to trees in wartime was greatly expanded. Based on the phrase "lo tashchit" (you shall not destroy) in verse 19, came the laws of "bal tashchit", an entire category of destructive and wasteful actions which were prohibited. Maimonides summarizes the situation as follows:

...Whoever cuts down a fruit-bearing tree in a destructive manner is liable to lashes. But it may be cut down if it damages other trees or causes harm to neighboring fields or because it fetches a high price. The Torah only forbade willful destruction. This is the case not only with trees. But whoever breaks utensils, tears garments, demolishes a building, stops up a well and willfully destroys food violates the prohibition of "you shall not destroy." (Mishnah Torah, Melachim)

Commentator Navigator
1. How has the prohibition changed since its inception in the Torah?
2. Is there a difference in the thrust of the prohibition once it has been expanded to include the destruction of inanimate objects?

"For Jews, the environmental crisis is a religious challenge. As heirs to a tradition of stewardship that goes back to Genesis and that teaches us to be partners in the ongoing work of Creation, we cannot accept the escalating destruction of our environment and its effect on human health and livelihood. Where we are despoiling our air, land, and water, it is our sacred duty as Jews to acknowledge our God-given responsibility and take action to alleviate environmental degradation and the pain and suffering that it causes. We must reaffirm and bequeath the tradition we have inherited which calls upon us to safeguard humanity's home." (from the Founders' Statement, Coalition on the Environment and Jewish Life, 1992)

Modern Day Navigator
In our own times, many caring Jews have taken the commandment of bal tashchit as a dictum to fight against pollution, deforestation and other environmental hazards. How might environmentalists use bal tashchit to defend their position? Is there a way in which logging companies could use it to defend theirs?

A Word
At the end of a passage that prepares the people for acts of war comes a statement that looks ahead to peace. Even in the height of the feelings of fear and anger that come with the waging of war, a soldier is a human being, not a machine that destroys everything in his path. Even in war, we must still be humane and follow rules of common decency and conservation. Bal tashchit reminds us that everything on earth is God's, not ours, and is precious, and not to be wasted.

Prepared by Rabbi Leslie Bergson, Jewish Chaplain and Hillel Director, The Claremont Colleges

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Shoftim at MyJewishLearning.com.

This week's parsha, Re'eh (Deut 11:26 - 16:17) begins with the command to "see" (in the singular) "this day I set before you (in the plural) blessing and curse." Commentators have asked, why this initial command "to see" is in the singular, and then the text changes and addresses the people in the plural. One commentator has suggested that Adonai speaks to the entire community (lifneychem) when enjoined them to follow the commandments.

However, each individual (hence the singular) has the freewill to choose to "see", to take to heart, or to turn away from, these commandments. The people are about to cross the Jordan and enter into the Land. Moses stands with the people enjoining them to follow God's commandments once Moses has left the people on their own, surrounded by "foreign peoples" and "alien cultures." Imagine his desperatoin to impart to the people the importance of God's commandments, knowing full well that he must leave them and trust them to make their own choices.

I couldn't help but think, as I read this parsha, of the hundred or so families that have entered our doors in the past couple of days as parents bring their children to college. These parents, like Moses, must bring their children to a new place and leave them to make their own choices. These children will now have the freewill to choose to remember their Judaism during their college experience or to turn away from it and choose another path.

Like Moses, these parents are desperate to see their children remain connected to Judaism during these college years. Yet they realize that their children are on the brink of adulthood. They, as parents, canot accompany their children, on a daily basis, throughout the college experience. The parents must leave their children and allow them to express their independence, to exercise their freewill.

In our parsha, Moses sets before the people a number of structures to guide them in their daily life, including the centralization of worship, a few tips for distinguishing false prophets, and a structure to begin to build a just community. When parents bring their children to Hillel at the beginning of the new academic year, they too are providing their children with a structure to remain connected Jewishly as they enter into the "promised land" of adulthood.

The decision to take advantage of this structure remains in the students' hands. It is our job as Hillel professionals to understand the importance of this decision and to sustain the structure for our students so that they will desire to incorporate their Jewish identity into their adult lives. We have been entrusted with an awesome responsibility; let us not forsake it.

Prepared by Rabbi Sue Shifron, Indiana University Hillel.

One of my regrets as a musician was that I never really learned to improvise. While great classical musicians of the nineteenth century improvised their own cadenzas during solo works, by the time I was studying music in the late 20th Century only the most brilliant performers would ever even consider departing from the notes on the page. The question of performance in classical music when I was growing up was not, "What original statement can I make?" but rather, "What new interpretation can I make?" Even that was pretty bold. More often the question was, "How can I be faithful to the music?" or "How can I play this piece the way the composer wanted it to sound?" Jazz was where improvisation happened. In jazz the imperative was to come up with something new, not to produce a faithful replica.

There is of course something lost and something gained in both these models. There is something deeply powerful in playing a sonata or a symphony composed by Mozart. We imagine we are playing the piece exactly as the composer intended it - and we may in fact be doing so. We feel we are re-creating a moment in history, that as we play the notes of Schubert we find ourselves in 19th-Century Vienna. If we find meaning in the music it is not through bringing ourselves into the music, but through subjugating ourselves to its directives. And this is of course what is lost in classical music and gained in jazz - the spontaneity, the newness and the risk of something less than a self-contained unit of perfection. By not taking the risk, we settle for works of magnificence; but by taking it, we might achieve different, deeper, moments of meaning, or we might fall short.

These tensions, between a prescribed piece and an improvised one, find expression in Parashat Ki Tavo. The parsha brings us several moments of scripted speech: the formula to be recited when one brings first fruits to the Temple (Deut. 26:5-9); 'vidui ma'aser', the confession made over tithes (26:13-14); and the curses to be recited at Mt. Gerizim and Mt. Ebal upon entry into the land of Israel (27:14-26). In each of these cases, the Torah prescribes exact words to be recited at particular moments in the life of the individual and the community.

Pre-scriptions are a bold projection of power. When we utter the words of a script, the author, though he may be long since dead, still exercises authority over us. The formulae of Ki Tavo hold sway over the people who will recite them years and centuries later. And even today, thousands of years after the writing of the Torah, its words still wield great power over the many Jews who faithfully and precisely recite them every week in synagogue. Formulae, both verbal and behavioral, have accumulated over the centuries to create a religious life that can be almost entirely about subjugating individual expression to the demands of legal authority. Halakhic Judaism is much closer to classical music than to jazz.

And yet: The Rabbis of the Mishnah did a great deal of adaptation, if not improvisation. They invented an entirely new religion, built not around the Temple and the priests, but around the home and Torah study. But - and this is the crucial point - they were careful to root their claims in the same written text that had provided the foundation of Temple-centered Judaism. Their invention came through interpretation, and they were able to maintain the appearance that they were being faithful to the tradition in a seamless way.

The Rabbis' example is illustrated nowhere as well as in their treatment of the opening verses of Ki Tavo. As you may recall from Passover, the verses of the first-fruits formula, beginning with "arami oved avi," "My father was a wandering Aramean," provide the basis for the Maggid section of the Seder. Rather than simply read or recite the formula, however, the Mishnah instructs us "l'drosh," to interpret the verses (Pesachim 10:4). With this simple word, the Rabbis transform the act of recitation from an exercise in submitting to the Torah's script, to an act of partnership with the Torah. Individual experience is refracted through the lens of Torah, and Torah is refracted through the lens of individual experience. The Torah provides the basis for conversation, but the individual is expected to bring his or her own thoughts and reflections to the table, and in the process create something new.

Over the centuries, this model created an amazing tapestry of texts by authors separated by generations and continents, all weaving their words on a loom of a shared tradition of Torah. Michael Walzer puts it beautifully: "What makes this body of work a distinct and more or less unified tradition, and what marks its limits, is its intertextuality. A long series of writers have addressed… questions by referring themselves to the same authoritative texts and to the critical events on which these texts are focused: the exodus from Egypt, the Sinai revelation and covenant, the winning of the land… And the same writers, despite their radical dispersion and the absence of all modern means of communication, refer endlessly to one another, agree and disagree with each other's interpretation of both texts and events." (The Jewish Political Tradition, Vol. I, p. xxii-xxiii)

The achievement of modernity was to create a break with all that. This happened in Judaism just as it happened in music: What Schoenberg was to Beethoven, the Pittsburgh Platform was to Maimonides. And while in the first generation even the break itself was still part of the multi-generational conversation, by later generations the scripts of the past lost their status as the basis of discussion, and instead became museum pieces. As Walzer puts it: "Writers who opted out of the referential system and who avoided or escaped the common experience are not part of the… tradition." (ibid.) Since he starts with the Bible and engages Maimonides, Spinoza falls within the tradition, according to Walzer. But figures like Marx, Freud, and Durkheim, though they were Jews, were not part of this tradition, because they did participate in the process of textual interpretation - or rejection, in the case of Spinoza - that wove the tapestry together.

In our generation we are witnessing a return to Jewish texts among Jews of all stripes, just as we see a return to traditional forms - like tonality, melody and harmony - in music. There is a general consensus among many that the radical break of modernity, though it may have been necessary to achieve the level of individual freedom that it did, left behind a lot of valuable stuff. So we talk about "rebuilding community," "traditional values," and the like. This is a healthy movement, though dangers lurk in the shadows: the danger of losing ourselves in the text, of losing our freedom in the traditional forms. As we embark on this journey of fusing classical and jazz, individual and tradition, we would be wise to take our cues from the Rabbis and their model of a simultaneously tense and elastic relationship with Torah.

Written by Josh Feigelson, Campus Rabbi of Fiedler Hillel at Northwestern University

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Ki Tavo at MyJewishLearning.com.

Your Torah Navigator

A favorite line for those who are anxious to show the universal themes in the Torah is "So you are to love the sojourner?" The verse, according to this translation states that we?re supposed to love anyone who is temporary among us. The Hebrew word ger can also mean someone who has converted to Judaism. Much of rabbinic literature declares that the verse must be referring to newcomers and not sojourners. Read the verse both ways and see how the meaning changes.
Deuteronomy 10:19-21

19 So you are to love the sojourner, (newcomer) for sojourners (newcomers) were you in the land of Egypt;

20 Yhwh your God, you are to hold-in-awe, him you are to serve, to him you are to cling, by his name you are to swear!

21 He is your praise, he is your God, who did for you these great and awe-inspiring (acts) that your (own) eyes saw.

Your Torah Navigator

The translator defines the Hebrew word Ger as sojourner which would mean that anyone who is among you temporarily, you are obliged to love because you know what it is like, for all our families were strangers in Egypt. Similarly, we are to hold in awe the Holy One because we also have some fairly awesome shared experiences with Him.

It is interesting to note that this verse commands us to love the ger while God gets held-in-awe.
The rabbinic tradition understood that the word ger did not mean sojourner but one who had left a familiar community only to join one where they were not known. According to the rabbis, the ger referred to here, is the newcomer, not the sojourner.

If we define ger as the rabbis have, "for newcomers were you in the land of Egypt", are the rabbis saying that we, in Egypt settled there with the intent of belonging and becoming Egyptians, but our ancestral qualities made us easy targets, vulnerable new "Egyptians" to be exploited by the old guard, the in group?

In fact, the reason for the Egyptian experience is so that we may never say to a newcomer that we hold ourselves to be superior, because we all have the stigma of being new and not readily accepted. In other places in the Torah we are told not to oppress or defame the newcomer. Here, however, we are given a positive commandment to love.

One does not love another by refraining from exploiting her. Love here means that we must single them out for special treatment, just as their love of all things Jewish caused them to single us out and choose to leave their family traditions in order to join with us.

The rabbis could understand why such a commandment would we brought if ger meant newcomer, it was less clear why we would be obliged to do the same for someone who is just passing through.

Either way, the message is an empathic one. Both interpretations say that a sense of common vulnerability should evoke a feeling of love, not acceptance or tolerance, but love. In social situations, the newcomer or sojourner can either be made to feel that she is welcomed or she can be ignored. We are told by the verse that the fact we were once sojourners or newcomers should make us feel affection toward the new faces. We are obliged to get in touch with those feelings and project love on everyone who is feeling new, vulnerable and alone.

This is Moses' third week of speaking to the Israelite people. It is a very long speech! He continues by speaking to the people about the prosperity they will enjoy in years to come.

He says:

Devarim 8:12-18

You will eat and be satisfied,
and build goodly houses and settle(there),
and your herds and your flocks become many
and silver and gold become much for you,
with all that belongs to you becoming much --
that your heart become haughty
and you forget YHWH your God,
the one who brought you out from the land of Egypt,
from a house of serfs,
the one who had you travel in the wilderness, great
and awe-inspiring,
(of) burning snakes and scorpions,
and thirsty-soil where there is no water
the one who brought forth water for you, from the flinty rock,
the one who had you eat manna in the wilderness,
which your fathers had not known,
in order to afflict you and in order to test you,
for it to go well with you, in your future.
Now should you say in your heart:
my power and the might of my hand have produced all this
wealth for me;
then you must bear in mind YHWH your God,
that he was the one who gave you the power to produce
wealth, in order to establish his covenant that he swore
to your fathers, as (is) this (very) day.

Devarim Navigator

1. What are some examples prosperity that will befall the Israelite people?
2. What does Moses warn the people against?
3. What does Moses want the people to recognize about how they came to success?
4. Is Moses saying that God controls our successes and failures?
5. What does Judaism say about God's role in our lives? Is there free will? Is everything preordained?

A Word

Moses' speech is about remembering. Remembering back in our people's collective memory, of the Exodus together, of receiving the Torah at Sinai. Of being a part of this magnificent history, and never losing our place in it. He says: "Be careful. Do not forget these things."

Don't get me wrong, I am not saying that we don't have anything to do with our success. The Jewish approach to life is not: "Sit back. Don't bother. God will take care of things." Because that's not how it works, or how God does things. We have to do ours. Our talents and abilities are a gift from God, we must use them. And even as we take credit for all of our wonderful qualities, we remember not to take too much credit.

In this parasha, Moses also says one of those cool Torah verses that remains famous today. He says: "Human beings do not live on bread alone." That we are not only body, but also mind. We cannot live on bread alone, not only on our creations. Rather, we can live by God's power, which went forth at the time of creation and guides us still today. It provides nourishment for our souls.

May we acknowledge our successes. And as we do, may we also remember how they came to be.

Rabbi Andrea Lerner, Midwest Director of Hillel's Joseph Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Learning, University of Wisconsin

This week's reading finds us deep into the final book of the Five Books of Moses, the Book of D'varim (literally, "words"). It has been called a "second telling" of the history and law; hence its English name, taken from the Greek (Deuteronomy).

This particular parasha, Shoftim ("judges"), focuses on the appointment of judges needed to create a society with high moral standards, based on honesty, truth, and most importantly, on justice.

In Chapter 16, verse 20, we come across a most elegant expression of this goal: "Justice, justice you shall pursue that you may live and inherit the land which Adonai your God gives to you." This famous phrase (in Hebrew: tzedek, tzedek tirdof) is a challenge to create a just society. But given the importance that the Jewish tradition places on "justice," it is somewhat surprising to learn that a single definition of "justice" does not exist within the tradition. How are we to define it?

The Biblical Hebrew word seems to mean something like absolute fairness: giving people precisely what they deserve, or making sure that the punishment fits the crime. It may also infer impartiality, favoring neither rich nor poor, the powerful nor the weak. In other words, the tradition seems to say that justice does not exist in a vacuum, but rather is a function of human society, inspired by God's teaching. Justice depends on the circumstances and conditions in which human beings find themselves.

According to traditional Biblical interpretation, when a word is repeated, it is to imply either emphasis or the fact that word may be construed in alternative ways. One traditional translation (repeating the word "justice") means "Listen closely! You are to pursue JUSTICE, in capital letters!" But if we infer that the repetition is designed to suggest a different shade of meaning, perhaps we translate the phrase as "Seek Justice, but think of each party to the dispute; there is justice for one, and justice for another." With this interpretation, when we can find a middle ground so that both sides can willingly accept a result, justice prevails.

Seeking a middle ground is our way of seeking to create a more civil society - the theme of this year's Summit. For those who attended and participated, it was a rich opportunity to explore ways in which the modern university can contribute to a more civil society. And in this week's reading, we have examples of how the Jewish tradition encourages and supports the creation and enhancement of civil societies.

The Jewish ideal of justice is based on respect for the inalienable rights of every human being. Because we are all created in God's image, our tradition requires that every human being is to be accorded respect. The Hebrew word for justice (tzedek) is almost identical to tzedakah (giving to, or providing for, others). When we help another person who is less fortunate, we are not "giving charity"; rather, we are participants in a struggle for justice.

Justice demands that we consider all other human beings as worthy of respect. This important ethical principle is a foundation for all interpersonal relationships: within families, in universities, in communities, and in nations. When we respect our fellow human beings by pursuing justice, we are recognizing God's existence in the world and in our daily lives.

Prepared by Gary Simms, director for administration at Hillel: The Foundation for Jewish Campus Life.

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Shoftim at MyJewishLearning.com.

The Torah often subliminally sets the tone of its surface-level comments through repeated words or phrases - things that we might not notice on our first reading, but that ring in our ear and stand out upon further inspection. In Hebrew, the term for this is "milah mancha." In English we call it a keyword. One of the words that keeps recurring in Parshat Vayelech is "this," zot or zeh in Hebrew. The word recurs in phrases like, "This Jordan" (31:2), "This people" (31:7) and "This song" (31:21-22). Most frequently we find "this" in the phrase "This book" or "This book of Torah."

"This" stands out not only because of its repetition, but also because of its concentration in this parsha and its preceding sister parsha, Nitzavim. The words zot and zeh occur a combined total of 208 times in the Torah. Of those, more than half (107) of the usages are found in Deuteronomy, and of those, nearly 25 percent are found in the three chapters that comprise these two parshot. Nowhere else in the Torah do we find such a concentrated dose of "this." The Torah is going out of its way to repeat the word. To what end?

One possibility is that the Torah is continuing its project of claiming authority for itself and its program. Just as the preceding portions described the centralization of power in the legal system and the future capital of the state, so we find with this self-referencing that the Torah is making itself into an identifiable object of power. "This Torah," "This book," is the book that contains within it all the instructions for how Jews are to live their lives. Not some other book, but this one, right here - this is the book with authority. Traditional Jews enact this authorization every week when the Torah is lifted in synagogue and, in the words of the Shulchan Aruch (O.H. 134:2), we point and call out, "This is the Torah that Moses put before the children of Israel by the mouth of God, by the hand of Moses."

A related, though slightly different, function of "this" is to establish a relationship between the subject and the object in question. We indicate a sense of closeness when we say "this." If we wanted to show distance we would say, "that [book, table, chair, painting]." But when we point to an object and say "this [book, table, chair, painting]," we imply that the object is in our immediate vicinity, that it is something right here, present in our lives. By repeatedly referring to "this book of the Torah," Moses connotes his own closeness to it and makes it a live thing in the lives of the people. He goes further and makes that intimacy explicit with his beautiful lines in Chap. 30: "For this commandment which I command you this day is not too hard for you, neither is it far off. It is not in heaven, that you should say, 'Who will go up for us to heaven, and bring it to us, that we may hear it and do it?' Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, 'Who will go over the sea for us, and bring it to us, that we may hear it and do it?' But the word is very near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you can do it." (11-14)

Another function of this closeness is to bring comfort. It is interesting to consider that all of these "this"-es are being uttered by a man who is about to die. Moses is certainly trying to get across the message that this book that he is giving the Israelites should receive the same respect he got in his lifetime. He is trying to build a relationship between the Torah and the people. But from the viewpoint of Moses the man, one wonders whether he is also trying, in a way, to hang on. By constantly referring to "this book," "this land," "this people," Moses projects his life in relation to the things around him. In doing so, he comforts himself — as long as he can say "this book," he is still in the world with it. In this process, Moses comes full circle, mirroring the kind of object-identification that he first undertook as a baby. Now he does not bestow names on objects, but rather takes those names and refers to his relationship with them.

One cannot read all these "this"-es uttered by a dying man without also hearing Shakespeare's John of Gaunt in Richard II, who sings the praises of his land in his final words:

This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England…

Like Moses, John of Gaunt seems to be holding on to his beloved object as he prepares to leave it. He also imbues England with the sense of eternality that Moses gives to the Torah. Through this he inspires a feeling of awe and respect for England (or the Torah), and he does something more: He opens the gates to the next world, where this eternal thing will continue to exist. But in that next world, he will not be separated from it. Instead he will be one with it: John will be with England, Moses with Torah.

This tells us something about the challenge and the potential beauty of this world: We maintain our separateness from the things and people around us. They are "this" or "that" but are still distinct from us. And yet the possibility of "this" implies that we can come close, tantalizingly close, and can perhaps — if only for a moment — go beyond the bounds of self and find ourselves no longer alone. We can merge with our beloved — our spouse, our friend, our land or our Torah, not only in heaven, but in this world as well. "It is not in heaven," as this Torah says of itself. Rather it is "very near you; in your mouth and in your heart, that you may do it."

Prepared by Rabbi Josh Feigelson, Campus rabbi, Fiedler Hillel Center at Northwestern University.

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Additional commentaries and text studies on Vayelech at MyJewishLearning.com.