Mountainous mystery: was the Torah actually received on Shavuot?

On what day was the Torah given? On what date do we celebrate the festival of Shavuot? Seemingly simple questions, yet ones for which the Torah’s text provides no clear answer.

In a fascinating passage, Rabbi S. R. Hirsch notes that Shavuot is unique among all biblical festivals in that no calendar date is prescribed for it – rather, it is observed seven weeks from the omer offering. Combining a selection of Talmudic traditions and calculations, he demonstrates that the Torah was most likely understood to have been given on the 51st day after the Exodus. Thus the 50th day from the omer is in fact the day BEFORE the Lawgiving (which the Torah identifies as having taken place on the sixth or seventh day of the third month).

On this basis, the day that is elevated to a festival is NOT the day of the Sinai revelation, but rather the final day of counting leading up to that great day. This indicates that the ‘festival of Matan Torah’ does not relate to the actual giving of the Torah; it celebrates our making ourselves worthy of receiving it. Jewish tradition depicts the nation as having undergone a significant transformation during this seven-week period (7 itself is a number understood to symbolise a purifying process). This transformative process, which culminated in them camping, united, at the base of Mount Sinai, it what we celebrate as a festival. It is the conclusion of this same seven-week period which both determines the date of the celebration, and accounts for the name “Shavuot” by which the festival is commonly known.

As we also examine in Judaism Reclaimed, the Lawgiving itself was in no way concentrated on that day at Sinai – the Torah was transmitted in the course of 40 years. Some of its most important features may only have been taught to the people on the Plains of Moav decades later. Both R’ Hirsch and Rambam emphasise that the primary significance of the Sinaitic spectacle was “in order that the people hear when I speak to you, and they will also believe in you forever”. Rambam understood that the people somehow participated in Moshe's prophecy to an extent that authenticated and legitimised all of his Lawgiving over the subsequent decades. In this way, perhaps, the entire Torah can be said to have ‘originated from Sinai’.

On a separate note, another favourite Jewish-school-Shavuot teaching which Judaism Reclaimed addresses vividly depicts God holding Mount Sinai above the nation and threatening it with destruction if it fails to accept the Torah. Maharal asks why this menacing threat was necessary in light of the Jews’ faithful utterance of “na’aseh venishma” (“we shall do and we shall listen”). His suggested answer is that the timing of this threat was intended to impart a clear message that the Torah’s laws are absolute and binding. It was thus required to reinforce the Jews’ faithful acceptance so that they should not imagine that their voluntary acceptance of the Torah could at any time be subject to reversal.

But can we relate this midrashic teaching in any way to the Torah’s actual description of events at Sinai?

While the nation’s declaration of “na’aseh venishma” is widely quoted, it is normally done so without the immediately preceding words: “And he took the Book of the Covenant and read it within the hearing of the people, and they said, "All that the Lord spoke we will do and we will hear."” A midrash Mechilta, along with other commentaries (see also Devarim 28:69), identify this “Book of the Covenant” as being none other than the fearsome litany of rebukes and curses enumerated in parashat Bechukotai – described by the Torah as one of the final passages transmitted at Sinai.

Might the vivid midrashic depiction of the mountain being held threateningly above the nation’s heads be an allusion to the significance of the tochachah passage of rebuke at Sinai? If so, it could then be construed as an embodiment of the message that our relationship with God and the Torah is premised not on our fickle and fluctuating feeling and fortunes but on an accepted sacred duty – and privilege – which we, as Jews, bear and carry with us throughout our lives.

First posted to Facebook 27 May 2020, here.

Antisemitism: the unpleasant key to Jewish survival?

The latest round of warfare in Israel, coupled with obsessive worldwide media coverage, has aggravated rising anti-Semitic trends in many countries. Shocking attacks and threats against Jews have shaken many in America and the UK. As community leaders weigh up the most appropriate ways to safeguard their members, many religious Jews may find themselves searching for a theological perspective on the world’s oldest hatred.

Judaism Reclaimed examines anti-Semitism in the context of the covenant between God and Avraham at the brit bein habetarim. In the conversation that takes place at the time of the covenant, Avraham asks God "Bemah eida?": how can I know that my descendants will be worthy of inheriting the Land of Israel? That they will fulfil the daunting task of standing apart from the other nations of the world as a leading light? God responds that Avraham's descendants will be enslaved in a strange land. The clear implication is that this suffering would hold the key to their ability to succeed as the Chosen Nation.

It is an observable historical phenomenon that collective experiences, and particularly common suffering, can play a crucial role in establishing and maintaining a strong shared identity. The years in Egypt saw Ya'akov's family blossoming into a nation. Following this formative period, the nascent nation would receive the Torah and, with it, face the formidable task of surviving and succeeding as an island of monotheism amid a vast and raging sea of paganism. It was therefore an absolute necessity that they should develop a cast-iron collective identity, an identity that was independent from the surrounding nations and cultures and which could not be easily compromised.

This may be the meaning of the "kur habarzel" — the iron crucible which the Torah later uses to describe the formative aspect of the Israel’s suffering in Egypt. It also accounts for the midrashic emphasis on the manner in which the Jews guarded their names, language, food and clothing. These being classic indicators of the shared expression of cultural identity that the years of slavery had been intended to cultivate, we can understand why the Midrash considers that it was in the merit of these attributes that the redemption from Egypt was earned.

In his Beit Halevi book of essays on the Torah, Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik draws upon some of these ideas as part of his analysis of anti-Semitism, a seemingly illogical phenomenon which has accompanied Jews around the world throughout the centuries. Initially, he is startled by a verse from the Book of Psalms (105:25) which includes the Egyptian hatred and oppression among the acts of kindness that God performed for the Jewish people. He then notes midrashim that connect the start of the oppression to the Jews' attempts to conceal their circumcision and Jewish identity. His great-grandson and namesake R’ Joseph B. Soloveitchik appears to endorse this idea, describing how a history of persecution and martyrdom has hardened attitudes towards any form of assimilation and reinforced the distinct identity and values of the Jewish people.

The key to understanding both the suffering in Egypt and continued anti-Semitism through the ages may be to view them not as a punishment, but rather as God's tool to ensure that His promise to Avraham at the Covenant would be observed. According to this argument, it is only as a result of unabated anti-Semitism, particularly severe at times of heightened assimilation, that the Jews have survived as the Chosen Nation, retaining the ability to carry out their holy and extremely challenging mission. This idea is given full expression in Radak’s commentary to a passage in Ezekiel (20:32), in which the prophet addresses God’s refusal to countenance Jewish attempts to assimilate among the nations:

“But when they disobey My commands, I will strengthen the nations against them…Israel, whom I took out from the house of slavery to be my treasured nation etc, and I to them a God, My eyes will be constantly on them for good and bad, as it states in the prophecy of Amos (3:2) “Only you have I known from all of the families of the world, therefore I will be attentive to all of your sins”. And if you wish to depart from My worship, I will not grant permission for this. Even though you will be many years in exile, you will never cease to be a nation before me…and with force I will reign over you, and I will purify you …”

First posted to Facebook 2 June 2021, here.

Goats and good choices: a profound message from the Yom Kippur ceremony

The national Jewish atonement on Yom Kippur at the time of the Mikdash – one which is currently the focus of the daf yomi study – involves the bringing of two identical goats over which lots are drawn: one is thereby selected “LaHashem” as a korban, while the second “La’Azazel” is sent to its rocky death.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch offers a profound insight into the symbolic significance of the goats and their prominent place in the Yom Kippur atonement service. Focusing on the strict requirement that the two goats be identical in size, appearance, and value, R’ Hirsch sees their respective fates as representative of the opposing destinies between which all of mankind is free to choose.

The path of “LaHashem” is the self-sacrifice of renouncing a self-centered existence. What seems initially to be a loss of self, however, is in fact an entry into a higher and more genuine form of existence; what appears to be a renunciation is in fact a gain of the most sublime values.

[It should be pointed out that to R’ Hirsch the Mikdash is not simply a giant slaughterhouse but rather the materials, arrangement and ceremonial performance of the korbanot represent and embody the entire spiritual and moral calling of the Torah. Accordingly, some of his longest Torah commentary is centred around the parshiyot which recount these details – Terumah, Tetzaveh and Vayikra.]

The path of “La’Azazel” by contrast begins with an apparent preservation of freedom and independence, stubbornly rejecting all notions of sacrifice and devotion to a higher, holy authority. Ultimately, however, in his escape from the sacrifices demanded by the Sanctuary, he fails to see the abrupt precipice that opens behind him and dooms him to a sudden death.

These two paths of “LaHashem” and “La’Azazel” are open to each person to choose between. That the goats must be identical symbolizes the fact that no one can blame his standing, material circumstances, or position for his choices. A precondition for repentance and atonement is the realization that one must take full responsibility for one’s choices and actions, which is why the goats play a central role in the Yom Kippur atonement ceremony.

This explanation is consistent with R’ Hirsch’s approach to explaining the process of viduy (confession) which is so central to the Yom Kippur prayer. Rather than providing automatic absolution through the recitation of sins, the Jewish notion of viduy involves verbalizing, and thereby admitting to oneself that one has indeed gone wrong and taking full responsibility for one’s wrong choices. That acceptance of free will and responsibility is a central precondition to atonement is further reflected by the central position it occupies in Rambam’s Hilchot Teshuva.

[This passage is adapted from a chapter of Judaism Reclaimed: Philosophy and Theology in the Torah which looks at demonic and other apparent biblical references to a ‘dark side’ such as the Azazel goat].

First posted on Facebook 7 October 2019, here.

Korach and source criticism: arguing about an argument

By Daniel Abraham and Shmuli Phillips

Parashat Korach is traditionally taught as an episode involving a challenge by a coalition of disputants to Moshe’s supreme authority over the Israelites in the desert. There is, however, a widely held belief within academic source criticism of the Torah that the story of Dathan, Abiram, and Korach is comprised of two independent narratives that were later combined. Typically, the first of these stories involves Dathan and Abiram, who challenge Moses for failing to bring them to the promised land. This story concludes with them and their households being swallowed into the ground. The second story tells of Korach and 250 men challenging Moses and Aaron’s positions of authority, and results in their being consumed by a fire from God. A close reading of this section of the Torah reveals that not only that the evidence for this supposed division is weak, but that there are in fact a number of strong counter-indications which point instead to the unity of the text.

Right: The Argument (here)

As is often the case with critical theories that attempt to separate the text into distinct narratives, there is a great deal of disagreement among the source critics themselves as to how such a separation might be performed. Some, such as David Carr , simply divide the story between P (priestly authorship) and unspecified non-P sources. Others, such as Richard Elliot Friedman divide Numbers 16 between “J” and “P”. A third group, including Joel Baden, divide the text up as “E” and “P”. Carr notes that “Baden diverges from many prior source-critics in assigning all of the non-P story of Dathan and Abiram's rebellion in Numbers 16 to E”. A further group of opinions, such as that held by David Frankel, breaks the story up into seven redactional layers. If such claims, in the absence of any actual material evidence, sound incredulous Carr comments, “Some have found evidence of eight to fifteen (or more) layers of sources and redactional expansions in a single chapter or set of verses. Yet I suggest that these more complicated reconstructions of textual prehistory have not stood and will not stand the test of time.” Like Moshe’s challengers, it would appear that these fractious critics stand together only in their opposition to the traditional notion of a single biblical Author.

One of the main arguments for this division involves the subsequent retelling of these events in Deuteronomy. There at verse 11:6 Moses recounts,

“and what He did to Dathan and Abiram, sons of Eliab son of Reuben, when the earth opened her mouth and swallowed them, along with their households, their tents, and every living thing in their train, from amidst all Israel.”

While Moshe mentions Dathan and Abiram he fails to mention Korach. Source critics will often assume that any possible discrepancies in the Torah must be a contradiction (except of course when such discrepancies are harmful to their source divisions, in which cases the critics develop some very creative, complex resolutions). In this case, the omission of Korach from the retelling of the narrative can be attributed to Moses wanting to strengthen the status of the loyal Levites – many of whom would have survived the desert years – as future leaders and teachers of the people, rather than running the risk of reigniting bygone grievances. The more personal challenges of Dathan, Abiram and the other protagonists, by contrast, are likely to have perished along with those who advanced them. Moses, in reminding the people of the results of such this earlier unsuccessful uprising, would have been considered as having administered an effective warning against future insurrections. Additionally, as Rabbi David Tzvi Hoffman suggests, Moses may have wanted to spare the sons of Korach, whom we are told survived the rebellion, from any embarrassment.

Rabbi Dr. Joshua Berman addresses the claims of source critics that relate to apparently inconsistent recounting of earlier episodes from a different perspective. Berman draws on examples of Ancient Near-Eastern texts such as Hittite treaties from the 13-14th century BCE to show how ancient literary style regularly included a retelling of history that involved omission of certain facts and a retelling of others. In many instances, such inconsistent retelling occurs within a text which is known to be the unified work of a single author, and is understood as a literary tool to emphasize and convey particular messages.

Another important source in the context of this discussion is Psalm 106:17,18, where we see a similar omission of Korach:

“The earth opened up and swallowed Dathan, closed over the party of Abir׃ A fire blazed among their party, a flame that consumed the wicked.”

Once again we see a recounting of the story that only mentions Dathan and Abiram. Yet crucially we also find the author of this Psalm describing a fire burning up their congregation – an element of the episode that source critics relate specifically to Korach and not to Dathan and Abiram. Why would this passage also choose to omit any explicit reference to Korach? Perhaps again, to avoid embarrassment of the Levites, including the sons of Korah (some of them being authors of the Psalms) whom we know from archaeological finds were still around in Arad, 8th century BCE.

Dr. Ben Zion Katz demonstrates the textual unity of the Korach episode from a subsequent passage in the Book of Numbers, which clearly regards both Korach’s rebellion and that of the non-Levites as being part of a single challenge to Moshe’s position:

“when the daughters of Zelofchad complain to Moses about their lack of ability to inherit because of their gender (Numbers 27; P) they mention that their father was not a part of Korah’s rebellion (27:3). Yet Zelofchad was from the tribe of Menashe. He would not have been part of the rebellion of the Levite Korah against Aaron; he would have been in the rebellion of Datan and Abiram against Moses, and it would be extremely odd for source P to make this mistake.”

In response to those who question why the tribe of Reuben would have been associated with Korach and drawn into his alliance, it must be borne in mind that when camping in the desert, Korach and the Kohathites dwelt to the South of the Mishkan, as did the tribes of Reuben, Simeon, and Gad. This consistent close proximity would have allowed for such an alliance to form over time and thereby exposed these tribes to the complaints of Korach.

In conclusion, while the Korach narrative has gained acceptance and popularity among source critics as an important example of how individual stories were later combined in the Torah, persistent disagreement among critics themselves indicates that such theories are not at all self-evident. The counter-indications that we have offered from other biblical sources point strongly towards reading the rebellion as the action of a broad umbrella of malcontents, unified by their wish to unseat Moses, rather than as a carefully combined collection of independent challengers to Moses.

First posted on Facebook 13 June 2021, here.

The parashah -- from Bilaam's perspective

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed that relates to parashat Balak examines Bilaam and Balak’s motive to harm the Jewish people in the context of the broader concept of Jewish ancestral merit.

At the start of the parashah we learn that Bilaam wanted to accept Balak’s request that he curse Israel but that God was unwilling for him to do so. Did Bilaam – who is understood to have possessed a profound understand of divine matters – really believe that he could change God's mind and be granted permission to curse His chosen people? Bilaam knew that God had chosen the Jewish people and performed exceptional miracles for their benefit. If, as Bilaam himself stated, he was aware that he “could not override God's will”, even for a “small matter”, how are we to understand Bilaam’s motivation and intentions in embarking upon such a foolish mission?

Let us try to examine the position of the Jewish people at that time from Bilaam's perspective. Having left Egypt and received the Torah, the Jews became bogged down for the best part of 40 years as a result of repeated sinning against God. God had proposed more than once to Moshe that the Jewish people should be abandoned and rebuilt solely through him, and even Moshe's own negative responses to those proposals did not go so far as to suggest that the Jewish people were indeed worthy.

Furthermore, in the book of Devarim we find that Moshe himself clearly tells the people not to imagine that they are worthy to enter the land. They are only entering the land of Israel because of the wickedness of other nations, and in fulfilment of the covenant God made with Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov.

Perhaps Bilaam is therefore working on a reasonable assumption. He is essentially relying on the proposition that the Jews bear no special qualities in their own right; they are simply hanging on to the meritorious coat-tails of the Avot.

Throughout the parashah we see symbolic allusions between Bilaam and the Avot. To start with, Balak tells Bilaam "Whoever you bless will be blessed, whoever you curse will be cursed", which is exactly what God tells Avraham. Other echoes from the book of Bereishit are Bilaam's saddling his donkey, three appearances of an angel (which Rashi sees as an allusion to the Avot themselves), and most importantly the korbanot through which Bilaam seeks to exceed the Zechut Avot (the benefits to which the Jewish people are entitled by virtue of the meritorious conduct of their forefathers). The Midrash makes this last point crystal clear: Bilaam offered more korbanot than the Avot, the message to God being: "I can offer more korbanot than the Jewish people, and the 70 nations combined can offer more than a single nation".

Bilaam is said to be the representative prophet of the 70 non-Israelite nations. We may view him as being their ambassador, representing their interests here by saying that the 70 nations are no less worthy of His favour than is Israel.

Bilaam is not the only prophet in Tanach who is prepared to initiate a course of action that is not ordered by God. We also see Yonah go beyond the bounds of acceptability, disobeying God out of concern that the contrition of the non-Jews of Nineveh would reflect badly on the unrepentant Jews. Could the conduct of Bilaam and God’s response be seen as some kind of parallel by going too far in order to represent the interests of the 70 nations? In both cases God's primary response is to guide and educate the errant prophet, rather than to punish.

God’s emphatic response to Bilaam’s claims is contained in his subsequent prophecies. The Jews still “dwell apart” and are not “reckoned among the nations” on account of their continuing patriarchal merit. Presumably this means that the Jews are not to be compared with other nations, even when they sin. God is thus telling Bilaam that, despite the Jewish people’s poor recent track record, they are still His chosen people and will remain so. He is also rebutting a claim which would be revisited throughout history – that the Jews had lost their status as chosen nation as a result of sin.

The chapter proceeds with an assessment of the nature and theological legitimacy of national ancestral merit determining the fortunes of later generations.

First posted to Facebook 24 June 2021, here.

Private vows and sacred cows: self expression and individualism in the Torah

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed which relates to parashat Mattot explores the delicate balance which must be struck between the pursuit of unified halachic practice on the one hand and the recognition of the individual’s need for self-fulfilment and meaning on the other.

Our discussion is built upon the parashah’s detailing of nedarim, personal vows, which provide a person with the means to prohibit what the Torah has permitted. In his Shemonah Perakim, Rambam takes an overwhelmingly negative approach to nedarim and those who utter them, explaining that the Torah’s laws are carefully designed to lead a person to the perfection of his or her character traits. In choosing to take a neder, a person is essentially rejecting the notion that God’s mitzvot provide an adequate means of regulating his life and implying that he knows better than God how to achieve religious perfection. Rambam posits that nedarim should be employed only as a last resort, when there is no other way to control excessive or inappropriate desires.

Rambam’s strong criticism of those who make nedarim is consistent with a statement of the Gemara that one who makes a neder is like one who constructed a bamah [forbidden altar], and one who fulfills it is like one who offered a sacrifice on it [the bamah]. What exactly is behind the Gemara’s cryptic comparison between the taking of a neder and offering a sacrifice outside the Beit Hamikdash? Several similarities become apparent.

First, just like nedarim, bamot are not always prohibited. In the absence of a Beit Hamikdash, an offering on a private altar to God is considered a great mitzvah. Even so, a person who offers such a private offering in an era in which it is prohibited is liable to receive the punishment of karet. Similarly, nedarim are generally viewed as a rejection of the Torah’s formulation for perfection. In a situation in which a person feels he is likely to be overcome by sin, however, the making of a neder is considered a praiseworthy act.

Ran’s commentary to the Gemara hints at a further connection between these two halachot based on the fact that the Beit Hamikdash was built centuries after the Jewish People had conquered and settled the land of Israel. With the construction of the Mikdash, the use of private altars, which had been deeply ingrained into the national psyche as a valid and meritorious method of serving God, became irreversibly prohibited. Perhaps most significantly, these private altars had served for many years as a way for a non-priestly Israelite, to make a personal offering, literally in his own backyard.

Following the ban on bamot, the ordinary Jew was being asked to forgo a treasured act of personal involvement through which he was likely to have felt great spiritual fulfilment. Henceforth it would be the Kohen who performed all of the sacrificial tasks, leaving with the Yisrael a distant and uninvolved spectator. This deep popular connection to private altars – particularly in the context of the ever-present allure of idolatrous shrines – may explain why enforcement of the ban against bamot was so lax in the earlier years of the Judean kingdom. It was only during the later era of Chizkiyah that bamot were uprooted with any degree of success.

In the presence of a fully functional Beit Hamikdash, bamot represented the suggestion that an individual’s feelings of fulfilment could override the national religious interest. Bamot were therefore considered a rejection of God’s instruction for a unified national place of worship. In a similar vein, nedarim also represent a rejection by an individual of the Divine formula which was transmitted to the nation to guide people towards moral and spiritual perfection, with that individual instead attempting to draw close to God on the basis of his or her own subjective ideas.

Both the rejection of nedarim and the prohibition of bamot, however, are ideals for which God has provided exceptions. For someone who feels that there is no other way to restrain his sinful desires, nedarim are endorsed as a method of strengthening self-control. Similarly, the prohibition on bamot, which is a by-product of a strong, centralized Mishkan or Mikdash, only applies when the Jewish nation is relatively settled or has been unified under a king or strong leader. Against this backdrop of unified purpose and worship, the Jewish People can then complete its transition from being a collection of individuals worshipping God to a true nation of God.

First posted to Facebook 15 July 2020, here.

Does the Book of Devarim have its own unique agenda?

The unique style and content of the book of Devarim, a lengthy account of Moshe’s departing discourse to the Jewish people, has exercised the minds of scholars for many years. Judaism Reclaimed draws upon a wide range of sources in examining the extent to which Jewish tradition recognises Devarim as a distinct prophetic work, with its own particular agenda. In the process it addresses many of the arguments raised by academic critics, such as Richard Elliot Friedman, who suggest that these distinctive features are indicative of different authorship. This post will focus on one aspect of this question – its (re)telling of mitzvot and narratives.

Rabbi S. R. Hirsch explains that the book of Devarim has a specific function: to teach or review all of the mitzvot and guidance most necessary for the Jewish nation’s imminent entry into the land and establishment of civil society. The presentation of the laws of the festivals in the book of Devarim, which differs significantly from that of the earlier books of the Torah, is examined in detail by R’ Hirsch and serves as a basis from which he develops his theory.

R’ Hirsch highlights how this review of the festivals only includes Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot – the three whose meaning and application would be significantly altered by the nation’s entry into Israel. Unlike the other four festivals not repeated in the book of Devarim, the meaning of which derive entirely from the relationship between the Jewish people and God, the festivals chosen for review contain an additional dimension that specifically relates to the land and its seasonal cycle. In addition, Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot include the commandment for the whole nation to make a pilgrimage to the Mikdash in Jerusalem. It was therefore specifically these three festivals which were selected for review by Moshe on the Plains of Moav in preparation for entry to the land.

The parshiyot in the middle of Devarim deal with the establishment of institutions which would be necessary in order to govern the land effectively. R’ Hirsch further suggests that the emphasis on tithes and providing for the poor, which also features heavily in the book of Devarim, would take on particular significance with entry to the land. Until that point, the miraculous sustenance of the Jewish people in the desert had made provision for the poor unnecessary. In his commentary on the book of Devarim, Abarbanel consistently seeks to show how each apparently new commandment is merely an extension of a primary mitzvah previously recorded in the first four books — an extension intended specifically to relate to the new challenge of entering and settling Israel. Entire bodies of law such as torts and sacrificial law, which were to remain largely unchanged after entering the Land, do not feature in Devarim.

Moshe’s retelling of Jewish history from the previous 40 years, which occupy the first eleven chapters of the book of Devarim, can also be seen to conform to this theme. The desert years, in R’ Hirsch’s understanding, were designed as a crash course in order to train the Jewish people to maintain faith in God in matters of both national security and sustenance. This theme features strongly in the narratives of the opening parshiyot of Devarim, which emphasise how faith in God is an indispensable requirement for achieving military success, while the miraculous provision of mannah is also recounted. Crucially, these chapters are not solely concerned with recalling the events of the past 40 years, but are interspersed with didactic messages to be drawn from these recent experiences, and how such messages should be applied when entering the land.

Similarly, the lengthy accounts of the Jews’ military encounters in the desert are punctuated regularly by criticism of the Jews’ lack of faith, and God delivering military success as promised. In chapter 11, Moshe concludes this narrative section by stating that his audience, as witnesses of God’s miraculous demonstrations, bear particular responsibility to maintain loyalty to God; loyalty and obedience which will promote success in the land for generations to come.

Reading the opening narratives of Devarim in this context may also address a number of discrepancies between the way in which the first four books of the Torah describe various events which took place in the desert and how they are subsequently related in the book of Devarim. These inconsistencies, such as the apparent shifting of blame to the nation for initiating the episode of the spies and for their culpability in Moshe being denied entry into Israel, are not simply to be explained by the fact that the events are being retold from Moshe’s subjective perspective. Rather they fulfil a didactic role by highlighting the underlying shortcomings and lack of faith within the nation which contributed to the sins of the spies and set the stage for Moshe’s sin of hitting the rock for which he was prevented from entering the Land.

First posted on Facebook 14 July 2021, here.