The month of Ellul is a time of sincere reflection. As the Days of Awe quickly approach, we focus on “teshuvah” – returning to God’s Holy Torah. Returning to our very essence.

Parshat Nitzavim contains the “Parsha of Teshuvah.” After describing the punishments that will befall the Jewish People should they stray from God, the Torah describes a process of Teshuvah, return:

“And it shall come to pass, when all these things come upon you, the blessing and the curse, which I have set before you, then you shall take it to heart among all the nations, where Hashem your God has dispersed you. And you shall return unto Hashem your God, and listen to His voice according to all that I command you this day, you and your children, with all your heart, and with all your soul. Then Hashem your God will return your captivity, and have compassion upon you, and He will gather you in from all the peoples to which Hashem, your God, has scattered you. If your dispersed will be at the ends of heaven, from there Hashem your God will gather you in, and from there he will take you. And Hashem your God will bring you into the land which your fathers possessed, and you shall possess it; He will do good to you and make you more numerous than your forefathers. And Hashem your God will circumcise your heart, and the heart of your offspring, to love Hashem your God with all you heart, and with all your soul, so that you may live.” (Deut. 30:1-6)

The commentaries struggle to understand the verse, “and you shall return unto Hashem your God,” for it can be interpreted as a reference to one’s personal teshuvah or, as a promise of the Nation’s ultimate return and redemption.

Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook saw no difference in the two interpertations. They are really one in the same. He so beautifully describes:

“An illumination of teshuvah is found in [the Land of] Israel. The arousal of the Nation’s desire to return to her land, her essence, her spirit, her unique quality and charachter- in truth it is the light of teshuvah that it is contained [in the Land]. Truthfully, this is most clearly expressed in the words of the Torah: ‘And you shall return to Hashem your God,’ ‘when you shall return to Hashem your God.’ ” (Orot HaTeshuvah 17:2)

For Rav Kook, there exists an intimate bond between the individual, the Nation and the Land. If teshuvah is indeed a profound return to one’s true essence, to one’s unique potential- then that can only be accomplished by a much larger and more fundamental return to the Land of Israel.

May this new year be a year of both personal and national redemption. Shanah tovah!

This is time for personal reflection.

The selichot prayers also wake us up- literally and figuratively. Selichot, the additional service that begins this Saturday Night for those who follow the Ashkenazic practice, are prayers asking for forgiveness said in the wee hours of the morning, an auspicious time for prayer; a time of Heavenly mercy. The selichot remind us that Rosh Hashanah is less than a week away.

Parshat Nitzavim, always read on the Shabbat preceding Rosh Hashanah, contains many fundamentals of Jewish belief. It also provides deep insight into teshuvah.

There is a famous passage in our parasha, but one that is difficult to understand given its context:

For this mitzvah which I command you this day, it is not too hard for you, nor is it too far for you. It is not in heaven, that you should say: ‘Who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring it to us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it?’ Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say: ‘Who shall go over the sea for us, and bring it to us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it?’ But it is very close to you, in your mouth, and in your heart, that you may do it. (Devarim 30:11-14)

The words penetrate. But what mitzvah is the Torah referring to? Which mitzvah is not ‘too hard or “too far” from our reach?

Rashi understands these verses to refer to the Torah itself, and more specifically, to Torah study.

Nachmanides, however, explains that our passage is referring to the section that immediately precedes it. The “mitzvah” is Teshuvah, referred to in verse 2: “v’shavta ad Hashem Elokecha- You will return to Hashem your God.” In fact the section that immediately precedes our passage (30:1-10) is sometimes referred to as “parshat hateshuvah- the passage of repentance.” According to this explanation, the Torah is telling us, ‘Don’t worry. You can do Teshuvah, it’s not out of your reach. It’s not in the Heavens or far off at sea. It’s not beyond you.’

Verse 2 adjures us to return “ad Hashem Elokecha.” The language suggests we are to return “ad Hashem,” all the way to God Himself! The task can seem daunting. Nevertheless, the Torah portion this week assures us that we all have an opportunity to come very close to Hashem through teshuvah. It’s not out of anyone’s reach. Even us procrastinators still have a chance!

Every seven years, during the festival of Sukkot, the entire Jewish People are commanded to gather together for “hakhel,” a special mitzvah performed in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. The King would read selections from the book of Devarim as the people listen attentively and re-affirm their commitment to the Torah.

Before his death, Moshe instructs:

Gather together the people- men, women and small children, and the stranger that is in your gates- so that they will hear and so that they shall fear Hashem, your God, and be careful to perform all the words of this Torah. (Devarim 31:12)

The Torah emphasizes bringing the taf, the small children. One can imagine the scene: Strollers and car seats, bottles and diaper bags, crowded Egged busses. It is certainly a challenge to maneuver Jerusalem with kids- trust me!

Why schlep all the kids?

Our sages explain, that the small children are brought to give reward to those who bring them (See Rashi to v. 12, Cf. Bavli Chagigah 3a, Yerushalmi Chagigah Chap. 1, Tosefta Sotah 7:9, Yerushalmi Sotah Chap. 3).

What reward is given to those who bring the children? And is it worth it?

Hakhel was a huge ceremony. It took place once in seven years- the first night of Chol HaMoed Sukkot, during the year following shemmittah. The trumpets would be sounded and the people would gather. With much fanfare, the Torah scroll was passed from one leader to the next, till it would reach the King. While the small children in attendance do not fully understand the significance nor do they understand the words being spoken, hakhel leaves a lasting impression on them: the sights, the sounds, the wonder. The children were brought for hakhel because it was an experience. An experience they will never forget.

So central is this experience, Rambam compares the mitzvah of hakhel to the revelation at Mt. Sinai. It is, so to speak, a renewed giving of the Torah every seven years in order to “awaken them to the mitzvoth and strengthen their hand in the true faith.” (Rambam Hilchot Chagigah 3:1). He writes that one should feel as if they are hearing the words from God himself. (Ibid 3:6)

No one is exempt from this special mitzvah. Even great scholars who know the entire Torah are obligated to pay extra close attention. (Ibid 3:6) This is because hakhel is not an intellectual exercise- it is an experience.

At the beginning of Parshat Nitzavim the Jewish Nation was also gathered. Moshe gathers the entire Jewish Nation together for his final farewell:

You are standing today, all of you, before Hashem your God: heads of tribes, elders, officers, all the men of Israel; your small children, your women, the proselyte in the midst of your camp, from the hewer of wood to the drawer of water. (Devarim 29:9-10)

Here too, our Sages ask the question: Why bring the children? The answer, again, is that it is to provide a reward for those who bring them. In fact, this is the source for bringing children to the synagogue. (See Masechet Sofrim 18:8). In the synagogue, just as together with the nation, they can witness the richness that is the full Jewish experience.

The “reward” that parents receive for ensuring that their children “experience” a vibrant Judaism is Jewish continuity. Children who internalize these experiences will grow to become adults who are passionate and committed Jews. There is no greater reward for a parent. That is “true yiddishe nachas.”
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Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananyah was one of the greatest disciples of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakai. Why? The Talmud states that his mother would bring his crib into the beit midrash “so that his ears would become attached to words of Torah” (Yerushalmi Yevamot 1:6). In fact the Mishnah (Avot 2:8) praises the mother Rabbi Yehoshua ben Hananyah, and says “fortunate is the one who gave birth to him.” This experience set him on the course that would be his life’s journey.

There is a beautiful (and true!) story about a man who would come home tired every day, but yet make it his business to attend the nightly Talmud class. Each night, like clockwork, he fell asleep on his gemara. The Rabbi asked him, “why do you bother coming? If you are so tired, stay home and get a good night sleep!” The man responded that yes it was hard but even if he falls asleep, at least his children will know he is studying in the Beit Midrash.

Children are impressionable. They are always learning; soaking up life experience like a sponge.

Our challenge as parents and educators is to instill in the children in our care a Judaism that is vibrant, soulful, passionate and full of life. Then we will merit in seeing generations of deeply committed Jews.

The farmer schleps his new fruit up to Jerusalem, and the Torah provides a formula for him to recite while offering his bikkurim. The words are familiar as they are found in the Haggdah shel Pesach.

The language is difficult to understand, however, for when he begins his declaration he states, “higadeti hayom – I have declared today….” He speaks in the past tense, but he hasn’t said anything yet! This is before he makes his formal declaration!

Kli Yakar, explains that his actions speak louder than his words. By designating his crop, harvesting his first fruits and ascending to Yerushalayim to offer them in the Holy Temple, his actions tell a story; his actions speak for themselves. Even before he opens his mouth, he has already done so much. His actions have already “declared today.”

In fact, one can see this concept expressed in the realm of halacha. Offering the fruits and making the verbal declaration are considered two separate mitzvot (Rambam Sefer HaMitzvot Mitzvot Aseh 125, 131; Hilchot Bikkurim 2:1, 3:10).

Our Sages teach us to “say a little and do a lot” (Avot 1:5). The greatest acts of kindness are those done quietly, without pomp and ceremony. For kindness is not about seeking honor nor aggrandizing ourselves. Kindness is recognizing our responsibilities to one another. The word tzedaka is often mistranslated as charity. The root tzedek means justice. Giving of ourselves is not a nice or charitable act, it is a requirement; it’s the just thing to do.

There is a famous Chassidic tale about the Rebbe who walked in late to the Selichot prayers each morning before Rosh HaShanah. When confronted by a mitnaged about the Rebbe’s recurrent lateness, one of his chassidim declared, ‘”Every morning, the Rebbe ascends to Heaven in preparation for the Days of Judgement.” The mitnaged had his doubts and decided to see what the Rebbe is really up to early in the morning. The mitnaged awoke before dawn and stationed himself outside of the Rebbe’s home. He watched as the Rebbe left his home, dressed as a lumberjack, carrying an axe and sack. Curious, he proceeded to follow the Rebbe deep into the forest towards a small flimsy shack. The Rebbe chopped wood for an hour, all the while mumbling to himself. He then entered the shack. Through the window, the mitnaged saw the Rebbe stoke the fire of an old widow who occupied the little house. He spoke to her gently and gave her freshly baked bread. The Rebbe left and ran off back towards the shtetl, all the while moving his lips in prayer. The next day, the mitnaged saw the chassid and said to him, “You told me your Rebbe goes up to heaven each morning. I want you to know, he goes even higher!”

Rather than quickly judging someone, remember, they may be chopping wood. We should all merit to chop wood. Our actions should speak for themselves- like the farmer whose bikkurim speak volumes.

Parshat Ki Teitzei contains the mitzvah of sending away the mother bird before one takes the young. The Torah even promises that one who performs this command will merit long life.

In instructing us to shoo the bird away, the Torah employs double language, “shaleach tishalach et ha’em- you shall surely send away the mother.” (Devarim 22:7)

Why the repetition?

The Talmud (Chullin 141a) teaches that one may think he need not send away the mother should he need her young for a mitzvah. The Torah employs the double language to remind us that even for a mitzvah we must “surely” shoo her away.

A Mitzvah gives you no right to trespass on others. In fact Nachmanides, in his comments to our parsha writes that the mitzvah to send away the mother bird, as well as the mitzvot that surround it, teach us the importance of being sensitive.

This world is full of oppression for the sake of religion. Is that really religion? Certainly not holiness. Our Tradition teaches us to be both sensitive to halakha and to be sensitive to our fellow man.

This message became clear for me several years ago when I was singing with a large group of students in the common room of a JTS building. We were having a kumzits: speaking words of Torah, playing guitars, banging djembes and singing loudly. We were sharing an intense spiritual experience, but the hour was getting late. Soon, students who wanted to sleep or to study began to show up and express their concern. As much as I wanted to continue, we had to stop. We were impinging on the rights of others.

There is a famous story about the holy Ba’al HaTanya, Rabbi Schnuer Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812). It was the middle of the night and he was immersed in Torah study in his son’s home. He was interrupted when he heard the crying of a child. The Ba’al HaTanya proceeded to enter the child’s room and pick her up. Upon his return to his studies, he noticed that his son too was awake studying Torah. He remarked, ‘if you can’t hear the crying of a child, there must be something wrong with your Torah study.’

The mitzvah of shiluach haken teaches that one’s spiritual experience, no matter how profound, can never come at the expense of others. If it does, it wasn’t so spiritual after all.

Does his gluttony warrant such a harsh treatment? Does his punishment fit the crime?

To make things even more difficult, our Sages teach (Sanhedrin 71a): “The ben sorer u’moreh never existed and never will exist. Why is it recorded in our holy Torah? Study it and receive reward.”

But there is so much to study! The Sea of Talmud is vast, with its many laws, details, and particulars. Certainly there is no shortage of material to “study” and “receive reward.”

Why does the Torah offer this hypothetical case? What message can we glean from the ben sorer u’moreh?

The Mishnah (Sanhedrin 8:5) states, the ben sorer u’moreh is “nidon al shem sofo- judged now for his end.” In other words, he is put to death for what he will ultimately become. It is better that he “dies innocent, rather than guilty.”

In Parshat Vayeirah, however, when Yishmael was dying of thirst, Hashem had pity upon him and judged him “ba’asher hu sham – in his present state.” (Bereishit 21:17). Rashi (ad loc) cites Bereishit Rabbah 53:14, in which the angels in Heaven protest:

Master of the World! He whose descendants are destined to put your children to death by thirst, You cause a well to rise up for him? And He [Hashem] answered them, “What is he now? Righteous or wicked? They answered, “Righteous.” He said to them, “I judge him according to his deeds at the present.

In fact, based on this account, the Gemara (Rosh HaShana 16b) states that a person is only judged according to their actions at that very moment.

So why don’t we apply this princple to the ben sorer u’moreh? Why is he judged for what he will ultimately become as opposed to where he stands now?

One could only be deemed a ben sorer u’moreh during the first three months after turning thirteen. He was only formally obligated in mitzvot for three months. Yet, his short life already testifies to what kind of a person he will become. He is put to death because already at the beginning of adulthood we see his self-destructive traits emerge.

The ben sorer u’moreh is a hypothetical case, yet the Torah teaches it to stress the importance of beginnings. In the Jewish tradition, we realize the importance of laying a sound foundation.

Our sages in the Mechilta teach: kol hatchalot kashot – all beginnings are difficult. Beginnings are hard, but according to the effort is the reward.

The month of Elul is a time when we focus on new beginnings. As the Days of Judgment quickly approach, we turn inwards and ask ourselves how to make this year different. The beginning of the New Year sets the tone for the entire year. We try our best to start it off on the right foot.

And it shall be, when he sits upon the throne of his kingdom, he shall write for himself a copy of this Torah in a scroll, out of that which is before the priests, the Levites. And it shall be with him, and he shall read therein all the days of his life; that he may learn to fear the LORD his G-d, to keep all the words of this Torah and these statutes, to do them; so that his heart be not lifted up above his brethren, and that he turn not aside from the commandment, to the right hand, or to the left; to the end that he may prolong his days in his kingdom, he and his children, in the midst of Israel. (Devarim 17:18-20)

The Torah is to guide the King; to direct him; keep him humble; keep him focused (See Ramban to v. 19 and 20).

Rashi (ad loc), based on Sanhedrin 21b, explains that in fact the King is to write two Torah scrolls. This is implied by the word “mishneh,” which renders “double.” One copy is to accompany him at all times. The other is to be left in his treasury.

But why two? And why keep one hidden away in the King’s treasury?

I believe the Torah is teaching us something profound.

As the leader of the Jewish People, the King needs a Torah by his side. (It’s almost like the yeshivah bochur who brings his Gemara everywhere. Everywhere! Even weddings!) The King looks to the Torah for counsel. He guides his flock with its sage advice. He binds it to his arm and constantly refers to it. The Mishnah (Sanhedrin 2:4) teaches: “ …when he goes to war- he brings it with him, when he returns- it returns with him, when he sits in judgment- it sits with him, when he sits down to eat- it sits with him…”

This Torah is constantly “in use.” It represents how Torah informs our daily lives. It is a Torah that speaks to modern man; to the human condition. It is a Torah that responds to this ever changing world; a Torah which exists not in “theory,” but rather in practice. It is “applied Torah.”

The King has to be able to roll his sleeves up and address the real needs of the people (See King David’s rhetoric in Berachot 4a). The danger in working “down in the trenches,” is that one may make accommodations; modify or adapt the Torah. One may be tempted to fit the Torah to his needs.

There is a story about a shul that needed a new Torah scroll. The best sofer who could be found was commissioned to do the work. The synagogue board got together and decided to hold a contest for a torah scroll cover. The best cover would be displayed on the scroll when the scroll was completed and ready to be used for the first time. The other entries would be used throughout the year. Many scroll covers were submitted. The winning entry had a beautifully embroidered picture of Jerusalem. Gold, silver, copper, red, blue, crimson, white and purple were skillfully used. It was magnificent. When it came time to put the cover on the scroll, a slight problem came up. The cover was too small. Oy! Now what? The board said, unfortunately, we can’t use it. The woman who made the cover was not about to see her hard work be for naught. She asked, “Can’t we just cut the Torah to make it fit the cover?”

This is why the King needs the second Torah. This second Torah, which symbolically stays unused in his treasury, represents unbending principles that never change; the tried and true tradition that does not accommodate nor is modified. This is a Torah that is left in the King’s genizah, his storehouse. It is pristine; untouched; unsullied by the rigors of “practical application.” The King returns to it and it guides him as well. It ensures that his “day to day Torah” is in consonance with the “eternal Law.” It ensures that he remains true to the mesorah.

In reality there are not “two Torahs,” but one.

We engage the modern world, but we do so with the age old principles of our Torah. No, we cannot “cut the Torah to make it fit the cover.” We respond to the needs of our community and its individuals with great sensitivity but remain solid and steadfast in our commitment to Torah values. It is a delicate balance, a tightrope of sorts. It provides a great challenge, but what appears to be a dialectic, or a tension, is in reality a glorious harmony; an elegant synthesis.

Our parsha begins with these powerful words. Yet, the language is challenging. The verse begins with the word “re’eh- see” in singular and then shifts to “lifneichem- you,” plural.

Why does the pasuk shift from singular to plural?

Ibn Ezra (11th-12th C. Spain), in his commentary, offers an explanation so simple, so elegant, yet so profound. In three words he writes: “l’chol echad yidabeir.” Yes, Moshe is addressing the entire Jewish people, but he is speaking to each and every person as an individual.

The challenge in life sometimes is to hear the message as an individual; to take to it to heart.

Sometimes you sit in a class, or hear a Rabbi’s drasha and feel ‘wow- this person is talking about me! This is what I am dealing with right now in my life!’

But let’s be honest, most of the time we listen very superficially and think that this message applies to everyone else. The Rabbi is addressing talking in shul, ‘that’s not me.’ Lashon harah- ‘not me.’ Encouraging more time spent in the study of Torah- ‘yup, everyone really should, but not me.’ We live in denial.

We study the weekly parsha, or the daf hayomi- but we don’t always feel that the Torah is speaking directly to us as individuals. We often fail to read the signs that life flashes before us. We are so busy with our routines, bogged down by the malaise of the mundane.

Every moment of life is an opportunity to learn; to grow. We just have to be attuned and listen.

Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk, the Holy Kotzker Rebbe (19th C. Poland), offered a slightly different approach to our verse. He explained the move from singular to plural as follows: “Noten lifneichem” is in plural because the Torah is placed in front of all of us. But, “re’eh,” is singular for we must see and interpret the message each, in his/her own unique way.

We relate to the Torah as a community and as individuals.

There are “seventy facets to the Torah” and “many pathways to G-d.” We each have something unique to contribute.

In fact, there is an idea in Kabbalah that each and every Jew is represented by a letter in the Torah.

(See Zohar Chadash to Song of Songs (74d), where it is recorded that there are 600,000 letters in the Torah. Megaleh Amukot explains that these letters correspond to the 600,000 Jewish souls that were present at Mt. Sinai during the giving of the Torah and exist at all times.)

(In actuality the Torah has 304,805 letters. This can be verified by counting and is also recorded by the famous 10th century masorete, Aharon Ben Asher in his Dikdukei Taamim. Still a beautiful idea- Every Jewish soul has a symbolic “letter in the Torah.”)

The question is how will you write your letter?

A meaningful Judaism requires us to hear the message as individuals and share our unique voice.

“You are children to Hashem, your G-d- you shall not cut yourselves and you shall not make a bald spot between your eyes for a dead person.” (Devarim 14:1)

Self- mutilation and excessive grief are not ways in which we mourn. But why does the pasuk begin, “Banim atem l’Hashem Elokaichem- You are children to Hashem, your G-d…?”

What does the prohibition of inappropriate mourning have to do with the parent-child relationship that we share with G-d?

Sforno (16th C. Italy) explains that is not proper to grieve excessively when a “more honored relative remains.” Namely, Hashem; our Father in Heaven. That is why the verse introduces this commandment with, “You are Children to Hashem…” It alludes to the parent-child relationship that exists between man and G-d.

One may experiences a loss, however no one is ever orphaned. Hashem is present in our lives.

In Chassidic Literature it is emphasized that G-d experiences pain when we do. Excessive grief is thus prohibited because it causes the Shechinah pain, just like a parent is pained to see his child in pain. The psalmist expresses G-d’s empathy when he writes …”I [G-d] am with him in pain…” (Psalm 91).

As Ellul quickly approaches, with the Yamim Noraim on the horizon, it is important to consider this most intimate relationship that we have with our Father, our King. In fact, the next verse reminds us of this special bond: “For you are a holy people to Hashem your G-d. And Hashem has chosen you for Himself to be a treasured people, from among all the peoples on the face of the earth.” (ibid v. 2) It is essential that we feel holy, chosen and treasured. For we truly are.