This Week's Torah

Awe and Joy

R’ey

Look, I do it all the time myself.  Mostly in speech, when I am trying to make a cogent riposte to a proposition tainted by faulty reasoning, or to point out the obvious (at least, to me).  Sometimes it’s a “look, I think we have to agree to disagree on this one.”

And because I write as I speak, exclamations like “look!” also find their way onto my page (screen).  Again, it precedes the trenchant point, the killer argument.

Moshe begins the parasha in the same way, R’ey - look!  see!  It is not as if he is  pointing his finger to show them something.  

See!  Today I place before you today a blessing or a curse.  The blessing: that you will obey the commandments of Hashem your God that I command you this day.  And the curse: that you will not obey the commandments of Hashem your God and you will go off the path that I command you this day, walking after other gods that you’ve never known.

See?  The blessing that you can merit is simply following the Torah.  It’s not that there’s a rewards for following the Torah.  The blessing that we can acquire is simply following the Torah.  The blessing is not a consequence, it’s the thing itself.

Same for the curse.  No punishment for leaving the ways of Hashem are detailed here.  Rather, the curse that affects one is the very act of not following the Torah, undermining the relationship with Hashem.  

It is a nice thought, the punishment of a sin is doing a sin.  The reward of a living a good life is the life itself.

In truth, the first six verses of this parasha form the final lines of the first section of the book of Words (D’varim).  The first section in characterized by historical reflections and generalized admonitions and promises.  There are mitzvot in that section, but very few specific ones.  The first section serves as a long and articulate foreword to the section that starts in Chapter 12, which begins in a strikingly new tone:

These are the ordinances and judgments that you shall recall, to do them in the land the Hashem the God of your fathers gave to you to inherit all the days that you live on earth.

Things are about to get real and specific.  Really specific.

First of all,  quick read through to the end of the parasha does not seem to blindside us with the unexpected.  We start out, as we would expect, with Moshe warning us not to fall into the ways that other people have in worshipping their gods.  They build alters everyplace they want, on high hills and under shady trees, to offer sacrifices upon their altars.  Moshe first enjoins upon us the mitzvah of destroying their sites and not to mimic their ways:

Such you shall not do for Hashem your God.

The intent, as normally understood, was to forbid the building of altars anyplace one desired, then it should be pointed out: up to now, though, this had been allowed.  

It’s not that sacrifices were not offered on the altar of the Mishkan - certainly they were.  But one could build an altar where one wished and sacrifice to Hashem.  But we are talking about an unusual situation , where the Israelites were essentially  homeless wanderers.  When Hashem brings us to the rest (menuha) and inheritance (nahala), then we shall all bring our offerings to that place where Hashem has caused His Name to dwell.  At the end of The Book of Mouth (Bamidbar) we learned that in the time of Yehoshua, Shilo was established as the religious center of the Israelites, and the altar of Shilo was a symbol of the unity of the nation.  When the tribes of Reuven, Gad, and half of Menashe  built an altar on the banks of the Jordan, it almost caused a civil war.  Perhaps the leaders saw the altar not just as a blow to the unity of the people., but as a slippery step on the slide to idolatry.

Or perhaps the text is showing us a developing tension inside of Judaism.  Having a personal altar in one’s courtyard is not necessarily a sign of idolatry, but rather a mode of worship that was more personal, intimate, family oriented relationship with Hashem.  A central ritual site - “that place where Hashem has caused His Name to dwell” - converts a personal experience into a communal or national rite.  Nowadays, we tend to think of the Mishkan at Shilo as “homey,” modest, accessible, almost an extension of the family altar.  Yet just as likely, in those days, it was a place of mass national gatherings, as impressive and as overwhelming in its own way as the Bet Hamikdash (Temple) was in its day.  The Mishkan itself was surely awe inspiring, not as a monumental structure but as an object that physically recalled the years of wandering in the desert and the presence of Moshe and Aharon, the knowledge that resting inside that tent was the Aron Ha-kodesh (the Holy Ark), which contained the Ten Commandments and upon which rested the K’ruvim, from between which issued the voice of Hashem. 

The tension between intimacy and awe plays out in Judaism through the ages.  Pesah in the Torah was originally viewed as a family observance, conducted entirely inside the home.  In Bamidbar and D’varim, Pesah is centered upon the sacrifices brought to the place where Hashem has caused His Name to dwell.  After the destruction of the Bet Hamikdash, Peash returned to the home, as it is today.  Sacrifice itself, once the accepted mode of drawing near to Hashem, stands in relationship to prayer (tefila), which is also known in the time of the Tanach. After the destruction of the 2nd Trmple, tefila replaces sacrifice entirely.  

The desire for an intimate personal relationship with Hashem during Biblical times is attested to by the persistence of bamot, personal and family altars.  Even the God-fearing kings of Yehuda were largely unsuccessful in eradicating bamot,  Israelites could accept intellectually the existence of an invisible, transcendent, unknowable God, but in day to day life, ancient Israelites, like modern day Jews, seek an imminent accessible caring God.  The desire for fear and awe balance with the need or closeness and love.

And the text speaks of the bridge between the two - and that is joy (simha).  Simha is found only 14 times in the Torah, and twelve of those are in the book of D’varim.  The first instances are the response a person should have when offering up personal sacrifices, for vows or voluntary offerings for instance:

And you shall rejoice before Hashem your God with your sons and daughters and with your male and female servants, along with the [family of the] Levite in your settlements, for he has no territorial allotment among you.

These are all private and personal sacrifices, offered before Hashem at the place He has caused his Name to dwell - a public demonstration but of a personal nature.  The joy engendered is a joy shared with the family.  

But there is also joy in the public sphere, a celebration of a holiday where one is commanded to be joyful, which seems….a challenge at times.  No more needs to be said at this juncture, but the idea of community simha, and the effect that one’s simha can have on a community is a central aspect of the vitality of a community.  

In fact, further on in D’varim the Torah states clearly that one of the reasons we are exiled from our land is that we did not serve Hashem with simha.  i often told  my students that if they are not feeling joy when engaging in Jewish activities, then likely they are not doing it right.  It reminds me of the patient who goes to see a nutritionist with a broccoli in their hair, green beans in their nose, parsley coming out of their ears.  The nutritionist said, it is obvious to me the you are not eating right.

We need t learn how to eat right.  And perhaps in these days, we need to learn how to be happy as well.

To wrap things up neatly:  the parasha begins with Moshe asking that we see something that cannot be seen.  The parasha ends with mitzvah of being seen, the requirement of at least once a year presenting one’s self before the Unseen at the place He has chosen for His Name as a dwelling place.  May we all merit the mitzvah of being seen, by Hashem, and by each other.