 | One of my favorite moments of the Jewish year is coming... and it's probably not what you think. There's a point on Yom Kippur when we come together as if to receive anew the ancient covenant, knowing that the very act of being together magnetizes that covenant. But Torah's basis for this moment, in this week's portion, asks us to read it in a counter-intuitive way. |
By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Nitzavim-Vayeileikh 5784 (2024)
Click here for last year's Dvar Torah on this portion, "It's Not in Heaven"
One of my favorite moments in the Jewish liturgical year is coming, and it's probably not what you think.
Don't get me wrong: I seem to have plenty of favorite moments (much as I seem to have many favorite bits of Torah and Talmud, as Saturday "SoulSpa" participants have heard me tease myself for saying). The first and last shofar blasts are biggies. Kol Nidre is a biggie. The transition into Neilah on Yom Kippur afternoon is a biggie.
But my stand-out favorite favorite comes on Yom Kippur morning, in one of the early aliyot to Torah, when we reprise part of this week's Torah portion. It's as if this week is a prequel for what's to come next month, a setup to help get us ready.
As the Yom Kippur moment arrives to read this Torah excerpt, I cue the whole congregation to stand if it's safe in body. I make the audacious claim that we stand on behalf of everyone – everyone in the room, everyone online, everyone among our beloveds, everyone absent due to illness or choice, everyone alive, everyone dead, everyone yet to be born. And then we read words of Torah that, on first blush, seem to say exactly that (Deut. 29:9-14):
Nitzavim-Vayeileikh 5784 (2024)
Click here for last year's Dvar Torah on this portion, "It's Not in Heaven"
One of my favorite moments in the Jewish liturgical year is coming, and it's probably not what you think.
Don't get me wrong: I seem to have plenty of favorite moments (much as I seem to have many favorite bits of Torah and Talmud, as Saturday "SoulSpa" participants have heard me tease myself for saying). The first and last shofar blasts are biggies. Kol Nidre is a biggie. The transition into Neilah on Yom Kippur afternoon is a biggie.
But my stand-out favorite favorite comes on Yom Kippur morning, in one of the early aliyot to Torah, when we reprise part of this week's Torah portion. It's as if this week is a prequel for what's to come next month, a setup to help get us ready.
As the Yom Kippur moment arrives to read this Torah excerpt, I cue the whole congregation to stand if it's safe in body. I make the audacious claim that we stand on behalf of everyone – everyone in the room, everyone online, everyone among our beloveds, everyone absent due to illness or choice, everyone alive, everyone dead, everyone yet to be born. And then we read words of Torah that, on first blush, seem to say exactly that (Deut. 29:9-14):
| אַתֶּ֨ם נִצָּבִ֤ים הַיּוֹם֙ כֻּלְּכֶ֔ם לִפְנֵ֖י יהוָ֣''ה אֱלֹהֵיכֶ֑ם רָאשֵׁיכֶ֣ם שִׁבְטֵיכֶ֗ם זִקְנֵיכֶם֙ וְשֹׁ֣טְרֵיכֶ֔ם כֹּ֖ל אִ֥ישׁ יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃ טַפְּכֶ֣ם נְשֵׁיכֶ֔ם וְגֵ֣רְךָ֔ אֲשֶׁ֖ר בְּקֶ֣רֶב מַחֲנֶ֑יךָ מֵחֹטֵ֣ב עֵצֶ֔יךָ עַ֖ד שֹׁאֵ֥ב מֵימֶֽיךָ׃ לְעָבְרְךָ֗ בִּבְרִ֛ית יהֹוָ֥''ה אֱלֹהֶ֖יךָ וּבְאָלָת֑וֹ אֲשֶׁר֙ יְהֹוָ֣''ה אֱלֹהֶ֔יךָ כֹּרֵ֥ת עִמְּךָ֖ הַיּֽוֹם׃ לְמַ֣עַן הָקִֽים־אֹתְךָ֩ הַיּ֨וֹם ל֜וֹ לְעָ֗ם וְה֤וּא יִֽהְיֶה־לְּךָ֙ לֵֽאלֹהִ֔ים כַּאֲשֶׁ֖ר דִּבֶּר־לָ֑ךְ וְכַאֲשֶׁ֤ר נִשְׁבַּע֙ לַאֲבֹתֶ֔יךָ לְאַבְרָהָ֥ם לְיִצְחָ֖ק וּֽלְיַעֲקֹֽב׃ וְלֹ֥א אִתְּכֶ֖ם לְבַדְּכֶ֑ם אָנֹכִ֗י כֹּרֵת֙ אֶת־הַבְּרִ֣ית הַזֹּ֔את וְאֶת־הָאָלָ֖ה הַזֹּֽאת׃ כִּי֩ אֶת־אֲשֶׁ֨ר יֶשְׁנ֜וֹ פֹּ֗ה עִמָּ֙נוּ֙ עֹמֵ֣ד הַיּ֔וֹם לִפְנֵ֖י יהוָ֣''ה אֱלֹהֵ֑ינוּ וְאֵ֨ת אֲשֶׁ֥ר אֵינֶ֛נּוּ פֹּ֖ה עִמָּ֥נוּ הַיּֽוֹם׃ | You stand today, all of you, before YHVH your God: your tribal heads, elders and officials, every person of Israel – your children, your spouses and strangers camping with you, from woodchopper to water drawer. [You] enter today into the Covenant of YHVH your God, that YHVH your God makes with you with its implications, to establish you today as a sacred nation and to be your God – as I said to you and as sworn to your ancestors. I make [it] with all who stand with us today before YHVH our God, and with those who are not here with us today. |
In Torah's plot, it's another Sinai moment. The original Sinai moment came 40 years earlier: all who were physically there are gone (except Moses, Caleb and Joshua). So now the next generation needs a new Sinai moment before they enter the Land, much as we gather on Yom Kippur for our own Sinai reboot for the year ahead. And like our ancestors, we stand for everyone, to reboot the Covenant among us and the One we feebly call God.
Our medieval ancestors held, however, that the dead need no promises and that "we" – "all" of us – already stand there. Therefore, they continued, Torah's boldfaced words "those who are not here with us today" could only mean generations yet unborn. If so, then we stand on behalf of the future. Our medieval ancestors, living amidst antisemitic hardship, needed to see a Jewish future in standing together. We do, too.
Our earlier Talmudic ancestors 1,000 years earlier, however, felt more secure in Babylon, so it's little surprise that they read these words differently. They feared that if the Covenant relied on what each generation might think and feel about it over time, maybe self-servingly, then self-interest always could risk the Covenant. So they interpreted "those who are not here with us today" to mean God and future wisdom (B.T. Nedarim 25a), giving them claims over what the Covenant would be. In that view, the Covenant is eternal and Yom Kippur comes to both free us and bind us anew.
A third understanding, however, hints at something profound. Let's face it: sometimes we ourselves aren't fully present. We're distracted. Greed, fear or doubt eclipse the angels of our better nature. And no matter what, mystics teach that part of each person's soul is not fully "with us" on this plane but tethered to the Source of All Souls. To the Vilna Gaon of the 18th century, it's to this supernal self – our best self sometimes occluded, our transcendent self inherently b'tzelem Elohim (in the image of God) – that Torah's words are most directed.
So at the pivotal moment when we proclaim these words on Yom Kippur, all the community will rise – folks afraid for the future and folks afraid for the present, folks who feel the covenant coursing through them and folks who don't, folks inhabiting their very best selves and folks occluded, folks sensing their sacred tie that binds and folks who maybe forgot. In that pivotal moment, we stand for all of them. We are them. We're all in.
And in that moment, it won't matter who we are, where we've been, what we believe, what we did or what we didn't do. What will matters is that we're together. And no matter what, even against all odds, we will find the Covenant renewed.
Our medieval ancestors held, however, that the dead need no promises and that "we" – "all" of us – already stand there. Therefore, they continued, Torah's boldfaced words "those who are not here with us today" could only mean generations yet unborn. If so, then we stand on behalf of the future. Our medieval ancestors, living amidst antisemitic hardship, needed to see a Jewish future in standing together. We do, too.
Our earlier Talmudic ancestors 1,000 years earlier, however, felt more secure in Babylon, so it's little surprise that they read these words differently. They feared that if the Covenant relied on what each generation might think and feel about it over time, maybe self-servingly, then self-interest always could risk the Covenant. So they interpreted "those who are not here with us today" to mean God and future wisdom (B.T. Nedarim 25a), giving them claims over what the Covenant would be. In that view, the Covenant is eternal and Yom Kippur comes to both free us and bind us anew.
A third understanding, however, hints at something profound. Let's face it: sometimes we ourselves aren't fully present. We're distracted. Greed, fear or doubt eclipse the angels of our better nature. And no matter what, mystics teach that part of each person's soul is not fully "with us" on this plane but tethered to the Source of All Souls. To the Vilna Gaon of the 18th century, it's to this supernal self – our best self sometimes occluded, our transcendent self inherently b'tzelem Elohim (in the image of God) – that Torah's words are most directed.
So at the pivotal moment when we proclaim these words on Yom Kippur, all the community will rise – folks afraid for the future and folks afraid for the present, folks who feel the covenant coursing through them and folks who don't, folks inhabiting their very best selves and folks occluded, folks sensing their sacred tie that binds and folks who maybe forgot. In that pivotal moment, we stand for all of them. We are them. We're all in.
And in that moment, it won't matter who we are, where we've been, what we believe, what we did or what we didn't do. What will matters is that we're together. And no matter what, even against all odds, we will find the Covenant renewed.
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