TORAH SPARKS

 

 

Parashat Nitzavim

September 24, 2022 | 28 Elul 5782

Torah: Deuteronomy 29:9-30:20; Triennial 29:9-30:20

Haftarah: Isaiah 63:1-9

 

 

 

Beyond the Sea

Ilana Kurshan

 

 

Parashat Nitzavim, which we read just before Rosh Hashanah, speaks of the importance of repenting and returning to God after we have sinned. Immediately after the description of returning to God, Moshe tells the people, For this commandment which I have given you today is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens that you should say, Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us nor is it beyond the sea. Rather, says Moshe, it is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to do it (Deuteronomy 30:11-14). These verses are so poetic and inspiring that we might overlook how cryptic they are. What is the nature of this commandment that is neither baffling nor beyond reach, but rather close in our hearts?

 

Both the Ramban and Seforno base their answer to this question on the proximate context in which these verses appear.

Moshe has just told the people that they will return to God and resume a life of following in God s ways. And so these medieval commentators understand this commandment which is not in the heavens to be a reference to repentance. What does it mean for repentance to be not in the heavens and not beyond the sea but rather very close to us? In the Talmud, a story about the repentance of a wayward rabbi sheds light on this question, helping us to understand how we can take responsibility for the spiritual work incumbent upon as at this time of year.

 

In tractate Avodah Zarah (17a), the Talmud introduces us to a little-known figure, Rabbi Elazar ben Dordaya, who does not behave like a rabbi at all; he focuses his energies on trying to sleep with every prostitute in the world. This rabbi can never sit still, but travels far to the cities overseas to pursue his obsession. We might say, invoking our parashah, that Rabbi Elazar is convinced that what he most fervently desires in life is to be found far away, beyond the sea, and that he needs to travel the world to access it.

 

The Talmud relates that on one occasion, Rabbi Elazar hears about a certain prostitute overseas who charges a hefty fee for her services. Undaunted, he takes a purse full of coins and travels across seven rivers to reach her. The prostitute is exotic and remote, and since he is a rabbi, she probably ought to be the furthest thing from his thoughts. But Rabbi Elazar is determined to gain access.

 

The story then takes a rather off-color turn. The Talmud recounts that while they are engaged in the act, she passes wind. Presumably her flatulence deflates the magic of the moment, because the prostitute then turns to Rabbi Elazar and makes a pronouncement

that seems to seal his fate: Just as this passed wind will not return to its place, so too Elazar ben Dordaya will not be accepted in repentance. The prostitute tells Rabbi Elazar that on account of his runaway sexual appetites, he has crossed a line. He will never be able to return to God.

 

Rabbi Elazar, who is used to traveling far and wide to get what he wants, looks far and wide for a solution to his problem how can he mend his ways and return to God? He sits between two mountains, again defining himself in relation to that which is remote and far-reaching. Mountains and hills, pray for mercy on my behalf, he pleads, but the mountains and hills refuse, insisting that first they will plead on their own behalf. Heaven and earth, pray for mercy on my behalf, he entreats, but the heaven and earth refuse as well. He then appeals to the sun and moon, and then to the stars and constellations, all to no avail. Finally Rabbi Elazar ben Dordaya places his head between his knees. He cannot rely on the lofty mountains around him his knees are now the mountains, and nothing outside him is going to intercede on his behalf. Clearly the matter depends on me alone, he realizes. He cries until his soul leaves his body. Repentance has come too late for this world, but a divine voice pronounces that he is destined for the World to Come.

 

Rabbi Elazar ben Dordaya has to accept that he is not going to be able to change his ways by appealing to anything beyond himself. After spending his whole life pursuing prostitutes to the furthest reaches of the sea, he has to change course. He cannot appeal to the heavens or to the constellations, because what he is seeking is to be found only within himself. To invoke the words of our parashah, It is

not in the heavens ; rather, the only way to repent is to recognize that the power to change ourselves lies very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to do it. Or, as Rabbi Elazar ben Dordaya puts it, clearly the matter depends on us alone.

 

At the time of year when our tradition calls upon us to mend our ways and to conduct ourselves more appropriately, there is always the temptation to look outward rather than inward. Perhaps we blame someone else, waiting for them to apologize to us first, rather than engaging in our own spiritual work. Perhaps we tell ourselves that we ll wait for circumstances to change for the stars and constellations to re-align in our favor. But as we learn from Rabbi Elazar ben Dordaya, the work of repentance depends on us alone. As Lori Gottlieb writes in her bestselling book about the workings of psychotherapy, Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, At some point, being a fulfilled adult means taking responsibility for the course of your own life and accepting the fact that now you re in charge of your choices. We have to take responsibility for who we have been, and only then can we transform whom we will become. This is not easy work, but it also does not lie beyond our reach. It is the work of our mouths and the work of our hearts in this season of repentance and return.

Cutting a Covenant

Vered Hollander-Goldfarb

 

Text: Devarim 29:9-12

9You all stand today before the Lord your God: your heads your tribes, your elders and your officers all the men of Israel, 10your little ones your wives and the stranger who is in your camp, from the one who chops your wood to the one who draws your water: 11To pass you through into the covenant with the Lord your God, and into His oath, which the Lord your God cuts with you today, 12that He may establish you today as a people for Himself, and that He may be God to you, just as He has spoken to you, and just as He has sworn to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

 

● Who is participating in the covenant?

● Why do you think that the covenant is made now?

● Based on the language, how might the ceremony of a covenant be performed?

● The people of Israel had already made a covenant with God at

Sinai. Why is there a need for another covenant here?

 

Commentar y: R. Joseph Bechor Shor Devarim 29:11

 

Cutting a covenant called so since they cut a calf into two.

 

And pass through called so since they pass through the cuts of the calf (cf. Jeremiah 34:19), just as Avraham our forefather did in the covenant between the cuts, as it says (Gen.15:10) he cut them in the middle And this is a sign that if he will break the covenant, he will be so cut up, just as: So he took a yoke of oxen and cut them in pieces saying, whoever does not go out with Saul and Samuel to battle, so it shall be done to his oxen. (I Sam 11:7)

● According to Bechor Shor, what does a covenantal ceremony look like? How does he prove this? (Archaeological finds have proven him correct.)

● What is the message of such a ceremony?

 

Commentar y: Hizkuni Devarim 29:11

 

To pass you through – (the Hebrew is in the singular form) i.e. all as if you were one single person.

 

Cuts with you today – This was the last time the entire nation would be present at the same spot simultaneously, as after the land

had been distributed to the tribes, the elderly and the mothers who had just given birth, as well as any sick people could not be expected to come to Jerusalem on the festivals designated for the annual pilgrimages.

 

● Hizkuni noticed that the text is addressing the people as a single body. What is the message of such an address? (Reading the next several verses might make it clearer.)

● Why is a covenant made now, on the Steppes of Moab, before entering the land? Based on that, what challenges can be expected once they enter?

The Big Bad Wolf

Bex Stern Rosenblatt

 

Our haftarah, Isaiah 61-63, is the final of the seven haftarot of consolation. We ve made it now. We have survived Tisha B Av, come back into the land of Israel, and begun the process of teshuva in preparation for the holidays. We might have thought that our haftarah would tie the process up with a bow, ending neatly and happily. But we are not a people for fairytale endings.

 

Instead of thanking God for returning us to the land, we quiz God about why God s clothes are so dirty. In the manner of Little Red Riding Hood noting her Grandmother s awfully big teeth, we approach God and inquire after God s clothing. We read, as translated by Robert Alter, Who is this coming from Edom, in ensanguined garments? Why is there red on your garments and your clothes like one treading a winepress? It is a crazy set of questions. We are approaching the most powerful ruler in the world and asking why he is covered in blood.

 

God s answer spares us no details. We read, as translated by Alter, In the vat I have trodden alone of the peoples, no one was with Me, and I trampled them in My wrath, stomped on them in My fury, and their lifeblood splattered My garments, all My clothes I have befouled And I trampled peoples in My wrath and made them drunk with My fury, and shed their lifeblood on the ground.

 

There is a confluence of images here. Wine and blood become synonymous. God becomes a winemaker, making wine out of the blood of humans, and God then makes the humans drunk. The word that Alter translates as lifeblood is netzach, usually understood to

mean something eternal, enduring, and strong. Ibn Ezra explains that we should read nezach as blood, because the span of human life is measured by how long blood endures, flowing through a human s veins. God is playing with human lives, exposing that the netzach, the duration, of each human life is not netzach, eternal, as God is, but rather as easily disposed of as a grape.

 

But human death does affect God. The remnants of our lives have made a mess of God s clothes. Of course, it is a bizarre thing to imagine a clothed God in the first place. In the image here in Isaiah, God is taking on distinctly human characteristics, wearing clothing and making wine. But this is happening on a divine scale. The consolation we find is that God understands us, God knows what it is to have dirty clothes and a broken heart. Moreover, God is on our side. The blood on God s clothing is not our own. Faced with the enormity of our loss and our return, we find comfort in God s ability to be like us, to understand us, while still being totally alien in God s netzach, God s strength.