Parashat Vaetchanan Deuteronomy 3:23–7:11
Dear TBE Community,
In the evening, I will walk through high grain
but without Rachel I don’t feel alive.
My lot is bitter, bitter is my heart,
if Rachel is not with me, where do I go?
These are not the words of Isaiah, from whose book the seven Haftarot of Consolation are taken, the prophetic readings that will take us through the rest of Av and Elul. These words were penned by the poet Haim Nachman Bialik and performed by the singer-songwriter Arik Einstein.
The speaker of the poem is a man who describes his tormented and unanswered longing for the woman he loves. In a soft voice, his words cry out for comfort. A comfort that can only come from the beloved, from the experience of being loved by the one his heart desires. If Rachel doesn’t come soon, he pleads at night in a field of grain, surrounded by high stalks, he will surely die.
This week’s parsha is called Vaetchanan – “and I pleaded” – after its initial passage where Moses recounts how he pleaded with God to let him cross into the land, and how his pleading was denied. That he will have to die with his longing unfulfilled.
Traditional commentaries explain how Moses accepted God’s decision, how he was ultimately happy with the gift of his portion, the tremendous legacy he left behind to this day. Modern commentaries teach about the process of change in leadership, how one generation must pass the baton on to the next, how we are all links in a long chain of trying to bring the world to a better place, echoing the words of Rabbi Tarfon that while we are not obligated to finish the work, we are not exempt from ignoring the tasks at hand.
The commentaries aim to show that in the end, it was good. That Moses understood that God’s decision was an expression of love for him as well as for the Israelites, and that he found peace.
Such a perspective is constructive and uplifting. It gives strength and affords comfort when we experience the pain of מר לי מר, mar li mar, as Bialik put it, using the words of Isaiah or Naomi from the book of Ruth; when our heart feels bitter and we realize that there are things we may not achieve or experience in our lifetime.
And while this perspective often comforts me, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes I find it hard to make peace like Moses is said to have been able to. If the redemption narrative is about getting into the Promised Land, wouldn’t anything else be second best? What about the evenings strolling through fields of high standing grain, alone, longing for the beloved? How can love be offered as a solution when we feel unloved?
Judaism and Christianity both interpret, in their own ways, hope and faith as expressions of love. While the English word faith is primarily associated with the Christian tradition, it in fact has a Hebrew equivalent –אמונה , emunah, from the root aleph, mem, nun that gives the universal expression of agreement: Amen.
When we say Amen, we express that we believe in God’s powers. But faith is not unshakable. One might ask: Sure, God may have miraculous and awesome capacities, but why am I not experiencing their effects?
It requires an extra step to happily embrace one’s portion as a gift, even when it is not what one had wanted. This is where another word comes into play, a word that might be even more relevant to a Jewish outlook on life, and that is ביטחון, bitachon: The trust that things will not only work out but that they are already a blessing. When we open the ark during Torah service, we don’t sing that we have faith in God. We sing that we trust only in God: Ki vecha levad batachnu.
In modern Hebrew, bitachon means insurance. And like an insurance, bitachon might allow us to live more in the present rather than haggling with the future. It might enable us to find our ideal in whatever form it is already present in our lives. Even if we don’t have the type of love we feel we lack, we realize that we have different kinds of love.
Having that kind of trust can help make peace with the present and the future. On this Shabbat Nachamu, this Shabbat of Comfort that also falls out on Tu b’Av, the Jewish Day of Love, I want to trust that seeing the land from afar is ultimately enough, רב לך, rav lach, plenty. That the acceptance of our limitations is liberating. That this kind of trust can open a path through a waving wheat field, toward the rising sun.
Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Julia Knobloch
rabbiknobloch@bethelsp.org