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What will happen when I die? (Parshat Re’eh)

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

Early on in Parshat Re’eh, Moshe refers to the ceremony which would occur when Bnei Yisrael entered the Land of Israel (see Devarim 11:29), and he then tells Bnei Yisrael what they must do upon entering the land and how they must destroy all traces of idolatry (ibid. 12:1-13:19). This includes the command to destroy altars that were used for idolatrous practices (ibid. 12:3), the prohibition to consume blood, the prohibition against idolatrous prophets and missionaries (ibid. 13:2-12), and the command to destroy apostate cities whose inhabitants have turned to idol worship (ibid. 13:13-19).

Then, Devarim 14:3-21 details the kashrut laws relating to the food which Bnei Yisrael would need to eat once the manna ceased to fall upon entering the land of Israel (see Yehoshua 5:12), while Devarim 14:22-29 details the tithe laws that would begin to apply once Bnei Yisrael enter the Land of Israel.

Self-harming when mourning the death of a relative

However, in between these sections we find two verses which seem to discuss something completely different. Specifically, Devarim 14:1-2 tells us about the Torah prohibition of self-harming when mourning the death of a relative: ‘You are children of the Lord your God. Do not lacerate yourselves or [pull out your hair to] make bald patches in the middle of your heads for the dead. For you are a people sacred to the Lord your God. The Lord has chosen you of all the peoples on earth to be to Him a treasured people’ (Devarim 14:1-2).

Of course, this prohibition may well have been rooted in idolatrous practices from that region and that time, and as such, this likely connects it to the previous section. However, this fact is not obvious from the verses. Beyond this, unlike the previous section and the section that follows, Devarim 14:1-2 does not seem to have any specific relevance to the land of Israel. Given this, what is the point of this seemingly random reference to mourning rituals in between these two sections of laws relating to life inside the land of Israel?

Chizkuni suggests that it is possible that these verses immediately follow the law of the apostate city to teach us that even if a parent, sibling or other relative is killed in an apostate city, we should still recognize that God’s commandments are just, that even if we don’t understand the ways of God they still have a purpose, and therefore, even in our hour of anguish and mourning, we should not self-harm.

Understanding Death

Beyond this, Chizkuni (paralleling the interpretations of the Ibn Ezra, Bechor Shor & Rosh) adds a further powerful insight which is that even if one’s parent has died, a Jew should remember that they are not orphans and that we are, ‘children of the Lord your God’ (Devarim 14:1). Accordingly, while an idolater who worships stones or trees whose parent dies might feel that they are now totally alone, a Jew who believes in God never truly feels alone because they always have their Father in Heaven.

However, alongside these remarks, I believe that these verses carry a further meaning. As we see from Bemidbar 11:11-12, Moshe regarded himself as a parent figure for the Jewish people. And as is clear from the previous chapters in Sefer Devarim, Moshe already knows that he will soon die. Given all this, while there is much talk about what will happen when the people enter the land of Israel, Moshe is also concerned that the journey of Bnei Yisrael might be jolted following their mourning of his death.

Death is part of life

Accordingly, I believe that the purpose of Devarim 14:1-2 is that it is a pep-talk that Moshe gives Bnei Yisrael about his upcoming death. It is here when he tells the people that death - and especially the death of a parent or a spiritual parent - is a part of life. And it is here where he tells the people that what makes the Jewish faith so special is that we are never truly orphaned because we always have God with us. Understood this way, this also helps us explain why these verses don’t mention the land of Israel, because unlike the laws that precede and follow this section, the focus of Devarim 14:1-2 is Moshe’s death - which takes place outside of the land of Israel.

Perhaps we may wonder whether Moshe’s pep-talk worked? The answer is ‘yes’ - as we see in the final lines of the Torah where we are told that, ‘The Israelites wept for Moshe in the plains of Moav for thirty days. And the weeping and mourning for him came to an end’ (Devarim 34:8). And why did it ‘come to an end’? It is because Moshe had previously told the people that even when he died they should not feel hopeless, that they still had their Father in Heaven, and that from his death onwards, they now had Yehoshua to lead them into the land of Israel.

Shabbat Shalom!

Cleave to God (Ekev) By Rabbi Johnny Solomon Twice in Parshat Ekev we are taught about the mitzvah of dveikut – cleaving to God: ‘Revere the Lord your God and worship Him. Cleave to Him and swear by His name’ (Devarim 10:20); ‘If you carefully keep all of this command with which I am charging you, loving the Lord your God, walking in all His ways, and cleaving to Him’ (ibid. 11:22).  Significantly, the Torah makes three further references to the mitzvah of dveikut (Devarim 4:4, 13:5 & 30:20). Nevertheless, in terms of the mitzvah of dveikut as classically understood, it is derived from our parsha (see Sefer HaMitzvot Asseh 6, Sefer HaChinuch No. 434).  I stress the words ‘as classically understood’ because there are at least four different approaches to the mitzvah of dveikut, and whether or not word dveikut is part of your religious or spiritual lexicon is likely based on which approach you have adopted (or which you’ve been taught to adopt). 

The classical approach

The ‘classically’ understood approach to dveikut is found in the Sifrei as quoted by Rashi in his commentary to Devarim 11:22 who writes: ‘How is it possible to ask us to cleave to God? Is God not “a consuming fire” (Devarim 4:24)? Instead, this is understood to mean that we should cleave to Torah scholars and their students, and by doing so, God will consider doing so as if we are cleaving to Him.’ What this implies is that we can cleave to God by studying Torah and by cleaving to those who study Torah. In fact, the Gemara (Ketubot 111b) stretches this principle to claim that by marrying a Torah scholar, you are ultimately fulfilling the mitzvah of cleaving to God.  A different approach to dveikut is offered by the Gemara (Sotah 14a) and is quoted by Rashi in his commentary to Devarim 13:5 who explains that we ‘cleave to His ways’ by bestowing kindness as God bestows kindness, by burying the dead as God buries the dead, and by visiting the sick as God visits the sick. This means that we cleave to God by imitating God (Imitatio Dei) and by following His ways. 

Communion with God

A third approach to dveikut considers this duty in its more literal form – namely communion with God. As the Ba’al Shem Tov explains in Likkutei Yekarim no. 175 (as quoted by R’ Lamm in The Religious Thought of Hasidism p. 156): ‘when you seek to achieve dveikut, you must first traverse the world of Asiyah. Then, in thought, you must soar much higher, and still higher, to the world of the angels and the ophanim, and after this to the world of Beriah, until you feel that your thoughts have soared as high as the world of Atzilut. In the Zohar this is called “thought in which there is no action.”’ As should be evident, and as Rabbi Lamm points out, this approach to dveikut is likely to be achieved ‘privately, in seclusion and isolation’.  Finally, the Ramban (in his commentary to Devarim 11:22) explains that, ‘included in dveikut is remembering God and loving Him constantly; your thoughts never leaving Him when you walk, when you lie down, when you rise; so much so that when you talk with others, it is only with your mouth and tongue that you talk, but your heart is not in it because it is in the presence of God.’ As Rabbi Lamm observes, ‘what is especially noteworthy is the Ramban’s understanding of dveikut as taking place not in seclusion, but [instead] in the course of day-to-day life.’

Our ultimate friend

Clearly, some of these approaches to dveikut will likely resonate with us more than others. Still, the Torah speaks of this mitzvah five times. As such, we are dutibound to consider how we fulfil this mitzvah and how we choose to live our lives in a manner that is reflective of dveikut.  I shall end with a beautiful thought of the Kotznitzer Maggid (in his Avodat Yisrael, commenting on Avot 3:10), as shared by the Slonimer Rebbe (in his Netivot Shalom: Devarim, in his essay on cleaving to God). The Gemara (Shabbat 31a) relates how a prospective convert approached Hillel and requested that he teach him the entire Torah while standing on one foot, to which Hillel responded: “What is hateful to you, do not do to your friend. That is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary, go and learn!”.  In response to this teaching, the Koznitzer Maggid writes that he once heard his teacher explain that when Hillel referred to ‘your friend’, this refers God who is our ultimate friend. On this basis, Hillel’s lesson teaches us that the entire Torah is about acting in a way that shows sensitivity to our relationship with God towards whom we are commanded to cleave.  Shabbat Shalom!  

Hearing the flow of the Shema (VaEtchanan) By Rabbi Johnny Solomon According to Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi (Avot 6:2), every single day a heavenly voice (bat kol) emanates from Mount Horeb to stir the Jewish nation to cleave to the Torah. The question we must ask is: Can this voice be heard? And if so, who can hear this voice? To answer the first question, I would like to quote from Rabbi Yaakov Yosef of Pollonye’s Toldot Yaakov Yosef commentary (on Parshat Vayikra) who explains that when we are discussing a voice, it is not a physical voice speaking audible words. Instead, it is an internal ‘voice’ that is ‘heard’ as inner thoughts which encourages us to repent and to cleave to God and Torah. 

The voice of Tzadikim

On this basis we may assume that this voice is heard by us all. However, according to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Berditchev in his Kedushat Levi commentary (on Parshat VaEtchanan), this voice is specifically heard by the tzaddikim (the righteous) through the words of Shema Yisrael – ‘Listen, Israel’ (Devarim 6:4). This suggests that Shema Yisrael speaks to the righteous and instructs them to speak to the rest of the Jewish world to come nearer to God and Torah.  Undoubtedly, there are those who connect deeply to the idea that tzaddikim can hear a heavenly call when reciting the Shema. However, maybe due to the fact that I am not a chassid (meaning that my spiritual worldview does not see tzaddikim as unique, flawless or supernatural beings*), and maybe due to the fact that the days and weeks after October 7th prompted so many less observant Jews to connect deeply to Judaism through the Shema Yisrael, I am less comfortable with this approach.  Given this, I would like to share an alternative interpretation to Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi’s teaching as offered by the Maharal in his Derech Chaim commentary to Avot 6:2, who says as follows:  ‘Even though the bat kol (heavenly voice) can’t be heard, it is still felt and it still leaves an impact in this world amongst those who are not engaged with Torah. And while this bat kol is not heard, it’s mazal is nevertheless heard, and its mazal can most certainly inspire such people to connect to the Torah.’

‘Mazal’ of the bat kol

In direct contrast to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak who believes that the bat kol which emanates from Mount Horeb is heard through the Shema only by tzaddikim who are engaged in Torah, the Maharal understands that this bat kol is heard by those who are not engaged in Torah whom God is beckoning to reconnect. Still, what does the Maharal mean when he says that the ‘mazal’ of the bat kol is heard? While, as Rabbi Yehoshua Hartman explains in his remarkable commentary, this idea seems to be an adaptation of a teaching found in Megillah 3a, I would like to explain it while stepping back and exploring the meaning of the word Mazal.  Quoting the Radak (Sefer HaShorashim, Shoresh Nazal), the Ari z’l (as cited by the Erchei HaKinuyim, Erech Mazalot) and the Vilna Gaon (Yahel Ohr on the Zohar Bereishit 43b), Rabbi Chaim Friedlander (Siftei Chaim: Emunah V’Hashgacha Vol. 1 p. 187) explains that while many associate the word mazal with ‘luck’, it actually comes from the hebrew word nazal which refers to liquids that flow (see Devarim 32:2).  Based on this definition, when the Maharal speaks about hearing the mazal of a bat kol, it means that we each have the capacity to catch the drips and hear the flow of a divine voice which calls upon each of us to connect.  As mentioned, it is just Rabbi Levi Yitzchak who associates the bat kol with the Shema. However, I believe that if we combine his insight with the approach of the Maharal, we can come to better understand some of the events that we have witnessed over the past 10 months, and the incredible way in which the Shema Yisrael has become so prominent in the consciousness of so many Jews around the world. 

Feeling the flow

As we know, the Jewish people suffered a horrific attack on October 7th, and on that bitter day there were Jews hiding in safe rooms, cupboards, forests and kindergartens, as well as soldiers battling in tanks, in streets and in kibbutzim, who each found themselves connecting to the Shema in ways that they’d never previously done so. In those moments, they felt plugged into a flow of energy that was greater than themselves and which went back all the way back to Mount Horeb. And when they said Shema Yisrael, what did they express? That they knew who they were as a Jew. That they were connected to that voice from Sinai. That they knew that the land of Israel was promised by God to the Jewish people. And that whatever was happening around them, they believed in God and believed that God was with them. Ultimately, Shema isn’t just a prayer. Instead, it is a pipeline to Sinai, and whenever a Jew says the words of the Shema, they have the capacity to open that pipeline and either hear the bat kol or feel and hear its flow. And in that moment, the Shema connects us to who we are and what we most value as members of the Jewish people.  Shabbat Shalom!    

The Ultimate Book of the Torah (Devarim) By Rabbi Johnny Solomon Among the popular paraphernalia of Torah learners is the table-top ‘shtender’ (book stand/rest) whose purpose is to hold the sefer you are studying at a comfortable angle for ease of study, and whether you own your own shtender, or you’ve seen such things in your synagogue or in a local Judaica store, you will probably know that these stands are often adorned with a biblical verse with the most popular being Yehoshua 1:8 where Yehoshua is commanded that, ‘this book of Torah shall not depart from your mouth, and you shall meditate on it day and night in order to observe all that is written therein.’ In many ways, the reason why this verse is so ubiquitous is very simple. This is among the various biblical prooftexts which command us to study Torah day and night (see Menachot 99b, Rambam, Hilchot Talmud Torah 1:8). However, if we look at Rashi’s commentary to this verse, you may be surprised to know that it does not refer to the entirety of the Torah. Instead, it specifically refers to Sefer Devarim: ‘This book of Torah’ – The book of Mishne Torah (i.e. Sefer Devarim) was in front of him (i.e. Yehoshua).’ Looking a little deeper, we find that the source of this Rashi is the Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 6:9) where we are told that:  ‘Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai said: “The book of Mishne Torah (Sefer Devarim) was constantly with Yehoshua (i.e. it was always being studied and reviewed by him). And when the Holy One, Blessed be He, appeared to Yehoshua, he found him sitting with the Mishne Torah (Sefer Devarim) in his hand. He said to him: ‘“Be strong” Yehoshua, “be courageous” Yehoshua, “for this book of the Torah shall not depart…”’ (Yehoshua 1:6–8). He then took him and showed him to the orb of the sun. Yehoshua said to it: “As I have not been still from [reading] this [book], so, you shall stand still before me.” Thereupon, “The sun stood still, and the moon stopped” (Yehoshua 10:13).” What we see here is that there is a deep connection between Yehoshua and Sefer Devarim. But what is the nature of this connection? To answer this question we must consider what Sefer Devarim is – namely the book of reflection and instruction which Moshe writes and bequeaths to the Jewish people in weeks and days before his death. And as we see in Parshat Devarim, it is here where Moshe reflects on the Jewish people’s past successes and failures in order to ensure that lessons have been learnt and that the mistakes of the past are not repeated.  More broadly, as the Yalkut Meam Loez explains (on Yehoshua 1:8), Sefer Devarim contains four crucial elements which speak directly to Yehoshua: a) It provides a summary of the Torah; b) It includes the laws that a king (and/or Jewish leader) must adhere to; c) It contains the laws of Jewish warfare, and, d) It contains the laws that the Jewish people need to fulfil once they cross the Jordan river and enter into the land of Israel. As such, it makes complete sense why Sefer Devarim was always being studied and reviewed by Yehoshua, because it speaks to his needs, his time, and his situation.  Taken together, whenever we see the words of Yehoshua 1:8 on a shtender or anywhere else, our task is to think of Yehoshua, of Sefer Devarim, and of this remarkable book which Moshe wrote to guide the people in their journey towards the holy land. What this means is that Sefer Devarim is a book of courage which looks ahead towards upcoming challenges and battles. It is a book of morality which reminds us that even when faced with the most difficult of situations, we must never forget who we are and what we believe. And ultimately, by associating Yehoshua 1:8 with the overall endeavour of Torah study, what this means is that Sefer Devarim is the ultimate book of the Torah.  Shabbat Shalom!  

The Journey of Life

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

Earlier this week I heard a Dvar Torah by Rabbi Hagai Londin on Parshat Massei which I’d like to share with you as it conveys a deep idea about the journey of life.

This Shabbat we will be reading the final two parshiot of Sefer Bemidbar, Matot & Massei, with Parshat Massei listing the forty-two locations where Bnei Yisrael stopped along their journey from Egypt to Israel (see Rashi on Bemidbar 33:1).

Quoting the Maharal, Rabbi Londin explained that the number 42 signifies journeys and transitions, and he then mentioned how the stunning poem by the 2nd century Tana Rabbi Nehunya ben haKanah, titled Ana BaKoach, intentionally contains 42 words and is understood to reflect this same idea of journeys and transitions.

Rabbi Londin then spoke about the four occasions when we say Ana BaKoach:

i) In the prayers before reciting the Bedtime Shema – which points to the transition from waketime to sleeptime, and the journey that our soul makes each night when we go to sleep;

ii) Between Kabbalat Shabbat and Friday night services - which points to the transition and journey from the weekday to Shabbat;

iii) In the meditations preceding the counting of the Omer – which points to the transition and journey from Pesach to Shavuot, and from the Covenant of Fate to the Covenant of Destiny, and,

iv) At a Jewish funeral – which points to the transition and journey of the soul from this world to the next world.

What this teaches us is that we all experience transitions, and we all go on journeys every day and night, every week, throughout the Jewish year, and at the beginning and end of our life.

Faith and life as a journey

Holding this thought, Rabbi Londin then reflected upon some of the words and phrases of this beautiful poem, noting how Ana BaKoach petitions God to ‘strengthen us’, to ‘guide us’, and to ‘accept our entreaties and hear our cries’.

At the same time, it concludes with a proclamation that God is the ultimate ‘knower of mysteries’ - which serves as a reminder that there are moments in our journey through life when we don’t fully understand what is going on - at which point we rely on our faith in God who is the ultimate knower of mysteries.

To be clear, this idea of faith and life as a journey is not a new one. For example, Rabbi Sacks frequently spoke about the idea of faith-as-journey, writing that: ‘Faith is the space where God and humanity touch. For Jews it has always been symbolized by a journey, the journey begun by Avraham when he left his country and his father’s house to travel to an unknown land, the journey taken by the Israelites as they left Egypt for the promised land, the journey each of us could trace if we could follow our grandparents and theirs back through the generations as they wandered from country to country. The way is always further than we thought, the route more complicated and beset with obstacles. But we continue it knowing, sometimes obscurely, sometimes with blazing clarity, that this is what God wants us to do. For we know that so long as the way the world is, is not the way it ought to be, we have not yet reached our destination’ (Faith in the Future pp. 2-3).

Still, by applying the wisdom of Ana BaKoach to the various transitions and journeys of our life, we learn an important lesson which is that while there are parts of life which are easier to understand, there are other parts which are much harder. Yet even in those moments – or, expressed differently - perhaps especially in those moments, we should remember that we are not alone.

Shabbat Shalom!