Parashat Le'ch-Le'cha Gen. 12:1 - 17:27

The third portion of the week, “Le’ch Le’cha,” begins with the unforgettable words spoken by God to his first chosen son, Avram: “Go, go away from your country, from your home-land, from your father’s home, to the land I will show you.” (my translation.)

Note the fascinating deductive linguistic move – from the general (“your country”) to the specific (your “father’s home”); from the easiest to accept to the hardest. The same move repeats itself, almost to the letter, with the second “Le’ch Le’cha” story, the more famous of the two – the story of the Ak’eda (the sacrifice of Itzchak). [Next week, we’ll deal with the interesting question of why God needed to try Avraham after it was already established he “believe in God” – the first-ever to do so (Gen. 15:6).] In the Ak’eda story, God commands Avraham (his name was changed by then from Avram):

Gen. 22:2

And [God] said [to Avraham]: Take your son, your only son [recall that Avraham had two sons at that stage!], that you have loved, take Itzchak, and go, go to the land of Moriah and sacrifice him on one of the mountains that I will point to you.”

Again, we see the linguistic move from the general (“your son”), to the particular (“Itzchak”), and from the easiest to the hardest to accept. We can also see the repeated request to leave – “Le’ch Le’cha” – from that familiar, loved, and steady place (be it a physical or a mental place), to the place to which God will direct you. Today I want to focus on the early Avram.

What Kind of Person Was Avraham?

The (first) Father of Our Nation – much like his modern-day title-sake, a General and our First President – can easily be said to have two personalities. The first is told from father to son, carried in classrooms all over the land, and is so well-entrenched that questioning it is considered heresy (see the story of Washington and the Cherry tree). Then again, there is the text. And that’s where it starts to get interesting.

Avraham – The Official Version

Our sages made a considerable effort to paint the first real Jewish person, the father of the entire Jewish nation, not only in the best light possible, but also in a way fitting the holiest of hollies. Since the text is scant in details on Avraham’s background – we meet him when he’s already 75 years old (Gen. 12:4) – they came up with some of their own.

The Rambam, for example, tells us how Avram went through a philosophical metamorphosis, realizing that all the people around him were wrong to assume that there could be many a god, or that the world may revolve on itself, without a cause or a power source. Following this impressive thought experiment, Avram began arguing with people around him about their wrongful beliefs, broke some statues of other gods, and called on everyone to worship only the one true God. [Rambam, Book of Science, Part IV.]

Others have followed suit. Legend has it that Avram, who worked at his father’s shop, used to constantly break many of the gods’ images that were sold there, and kept asking people not to buy them. In addition, he used to talk to the clients, asking them to return from their wrong ways, and attempted to turn their hearts to the only real one God. [See Nechama Leibovitz, Notes on Be’Reshit, at 80].

The text itself – as it is mostly remembered – tells us of a great person who listened to his God constantly, leaving his homeland for Him, sacrificing his son to Him, and generally a true Jewish role-model we should all aspire to.

But reading of the actual text reveals quite a different story.

Avraham – The Textual Version

Much like the last portion (No’ach), our portion actually begins a few verses prior to its official starting-point. There we find some interesting details. Turns out that Avram’s father, Terach, was the one to actually leave his own country. He took with him Avram, his son, and Lot, his grandson, and Sarai – Avram’s wife, and went from Ur-Kasdim (their “home-land”) to Kna’an – the famous land known today as Israel. No mention of God in this story; not a word about a promised land. Then the father dies. And then our portion begins.

Now, all of a sudden it is God who asks Avram to “Go, go away from youur country,” etc. But, interestingly, Avram is no longer there; in fact, he’s already half way between his home-land and Israel, in a place called Haran.

Then Avram reaches the promised-land: “And the Lord appeared to Avram and said: I will give this country to your offspring.” Gen. 12:7. One would think he would stay there for a while; it has been, after all, a long journey, and the entire place was promised to him by God.

But only three verses later, right after the divine promise was made, Avram leaves Israel and goes (“down” – a word used until today to describe people immigrating from Israel) to Egypt. And once he gets to Egypt, he presents his wife – his very, very beautiful wife, as the text keeps repeating – as his sister, for fear he would be killed and she would be taken away. The tactic works: Avram received considerable fortune from the Egyptian king for Sarai [Gen. 12:16]. The king, in return, is severely punished for even thinking of touching this married woman (of which, of course, the king knew nothing about). Somehow, in a bizarre twist of faith, Pharaoh does not kill Avram when he discovers the ruse – he doesn’t even take his fortunes back! – but rather simply tells Avram to “take [the money] and leave!” [Gen. 12:19]

But apart from these opportunistic clues, the text also supplies great materials about our first leader’s extraordinary sense of pragmatism. For example, when he experiences his first significant business fight with his cousin, he doesn’t use strong-arm tactics or pulls rank as the senior partner. On the contrary: Avram does what seems unthinkable today – he lets the junior choose: “And Avram said to Lot: Let there be no quarrel between you and me, and between my shepherds and yours, for we are brothers; since the entire country is in front of you, let us separate – if left you choose I will turn right; and if right, I will turn left.” This seemingly “cowardly” move (as it may be called by some of today’ amateurs at Wall-Street and the consulting firms), brought Avram an immediate relief for his herds (in the short term), several years of business prosperity (in the intermediate term), and an important ally on the West (in the long term). Take that, financial-market “sharks”!

Later this line of thinking manifests itself again, when Avram – who just won decisively a series of wars against the local (business?) kings – is asked by one of the defeated kings to bring back that king’s men, and in return to keep the victory spoils. Avram’s now-famous answer may surprise those who don’t know him well: “But Avram said to the king of Sodom . . . I will not take so much as a thread or a shoe-string of what is yours; you hall not say, ‘It is I who made Avram rich.’” [Gen. 15:22-23] Again, Avram gains a great strategic ally, and prevents future wars from that front by acting (seemingly) in an altruistic fashion.

There are many more clues as to Avram’s unique’s nature. In two weeks we shall discuss his magnificent negotiations techniques, which enabled him to be the first, apparently, to actually buy real-estate as a foreigner in the Land of Israel.

Importantly, the textual analysis above is not meant to disrespect Avram. On the contrary: It only comes to supplement and enrich his well-known – though somewhat simplistic – image as it appears in folklore and our memory. Both Avram and the reader, I assume, would end up gaining by this perspective.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat No'ach: Gen. 6:9 - 11:32

One would think that right after the dramatic opening of “In the Beginning,” we are in for a lighter material this week. Indeed, what could stand in the heels of creating of the entire known universe, all of nature, mankind, and the Garden of Eden – to name just a few of last week’s highlights? Well, if you thought you’re in for a light one - no such luck. The second portion is a “universe” unto itself: The first righteous person, architecture and water-proofing, global warming, biology and evolution, urban planning, eternal covenant between God and all people – are just some of the many issues explored in this week’s portion. Oh yes, and lest we forget – the second indecent exposure. [And while we did not touch upon the first, last week’s portion dedicated a large segment to Adam and Eve’s (first) realization that they were naked. This time, we have a father – righteous, but drunk (which goes to show that the two are not necessarily conflicted) – who is lying naked in a tent. What’s a son to do in that situation? (Hint: try Gen. 9:23 for an answer – basically walk backwards, cover your dad with a quilt, and don’t ever look back. The concept of not looking back, by the way, will return to us shortly with the famous story of the Lot’s wife who turned into a pillar of salt for looking back).

Indeed, the second portion more than earns its esteemed “real-estate location”—right after Genesis. Today I’d like to dedicate a few words to each of the great two stories that, not unrelated, consist of today’s potion: The Flood, and the Tower of Babel. But more than that, I would like to examine just how “human” God is – or is being depicted – in this week’s portion.

The Flood and God’s Heart

Whenever I think about the flood, I can’t escape thinking of the miraculous survival story of the first mariner, the first biologist, the first weatherman -- a man truly above and beyond not only his generation, but all generations of his time (as the text clearly informs us in the opening verse of our portion, Gen. 6:9; but see Gen. 7:1, where God tells No’ach that he is only righteous in his generation). Indeed, Noa’ch (not “Noa”) is well-deserved to be the first person to ever “walk with God.” (Id.) But is the flood story really about No’ach?

Let us turn for a moment to the few verses preceding this week’s portion, where the story actually begins. There, God is said to realize – somewhat to His surprise – “that the man’s evil is aplenty, and that all man’s desires and thoughts of his heart are evil all day long.” (Gen. 6:5). Then the text goes on to describe – not for the first time – God’s internal thought-process while He ponders His next steps:

Gen. 6:6-8:

And the Lord regretted that He had made man on earth, and His heart was saddened. The Lord said, “I will eliminate from the earth the man whom I created – from man to beasts to creeping things, and birds of the sky; for I regret I made them. And the Lord was pleased with No’ach.” (the GWT translation receives a brownie point here for daring to reverse the linguistic order of the last verse, which begins in the Hebrew origin with the words “And No’ach …”; that opening seems to throw off all other translations here.)

Before I get to God’s “heart,” a few questions about this very interesting – but often neglected – passage. [Note that it comes at the tail-end the greatest portion of all (though it thematically and chronologically belongs to the second portion), and thus is hardly noticed. That should serve as a lesson – we should never neglect to read the entire text; sometimes the best is saved for last.]

First, when the text reports on the Lord’s regret of man, it uses the lesser form of “made” to describe man’s first appearance on earth (“the Lord regretted that He made man”). In contrast, when God actually ‘speaks” of the punishment, he uses the higher descriptive verb, “created” (which in Hebrew, as I explained, has even a higher connotation, suggesting creation ex-nihilo, out of nothing) – “I will eliminate … the man whom I created.” What is the reason for that difference? Second, while God only regrets the creation of man (presumably, mankind), he decides to eliminate all living things, not only man. Why? What was the animal’s sin? Surely they didn’t devise “bad” all they long… Third, what does No’ach have to do with all that? Recall that God just decided, without too much hesitation or consideration, to wipe out a great portion of everything he made in six days, including the “crest of his creation,” mankind. Is it really important to mention that He was also “pleased” with one person, on which we know nothing at this point? Does it matter?

But enough with the questions. Let us turn back to God’s “heart,” which is mentioned here for the first time. Once His “heart” is saddened, God decides to bring an end to mankind, a plan he executes with meticulous detail in next chapter – the story of the Flood. (Recall, however, that the story does have a happy ending (how could it not?): No’ach and his family are saved, and so are representatives of all the animals.)

So does God really have a “heart”? Can He (or His heart, for that matter) really be saddened? We’ll come back to that in a minute.

The Tower of Babel and God’s "Eyesight"

The second, but not less interesting, story of this week’s potion begins with the dramatic statement that “And the whole earth was of one language, and of one speech.” (Gen. 11:1 KJV) Leibowitz does a phenomenal job here in trying to persuade us that this original state, far from being ideal, actually depicts tyranny and unity of thought. Accordingly, he is of the opinion that the so-called “punishment” of creating many languages and dispersing mankind to all four corners of the earth was not a punishment at all; rather, it was a blessing that has brought us the plurality of languages, opinions (including dissenting opinions), and places – different views of the cathedral. (Y. Leibowitz, Notes on the Weekly Torah Reading, 14-15 (1988)).

What is worth noting, again, is the “humanization” of God in the story.

Gen. 11:5

And the Lord has descended to see the city and the tower which the sons of man have built. (my translation).

Why does God need to “descend” in order to “see” the city? Can’t He simply see it from the heavens (or wherever it is that He resides)? Is He near-sighted, and needs to come closer to actually see? How good is God’s vision? Actually, does He “see” the way we do?

Summary: the Rambam’s “Negative Theology”

Throughout the years, many a commentator tried to explain this “human” treatment of God by the biblical text. Does God really have eyes? Heart? Other organs? Does he “descend” in order to “see” things? Does he “feel sorry” for things?

The most comprehensive attempt to reason this attitude was made by the most important Jewish thinker of all times, the Rambam (acronym for Rabi Moshe Ben Mimon; also known here also as Maimonides). The Rambam, who was an Aristotelian philosopher in addition to being an accomplished physician, began from the premise that we can only express and comprehend meaning through the limited means of language. Even God’s act of creation ex-nihilo, with all its heavenly glory, can only be related to us through words. Thus, while it is clear that we can’t really understand or comprehend everything God does, the text has to relay to us, in one way or another, what God was about. Thus, the text provides us no more than a glimpse of His actions through the limited medium of words. [The Rambam then went on to develop his theory Negative Theology, but I’ll stop here.]

In short, the Rambam explained that God doesn’t really have a “heart” that is “saddened,” nor was He required to “descend” in order to “see” what was happening in Babel. Rather, these are linguistic tools, used by the text to try and convey to us, in very general terms, what God was about to do.

Still, despite the Rambam’s very elaborate theory, many today see God – and not only in Judaism – as a good grandpa with a white bird, who has a heart (which is sadden sometimes by the deeds of men), and is required to “descend” in order to see things up close. Would you prefer such a God?

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

Be'Reshit - Genesis 1:1 - 6:8

This week we read the very first Portion of the Week – Parashat Be’Reshit. And jut like the famous saying on the First Amendment – that it is a First for a reason – so does the First Portion. Indeed, to write on Be’Reshit is no doubt a humbling task. Of all books in the world, the most has been written on the Bible; and of all books of the Bible, the most has been written on Genesis; and of all chapters of Genesis, the most has been written on Chapter 1; and of all words of Chapter 1, the most has been written on the very first words – “Be’Reshit Ba’ra Elohim” – or, if you will, “in the beginning God has created...“ [Followers of this blog would probably notice how unsatisfactory this – or any other translation – is, as the word “Ba’ra” in Hebrew denotes much more sophisticated a notion of “creation” than the translation allows: In fact, Ba’ra means creation ex-nihilo, that is “creating something out of nothing.” But let us not disturb this ceremonial opening with such details.]

To demonstrate, Professor Leibowitz opens his discussion of the first words with the following warning: “Assume all the trees of the world were converted into pens, and all the water in the seas into ink, and all mankind into writing clerks [or, in more modern parlance, “data-entry technicians”] – this will not suffice to hear, to read and to learn what was already said on this Portion.” (Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Seven Years of Discourses on the Weekly Torah Portion, 1 (2003) (Hebrew)).

So what is left to say on this magical Portion, describing the very creation of our universe, of all its creatures, of all our surroundings, and of human kind itself? To me, the most interesting aspect of the Portion is the text’s very subtle suggestion that two very important things were in existence way before “the Beginning”: Morality (or the concept of Good and Bad), and Mathematics. I would like to dedicate today a short note to each.

Did Morality Exist Before “The Beginning”?

Right after creating the Light – in a word, mind you, not by any deed – God turns to reflect on his new creation:

Gen. 1:4: “God saw the light, and saw that it was good. “ (WEB Translation, that seems to best capture the actual meaning; the more conventional translation is: “God saw the light was good.”)

God continues to reflect on his deeds every day, and on the third day he even observes (to himself, apparently, since no other earthly creature was in existence yet) that things are “good” twice. (Hence the Israeli custom of having many a wedding on Tuesdays – when God said twice that things are good.) Finally, God reflects on Friday on his entire creation, and decides it is “very good.” (Gen. 1:31)

But not everything is “Good” in the newly-created world. Right at the beginning of Chapter 2, we meet the newly-ordained king of nature (or, in today’s Wall-Street parlance, “Master of the Universe”), Adam, the human being (Gen. 1:26-28). Looking at Adam, God observes (this time, God actually “says” these words):

Gen. 2:18: “And the Lord God said, it is not good for the Adam to be on his own.”

To summarize, right off the bat in Genesis we encounter things that are “good,” “very good,” and “not good.” (To complete the description, it is important to note that on Gen. 2:9 we encounter the “tree of good and bad” [bad being the opposite of good], but I can’t even begin to dwell upon this enormous subject now.)

Let us turn back now to Gen. 1:4. There is very little that has been created by now – the heavens (or sky), the earth, and the light. There is no mention of creating the notion of Good (or not Good). Where, then, does God takes the measurements to appreciate the light he has just created? Well, obviously, he is God. But doesn’t the very use of Good as a measurement of things (or “not Good” for this matter) suggest that Good existed well before light? In other words, that Good, as a notion, preceded the entire creation?

One solution is that by God’s own reflection on light, God pronounced it to be Good – in a sense, God also created Good by reflecting on the light. But, as close readers of this Blog would be able to assume, this line of reasoning receives no support whatsoever in the Text itself. The text goes through great pains to point exactly what God has created in each one of the six days; nowhere Good is being mentioned as created. In addition, a contextual reading would suggest that once Good was created, there was no need to go back to it every single day – like God actually did. God never went back on any of his other creations – like the seas, the animals, and the like; why did God bother to return to Good every single day (and twice on Tuesday)?

And what about “not Good”? Did God create that as well? The answer is not self-evident. While God did not create a “non-tree” or a “non-animal,” it does seem like God created a “non-light” – the darkness. (see Gen. 1:4; but a close reading of the text suggests that – like Good – darkness was there even before God created the light.)

While there is much more to discuss here, I tend to the opinion that morality – the notion of Good things, and Not Good things – was in existence long before “the Beginning,” and, for that matter, that it will continue to be here long after “the end.” I like this view, because it shows that our actions in this world can always be measured against concrete, and very ancient, notions of “good” and “not good.” Next time you are about to do something, stop for a minute to ask yourself: Is it “good” or “not good”?

Did Math Exist Before “the Beginning”?

God created the universe in Six Days. Why six? Why not three, or seventeen, or one hundred? St. Augustine, an important – and very prolific – student of the biblical text, writes in his City of God that the choice of six days was not random. Rather, he writes:

It is recorded that all God’s works were completed in six days (the day being repeated six times), because six is a perfect number. Of course, no prolongation of time was necessary for God. He could have at once created all things and then let them measure time by their appropriate movements. It the perfection of God’s work that is signified by the number six. [here, St. Augustine explains why is six a perfect number: It is the first number which divisors sum up to the number itself. Thus, six can be divided into 1,2, and 3; at the same time, 1+2+3=6. The next perfect number, btw, is 28, which is approx. the length in days of the Jewish month.] … And six is the number of days in which God completed His work. Thus we see that we should not underestimate the significance of numbers, since in many passages of the sacred scriptures, numbers have a meaning for the conscientious interpreter. Not without reason it has it been said in to praise of God: Thou hast ordered all things in measure, and number, and weight. The City of God, Book XI, Ch. 30.

Thus, if God intended to use the number Six for reasons of perfect mathematical symmetry, then, again, we can only assume that these mathematical principles were in existence well before “the Beginning.”

Throughout history, the greatest minds mankind has created – Galileo, Newton, Einstein and others – were all convinced that the universe speaks to us in a mathematical language, and all we had to do was to unlock its code and reveal the mysteries of the creation. The first Portion of the Week suggests they had a very good reason to think that.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Sukkot and Simchat Torah

Sukkot and Simchat Torah are adjoining holidays – only eight days apart – but are very different. Still, in their own special way, both are among my favorite holidays. In the short space we have here today, I want to dedicate a word to each.

Sukkot – In “the words of Kohelet”

Growing up in Israel, I always loved the holiday of Sukkot. Kids are free to spend the night at the Sukkah, without their parents (!), and we always enjoyed waiting for the Ushpizin – those special, honored guests that may visit us, among them Elijah the Prophet (though he never showed up). Later in life, I grew to love the holiday for different reasons: First, I loved the idea that our forefathers were nomads, living in tents in the desert, reminding us that, at least for a few days every year, it would be nice to spend the night at a 1,000-star hotel… Second, I loved the idea that what seems to us fixed and unshakable – our homes, our fortresses – can (and should) be replaced by temporary, and very unstable alternatives. I still think this is a great thought exercise – think of all the things you deem unshakable, and then consider some alternatives. You’ll be surprised at the results. And finally, from a religious standpoint, I loved the idea that the Mitzvah is completed upon entering the Sukkah – at which point, holiness is completely surrounding you. So, while other Mitzvot are completed in many other ways, here, by contrast, the mere entering suffices. I loved it.

But today I want to talk, for a short minute, about the book of Kohelet, which is called in English for no apparent reason Ecclesiastes (perhaps so no one would be able to pronounce it correctly, or, more likely, to remind us that one possible (but not very likely) interpretation of the Hebrew word Kohelet relates to assemblies [In ancient Greek states, “ecclesia” meant a political assembly of citizens; in Hebrew, “Ka’hal” may be interpreted as “assembly,” while Kohelet as “person who gathers an assembly.” But this is, as I suggested, not very likely.]).

On Kohelet and Doubt

We read this special book (or, more precisely, Megilah) on Sukkot’s Saturday. I will not dwell here on the reasons why then of all days, but I would like to mention the serious debate that took place on whether this book is "religious enough" to be properly included in the biblical canon. And why, you may ask, as Kohelet is so widely considered to contain some of the most sublime illuminations of the human thought? Why would a book written by “the wisest of all men,” King Solomon, Son of David, would not be suited to be included in the canon? (recall that two other books allegedly authored by him – The Song of Songs, and Proverbs – are both well within the 24-book collection). Well, the answer goes, the Book that begins with the famous words “Vanity of vanities, said Kohelet, vanity of vanities, all is vanity” (Ecc. 1:2), is not “religious enough” in that it raises doubts. And doubts don't bode well with religious teachings. Or so goes the argument.

I urge you to read the text for yourself – there are few like it in all of history -- and then make your own informed decision on whether it truly represents doubt. (For those who seek closure, turn to the last verse in the book. Ecc. 12:14.) To me, it is always humbling to see how little has changed since the time this book was written – at the very least, couple of thousand years ago; and how well an observant philosopher may capture the essence of mankind, regardless of the era in which he lived. I also love to come back, year after year, to Chapter 3 – which open with “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” – and find pleasure in observing how one great text may affect another (Shakespeare’s As You Like It). And finally, I always enjoy reading that, at the end of all ends, “there is nothing new under the sun.” (Ecc. 1:9).

But what about the Doubt? Suppose the text does reflect some doubt - doubt in the existence of God; doubt in the ability (or even the efficiency) of living the life a believer. Is the existence of such doubt enough of a reason to remove the book from the collection? Is Kohelet’s text truly less “religious" than, say, the story of Abraham who was willing to murder his own beloved son on God’s command?

One answer is that we tend to remove doubt from the table whenever we are not fully convinced ourselves in the truthfulness of the proposition. For example, no totalitarian regime in history ever tolerated dissenting opinions, precisely for that reason. According to this line of thought, removing Kohelet from the collection would be wrong, as we are fully convinced in our love of and belief in God.

The other answer, which I much prefer, is told by Father Flynn, (a fictional charismatic religious and spiritual leader played by the mercurial Philip Seymour Hoffman in the 2008 movie “Doubt”) to his audience, worshipers on a Sunday Mass: “Doubt can be a bond as powerful as and sustaining as certainty.” Think about that during the coming weekend. (For those who saw the film, think also of the response by Sister Beauvier, played by Meryl Streep: Was she right?)

Simchat Torah

The term Simchat Torah means, literally, the joy of Torah. More in context, it denotes the joyous occasion of starting to read the Torah anew at the beginning of each year, “from the beginning” (pardon the pun). I find it quite fitting that although all the holidays are collectively called in Hebrew “Smachot” – that is “Simcha” in the plural sense – this is the only holiday that contains “joy” or “happiness” in its actual name. Why, you may ask, is this holiday so special that it merits such "joy"? What is so "joyous" in reading the portions of the Torah anyway? Well, to that I would not provide an answer today. Let us wait for the end of the cycle, and then I’ll be happy to receive your comments on whether this is, indeed, the most "joyous" of occasions.

And finally, I wanted to say one last word about blogging and the Portion of the Week. It seems to me that very few historical institutions lend themselves to blogging as much as the Portion of the Week. Think about it: a weekly text, requiring the reader to contemplate and write some remarks. Can it be more blog-oriented than that? I enjoy writing this blog very much. I hope you enjoy reading it as well.

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Se’me’ach,

Doron

Parashat Ve'Zot Ha'Bracha Deut. 33:1-34:12

The last Portion of the Week is also one of the most interesting. A prophet -- a great prophet, the greatest we ever had -- is about to die. He knows that. He heard it personally from God. He already designated a successor. He already warned his People – the Chosen People, no less – about the dire consequences of their deeds after his death. Now that he took care of all of that, one would think he would rest. But no. Moses is about to do one more great thing – a statement that nearly overshadows his previous "poem" to the People about how bad they are about to behave. Moshe’s last public act is a blessing; a long, detailed, complicated, mysterious, and very particular blessing, coming straight from “the man of God” (Deut. 33:1; note – not from God) to his People.

This great Blessing and its interpretation has been the subject of a long-standing debate among the best Jewish minds over the years. But today I would like to focus not on Moshe’s last public act, but rather on his last private act.

Moshe – A Man of Nature

The terms “hike leader” and “mountain climber” are rarely – if ever – associated with the man who is described later in this Portion as simply “the greatest of all time”: Never again did a prophet like Moses come about in Israel, a man which God knew face to face. (Deut. 34:10). Yet Moshe was probably the first, and no doubt the greatest, hike leader of them all. He led a 40-year hike through an extremely challenging terrain, without ever scouting it first. He never took a first-responder class. He never studied the maps before pushing inward, into the harsh desert. Yet he was amazingly successful. One may suspect, looking back through all these years, that it took a bit more than a mere faith in God to do that well. Moshe was, no doubt, a true outdoor person, and a natural-born leader.

And what is the appropriate ending for such an illustrious career in the back country? What was Moshe’s last private act? He did not sit and prayed to his God. He did not stand up and called for God's help. Quite the opposite: He climbed a mountain. Indeed, this 120-year old leader soloed – that is, climbed without help -- a 2,713 ft hill in the Jordanian desert, to the top of Mt. Nevo. Interestingly, the text is very explicit about that feat; unfortunately, all ten translations I reviewed miss that point (see http://bible.cc/deuteronomy/34-1.htm). The text reads, in essence:

Deut. 34:1

And Moshe went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nevo, the very top of the summit that faces Jericho. And God then showed him the entire land of Israel…

In other words, the text takes pains to emphasize that Moshe went up the entire way from below sea-level (Arvot Moav are located just north-east of the dead sea, which is the lowest point on the planet, at about -1,200 feet) to the top – the very top, as the text emphasizes – of this desert mountain. This singular feat is mostly overlooked by the Sages, but should be of interest to all us who - like yours truly – wish to bring together their love of nature and their respect of their Jewish identity. [This section is dedicated to my friend Alex S., who just moved to Colorado in search of this perfect balance.]

Moshe and Other Prophets

The other thing that always fascinated me about Moshe’s final moments was the complete inner peace in which he seemed to have been throughout the process. Despite knowing – from God personally – on his impending doom, Moshe just goes on to climb, to observe the scenery – perhaps the most beautiful he has ever seen, if we consider the desert-only view he had for the past 40 years – and to die peacefully. This true “man of God,” this one-of-a-kind “slave of God” never seemed to fear his coming death. This is remarkable, and also very commendable – almost inhuman.

In Hebrew, it is customary to say “from Moshe to Moshe, no one ever came close to Moshe.” Some interpret this saying as plainly as it sounds: Moshe was the only true, one prophet. Others interpret the second Moshe in this saying to mean the Rambam – Rabi Moshe Ben Minon, known here in America as Maimonides. In any event, since it has been more than 800 years from the time the last Moshe has been with us, we are quite short of true prophets.

Yet not long ago, here in this country, a prophet came about. This person was so unique, that Rabbi Heschel, the great Jewish thinker, said about him that “[He] is a sign that God has not forsaken the United States of America. God has sent him to us.” I am speaking, of course, of Dr. Martin Luther King, who, despite being an ordained reverend, was no doubt an honorary member of the Chosen People. And what were this special person’s last public words? What were the words he chose to tell his People the evening before being assassinated outside room 306 of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis? Here are his exact words:

MLK’s “Mountaintop” Speech, April 3, 1968:

Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land! And so I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man! My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!!

Those who read our Portion this week will easily recognize: these are the true words of a man of God.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron