Idealogian

V'Zot HaB'rachah – "Her'iticha V'Einecha V'Shamah Lo Ta'avor"

I originally gave this d'var torah two years ago, at Washington Heights Congregation's Simchat Torah luncheon. I wrote it down a few days later, so it should be pretty close to verbatim. I hope you enjoy it, and have a chag samei'ach!

I've always felt bad for Parashat V'zot HaB'rachah. It doesn't have its own Shabbat – it's never "this week's Parashah" – and people are usually so busy speaking about the conclusion of Sukkot or about Simchat Torah that nobody ever talks about V'Zot HaB'rachah. And it's really a shame, too, because it's certainly a very significant Parashah. Mosheh Rabbeinu, one of the primary characters in the past four books of the Torah, who took B'nei Yisra'eil out of Mitzraiyim and became their primary leader, the greatest navi ever and the author of the Torah, reaches the end of his life. And we'd expect, I think, given his unparalleled level of n'vu'ah, that his last n'vu'ah, Hashem's final words to Mosheh, would be something big, something significant. Some final revelation, some important lesson.

Yet, if we read the end of the Parashah, that seems at first to be anything but the case. "Vaya'al Mosheh mei'Arvot Mo'av el Har N'vo, rosh hapisgah asher al p'nei Y'reicho; vayar'eihu Hashem et kol ha'aretz, et haGil'ad ad Dan" (D'varim 34:1). Hashem brings Mosheh up Har N'vo and shows him Eretz Yisra'eil, from North to South, East to West. And then (I'm skipping two p'sukim), we find Hashem's final words to Mosheh, and (according to one opinion in the g'mara, which states that this was the last pasuk that Mosheh wrote; Y'hoshu'a wrote the final eight p'sukim of the Torah), Hashem's final words to B'nei Yisra'eil through Mosheh. "VaYomer Hashem eilav: Zot ha'aretz asher nishbati l'Avraham l'Yitzchak ulYa'akov leimor, 'l'zar'acha et'nena.'" "This is land that I promised to your forefathers, telling them that I'd give it to you." Well that's certainly a good start. It brings things full circle back to Seifer B'reishit – "this is the promise that I made all the way back then, to the avot, and now, after hundreds of years of hardship and slavery and waiting, that promise is finally being fulfilled."

But then, Hashem adds five more words that are, to say the least, puzzling. "Her'iticha v'einecha" – "I have shown you with your own eyes" – "v'shamah, lo ta'avor" – "and there, you shall not pass." What? Hashem's final n'vu'ah to Mosheh, loosely translated: "You can look, but you can't touch." What's going on here? Is God talking to a five-year-old? How do we move from the promise made to the avot – epic scale, hundreds of years in the making – to this? It seems so petty, so insignificant. "Her'iticha v'einecha, v'shamah lo ta'avor" – what does it mean? What is Hashem trying to teach Mosheh, and, more importantly, what is He trying to teach us?

I think that the answer to this question lies in a more basic issue underlying this one. Once it's been decreed, for reasons I won't discuss now, that Mosheh will not be allowed to enter Eretz Yisra'eil, why is it so important that he see it at all? There are a few places throughout chumash, beginning (I believe) in Parashat Pin'chas, where Hashem forces Mosheh to look at Eretz Yisra'eil. Is He rubbing Moshe's nose in it? Is He taunting him?

I once heard Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, one of the Roshei Y'shivah of Yeshivat Har Etzion, speak on this subject, and he explained that Hashem isn't teasing Mosheh. He's not saying, "Look what you missed out on." Rather, He's teaching Mosheh an important lesson. Even though "v'shamah lo ta'avor" – I've decreed that you can't go there, still – "her'iticha v'einecha" – it's still important that you look at it. You may not be able to go there, but that doesn't mean you can forget about it. You have to keep your sights set on that goal, even though you'll never be able to achieve it.

Rav Yehudah Amital, the other Rosh Y'shivah of Yeshivat Har Etzion, once told a story of a couple who came to the rebbe of Minsk. I forget which way it was, but one of them wanted to make aliyah – move to Y'rushalayim – and one of them wanted to stay in Minsk. The rebbe decided that they should stay in Minsk. "It's better to live in Minsk and dream of Y'rushalayim," he said, "than to live in Y'rushalayim and dream of Minsk."

I'm not sure we'd agree with his decision from a halachic perspective (especially since it seems to be against a few g'marot), but from a hashkafic perspective, I think the point is clear: there's a difference between a person who dreams of Y'rushalayim and a person who dreams of Minsk, regardless of where that person lives, or – in the case of Mosheh Rabbeinu – where that person dies. "Her'iticha v'einecha v'shamah lo ta'avor" – the dream, the aspiration, has value in its own right, even if it will never be achieved.

And I think that the reason this lesson is given such prominent placement, at the culmination of Moshe's career as a navi, is that it's more widely applicable than the issue of Eretz Yisra'eil.

We say the pasuk every day; David HaMelech instructs us, "Dirshu Hashem v'uzo; bak'shu fanav tamid" – "Seek God and His strength; seek His 'face' constantly" (Diveri HaYamim 16:11). Whatever exactly it means to "seek Hashem's face" – it's not at all clear – it seems to refer to some degree of knowing Hashem, of closeness to Him. And yet, we already know – we've read the pasuk in Ki Tisa, and presumably David has read it as well – "Lo tuchal lir'ot et panai, ki lo yir'ani ha'adam vachai!" (Sh'mot 33:20). Hashem tells Mosheh that we're incapable of perceiving His face! So what's David saying? What are we supposed to do? Why bother pursuing this futile effort?

On a practical level, certainly, one who aims high will reach higher than one who doesn't aim at all, even if he doesn't quite hit the mark. But on a more fundamental level, I think that the point is the same as what I mentioned before. There's value in the seeking, even if the goal sought after is never reached. There's a difference between someone who is constantly seeking to be closer to Hashem and someone who isn't, even if they both fall infinitely short of that goal. There's a difference between someone who aspires to be the biggest ba'al tz'dakah in his community and someone who doesn't, even if neither can afford more than a few pennies a day. And there's a difference between someone who dreams of learning kol haTorah kulah and someone who doesn't, even if neither ever makes it past looking at the Parashah for a few minutes on Shabbat.

I think that this message – the value of goals and ideals independent of their achievement – is one that was particularly relevant for B'nei Yisra'eil as they stood on the threshold of Eretz Yisra'eil, about to enter a new world and choose the courses of their new lives.

And I think it's equally relevant to us as we start a new year and choose our own courses in our own lives. "V'shamah lo ta'avor" – even if you think you can't achieve it, even if you know you can't accomplish it, still – "her'iticha v'einecha" – set the goal, dream the dream, be a visionary!

Tautology of the Day

"Women are allowed to have double standards."

-- Uttered, of course, by a woman

Overwhelmed

There's no feeling quite like coming in to work in the morning and having 8,165 e-mails waiting for you. I think I need more vacation already. (Fortunately, I'll be getting it Thursday and Friday!)

Vacation Highlights, Part III

I'm back in NY, so this is the final batch:

• Going to a birthday party for a friend I hadn't seen in a year and a half.

• Running into a friend who made aliyah about two months ago and finding out that the experience has been surprisingly smooth and easy. No beauracracy, no horror stories. Just one big smile. (Of course, she did have a little bit of help.)

• Hearing the sound of hammers echo through the streets of Alon Sh'vut on motza'ei Yom HaKippurim, as just about everybody gears up for the next holiday - Sukkot.

• Having the security checker at El Al check-in engage me in a coversation about the current rosh yeshiva situation at Yeshivat Har Etzion, wondering how the change will affect the yeshiva.

All in all, a great vacation. (And I haven't even listed the big, anticipated highlights, like davening in yeshiva, morning seder, seeing my sister and her family, etc.).

Inyanei Yom HaKippurim

Rav Doniel Schreiber gave a shiur last night on some interesting halachic issues related to Yom Kippur. If you're looking for something to get you in the mood, you can check out my notes (which have not been proofread).

Vacation Highlights, Part II

Some more:

• Hearing my niece and nephew singing one of my favorite Hebrew songs, "BaShanah HaBa'ah," on Erev Rosh HaShanah. There was something very touching about hearing such pure optimism from such little kids (even if they don't necessarily know what it means).

• The fact I haven't seen even a trace of cloud since I got off the plane 6 days ago.

  Update: I saw some clouds on Thursday, the ninth day of my vacation.

• The way most people here greet me with a simple, "Hey, Reuven. Welcome back." As if it's completely normal and expected for me to just show up for the Yammim Nora'im. (Which, considering that this is my third year in a row doing it, I suppose it is.)

• How I can still open a bag of milk with the back edges of two knives, and send the tip flying seven or eight feet. I still have the touch. (Note: if you've never tried to open a bag of milk this way, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about, or why I'm so proud of it. But trust me - it's cool.)

Vacation Highlights

Some of the small, unanticipated highlights of my vacation (so far):

• Getting Birkat Kohanim every single day (sometimes twice).

• This line from my niece, while visiting the Sesame Street web site:

  "That's Rosita. She only speaks sandwich. I mean, Spanish."

• Being in a country where even the street signs contain small lessons in tanach/Jewish history (e.g., "Rechov Ben Yefuneh: meiham'raglim shetaru et ha'aretz biymei Moshe" - "Of the spies that scouted the land in the days of Moshe")

• ML's sense of humor. For example:

  AL (ML's daughter): Abba, I want to get a dog.

  ML: OK.

  AL: Really?!?

  ML: Of course! It's OK that you want to get a dog.

  And:

  ML: So, J, are you still working in computers?

  J: Actually, I'm sort of between jobs right now.

  ML: Just say you're in hi-tech. It's the same thing.

• Finding an unlit corner of Alon Sh'vut and, looking up, seeing the starry haze of the Milky Way.

Hopefully more to come.

Invisible Man

The guy standing in front of me in line at El Al security, on his cell phone:

"Keneina horo, it's hard to find on this flight someone without a black hat."

I guess he didn't notice the person standing right behind him (i.e., me). Or any of the other frum, non-Chassidishe people on line. Or any of the non-frum or non-Jewish people on line. Or any of the women. If we ignore all of those, however, I'd have to say he was quite right.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

I'm off to Israel today for the Yammim Nora'im. I'll be back again on the 26^th. I may post from there, but probably not all that much.

K'tivah VaChatimah Tovah!

9/11

On September 15, 2001, I had about two dozen friends over for s'udah sh'lishit. Over the past week, I've tried to commit to writing what I said that evening. My memory, while good, is not impeccable, but I've tried to convey here some of the thought and emotion that I expressed that day.

" כִּי הַמִּצְוָה הַזֹּאת, אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מְצַוְּךָ הַיּוֹם--לֹא-נִפְלֵאת הִוא מִמְּךָ, וְלֹא רְחֹקָה הִוא.לֹא בַשָּׁמַיִם, הִוא: לֵאמֹר, מִי יַעֲלֶה-לָּנוּ הַשָּׁמַיְמָה וְיִקָּחֶהָ לָּנוּ, וְיַשְׁמִעֵנוּ אֹתָהּ, וְנַעֲשֶׂנָּה. וְלֹא-מֵעֵבֶר לַיָּם, הִוא: לֵאמֹר, מִי יַעֲבָר-לָנוּ אֶל-עֵבֶר הַיָּם וְיִקָּחֶהָ לָּנוּ, וְיַשְׁמִעֵנוּ אֹתָהּ, וְנַעֲשֶׂנָּה. כִּי-קָרוֹב אֵלֶיךָ הַדָּבָר, מְאֹד: בְּפִיךָ וּבִלְבָבְךָ, לַעֲשֹׂתוֹ. "

"For this commandment that I command thee this day, it is not too hard for thee, neither is it far off. It is not in heaven, that thou should say: 'Who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring it unto us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it?' Neither is it beyond the sea, that thou should say: 'Who shall go over the sea for us, and bring it unto us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it?' But the word is very close unto thee, in thy mouth, and in thy heart, that thou may do it.'

D'varim 30:11-14

The pasuk here, in this week's parshah, refers to something, some mitzvah, that we are told is near to us – easy for us. But we are not told what this pasuk is referring to – what mitzvah. So of course, there's a machloket.

Ibn Ezra says that the p'sukim are referring not any particular mitzvah, but rather to the entirety of Torah. Mitzvot in general, while they may be based in the heart and hard to pin down, are generally accompanied by actions that make them easier for us to tangibly achieve.

Ramban and S'forno, on the other hand, take their cue from the context of the pasuk. The previous parshah focused on a particular theme – "va'hasheivota el l'vavecha … v'atta tashuv v'shamata b'kol Hashem … ki tashuv el Hashem Elokecha b'chol l'vav'cha uvchol nafshecha" – you will do t'shuvah, you will repent (D'varim 30:1-10). Thus, these commentators explain our p'sukim as referring not to all mitzvot, but rather to the very specific mitzvah of t'shuvah – repentance. We may think it's hard to change our ways, to defy our nature, but in fact, it's within our grasp. It is not beyond the sea.

But I have a question. A pretty good one I think. If t'shuvah is supposed to be so easy, right there in our mouths and hearts, then why does it always seem so hard? Why, and I speak for myself here but I would imagine I'm not alone, do we always seem to get stuck? To find ourselves in the same place every year? Why do we say the same "ashamnu"s every Yom Kippur, the same thing over and over? Why can't we truly repent and move on?

Rav Yehuda Amital, one of the roshei yeshiva of Gush (Yeshivat Har Etzion), addressed this question with a mashal, a parable. Two men were traveling through a forest. Night approached, and the sky began to grow darker. Soon, clouds gathered, and a tremendous storm began to rage about them. In the darkness and confusion, the men lost their way and strayed from the path along which they had been traveling. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning seared its way across the sky, lighting up the area for miles around. And while one man stood dumbstruck, awed by the bright flash and deafening thunder, the other used the brief moment of illumination to find his way back to the path and make his way out of the forest.

We all have our flashes of light, but what do we do with them? When we experience a beautiful s'udah sh'lishit, do we simply enjoy the singing and food, and then go home after Shabbat as if nothing had happened? Or do we allow ourselves to be inspired, and let that experience infuse the rest of our week with a greater sense of spirituality?

When we take part in an intense davening on Rosh HaShannah or Yom Kippur, do we simply say, "Wow, that was nice. Same time, next year," and then go back to living the next year with the same complacency we did the last? Or do we use the experience as a springboard to reach new levels of commitment and observance in the coming year, to find our way back to the path that we should have been on before?

This much of the d'var torah I had actually formulated by Monday afternoon. I would now add: when you're looking out your office window and you see an airplane collide with a skyscraper, how do you react to that?

There's been a lot of discussion this week about what, if anything, is the message from all this. What is God trying to tell us? I don't claim to know what the message is. Someone once asked Rav Amital, "If I'm walking down the street and I stub my toe, is that God's way of telling me to do t'shuvah?" Rav Amital answered, "If God's trying to tell you anything, it's to watch where you're going. As for t'shuvah – you should be doing that anyway."

I don't know what God is trying to tell us. I don't know what the message is. But I do know that this was a light – an awful flash in the darkness for those of us who are lost.

As some of you know, I was a couple of blocks away when the first plane hit. I saw flaming wreckage falling from the tower, and the ash from the debris fell in my hair and down my shirt. But not having seen the plane, not knowing what had happened, I continued on to work. Right when I got there, my father called. He had heard reports of a plane hitting the tower and wanted to make sure I was OK. On the 37th floor of my building, about a half a mile southeast of the World Trade Center, I had a perfect view of both towers, the gaping hole in the side of one of them, and the flames pouring out of that hole. And as I sat there, describing to my father what I saw, the second plane came in from the left and, clearly making a deliberate turn to hit the building, sliced right into the second tower.

The plane exploded; my windows shook; I dropped the phone and started to cry. After a few seconds, I pulled myself together, got back on the phone with my father and told him that I was OK and what I had just seen. He told me they'd probably evacuate my building soon, which they did right then. I told him I had to go, hung up the phone, and quietly but quickly made my way to the elevator.

And as I stood there, nervously waiting for the elevator, not entirely sure whether we'd survive the next five minutes or not (for all we knew, there were twenty more planes, ready to level all of downtown Manhattan), one question was racing through my mind – one thought kept nagging me.

Did I say "I love you?" Before I hung up the phone, did I tell my father I love him? I mean, I know I said, "Goodbye." I think I even said, "Have a good day," (which, in retrospect, was quite absurd). But did I say "I love you, Dad?" I almost turned around and walked back to my desk, to call him and tell him, just in case I hadn't before. But that would have been silly considering the situation. I didn't want to waste any time leaving that building. But I sure wished I had said, "I love you."

How can I ever talk to my father again and hang up the phone without saying, "I love you?" And not because every time might be my last; I'm not that neurotic. (I'm neurotic; just not that neurotic.) But because in that moment, in that horrible flash of light, I saw the path I was supposed to have been on before. I saw what was important to me, and I realized that I should have always done it.

Over the past few days, I've been davening with more intensity, praying for the safe return of those who are missing and injured, and for the peace of mind of their families.* So once it's all over, once everyone is hopefully safe back home, do I stop? Do I go back to my normal, dispassionate prayers? Certainly not.

Since the attacks, I've worked on becoming a little closer to my friends, strengthening my relationships. When this is all done, and we no longer feel the same common fear and loneliness, do we forget all that? Return to our casual friendships, the way we were before? I hope not.

Because, though I don't presume to know what, if anything, God was trying to tell us through Tuesday's attacks, I do know that they were a light. They showed me what's important to me and what I should have been doing all along. And once I find my way back to that path, I don't intend to leave it quite so quickly.

I'd like to add one more brief thought. It's based on something I heard from Rabbi Lamm a few years ago, after a YU student passed away. We are all created b'tzelem Elokim – in the image of God. Rabbi Lamm explained that at least part of what that means is our power to think and make decisions, and specifically our ability to distinguish between good and bad, right and wrong.

We lost a whole lot of tzelem Elokim this week. Thousands of manifestations of God's greatness, gone forever. In the wake of such an enormous tragedy, it becomes our responsibility, as those who are here to remember them, to make up for that loss. For each of us to enhance our own individual tzelem Elokim by strengthening our sense of good and evil and our commitment to do what is right.

* Sadly, not all my prayers were answered the way I wanted them to be.

Succession

I know this is of limited interest to some of my readers, but it's big news to me. Apparently it was just announced in Gush (a.k.a. Yeshivat Har Etzion) that when Rav Yehuda Amital retires as co-rosh yeshiva, he will be replaced by Rabbis Yaakov Medan and Baruch Gigi.

Though Rav Amital isn't retiring just yet, I'm sure his successors are already daunted by the large shoes they'll have to fill. No wonder it'll take two of them.

Thanks for the tip, Chanie!

Presidential Polls

Some of you may have heard of the interesting poll results from last week:

The American Kennel Club and BankOne surveyed American dog lovers and found that the owners of man's best friend are not evenly divided on the presidential candidates. Like regular church attendees, dog lovers prefer to run in George W. Bush's yard.

Asked which candidate they'd trust to walk Fido, dog owners favored Mr. Bush 51% to 37%. Asked which candidate would be better for their pooch's happiness, 44% favored Mr. Bush over 37% for Mr. Kerry. But perhaps more troublesome for the Democrat is what happened when participants were asked which dog breed they most closely associated with each candidate. For Mr. Bush, two breeds tied at 20% each: the Labrador retriever, the most popular family dog in America, and the Rottweiler, often used as a guard dog. As for Mr. Kerry, 15% associated him with Labs -- but 14% picked a poodle (the poll didn't specify a French poodle).

But you may not have heard the more recent results:

40 percent of parents who dislike 30 percent of their children prefer George W. Bush.

52 percent of people with wall-to-wall carpeting dislike Mr. Bush's plan for redecorating Iraq.

98 percent of World War I veterans can't remember the name of either candidate. Both prefer Coolidge.

63 percent of single women over 50 think John Kerry is too tall for his own good. 71 percent of divorced women say George Bush would be an ideal ex-husband.

There are more at the link above. One demographic of which I am (embarrassingly) a part:

Before the Republican convention, 86 percent of the population thought Zell Miller was a professional golfer.

Zell Miller, Fuzzy Zoeller. Same thing.

Scientific Progress Goes Backwards

I didn't watch President Bush's acceptance speech last night. I don't have 62 minutes worth of patience or, more importantly, a television. From what I hear, it was relatively decent, but whichever speechwriter wrote this line should be sacked:

"We are on the path to the future, and we're not turning back."

So there you have it - the Bush administration's official position on time travel.

What's a Privacy Advocate To Do?

The New York Times reports on new software that lets its users override their caller ID data, allowing them to appear as any number and any name they choose.

On of the unintentionally funny aspects of the article is discussion of how the new product seems to be putting privacy advocates in a tizzy:

Star38 says that others with reason to mask their telephone identities, including private detectives and law enforcement officials, are looking into it, too.

But some privacy-rights advocates and consumer groups wonder whether angry former spouses, stalkers or fraud artists might not be far behind.

"Some people see caller ID as an invasion of their privacy, while others see it as a protection of their privacy," said Robert Atkinson, director of policy research at the Institute for Tele-Information at Columbia University. "It's spy versus spy."

So it's a violation of the caller's privacy to be identified by caller ID, but it's also a violation of the callee's privacy to be unable to accurately determine the identity of the caller.

The company also plans to cooperate with police forces, if asked, to provide records of what numbers customers dialed to and from, and what numbers they chose to show the recipients of their calls.

"Law enforcement will have complete access to search our database," said Jason Jepson, the chief executive of Star38, of Newport Beach, Calif. "We don't want the insinuation that they can sign up, use it temporarily and then run off."

That's also a violation of privacy, but it's for law enforcement purposes, so I guess it's OK, though the ACLU would probably disagree.

Come to think of it, phone calls are almost by their very nature a violation of privacy. They allow you to electronically reach inside someone else's home, uninvited, and make an irritating ringing sound (and maybe even leave a message).

Think there's any future for whitelist technology in the phone market?