Parashat Devarim

Summary
The book of Deuteronomy is cast as Moses’ farewell speech to the Israelite people before his death, and before they pass over into the Promised Land. It begins with a brief review of events from the people’s departure from Mt. Sinai, and continues with a confirmation of the tribal structures that helped Moses to keep order in the camp. The incident of the Spies is recounted, as the earlier failure to cross into the land is given as the reason for 40 years of wandering in the desert. A few other incidents from the past are also reviewed, but the portion concludes by returning to a theme from the close of the book of Numbers – the allocation of the lands east of the Jordan to the tribes of Reuben, Gad, and the half tribe of Menashe.

Commentary
The book of Deuteronomy has always been one of my favourites, despite my severe reservations about the theology it reflects. The language is frankly so glorious, the imagery so stark and beautiful, I am sure that I respond to it more with my aesthetic senses than with anything else. Written considerably after the first four books, it forms the bridge between the Torah and the early prophets. In fact, linguistically, thematically, and theologically, Deuteronomy can be shown to belong to the same “family” of writings as Joshua, Judges, First and Second Samuel, and First and Second Kings. These books are all likely to have been the work of an author or authors of the 7th century BCE, after the fall of the Northern Kingdom to the Assyrians, but before the fall of Judah to the Babylonians. In addition to sharing similar vocabulary and evincing a consistent literary style, they also reflect a particular understanding of the working of God in human history. Throughout these books, God is the one who judges all, who directly rewards and punishes the deeds of humanity. The narrative is shaped in such a way that everything that happens to the people, either for good or ill, happens as the result of their own actions.

Understanding history in this way means that each invading army, each petty tyrant that arises to plague the Jewish people becomes God’s agent in punishing them for their wrong-doings. Thus, when Nebuchadnezer captures Jerusalem in 586, it has nothing at all to do with the politics of the region, and everything to do with Israel’s sins. I will leave you to extrapolate the implications of such a theological approach for the 20th century….

But you may not have realised that every year, as we begin the book of Devarim, we are also anticipating the observance of Tishah B’av, the day set aside to commemorate the falls of the first and second temples in Jerusalem. On it, we read from the book of Lamentations. The core imagery of the book accords well with the Deuteronomic understanding of the history of the time: it presents Israel as an unfaithful harlot. The harlot’s “other men” are Israel’s “other gods.” Yet the book’s focus is not on the rights and wrongs of Israel’s punishment, but rather almost exclusively on her suffering. As Biblical scholar Norman Gottwald once wrote, the book “senses an excess of punishment amounting to injustice.” As we read through Megillat Eicha, we are almost assaulted by images of indescribable pain. The mind cannot help but ask, “Can there truly be a crime for which this is the appropriate punishment?”

The book’s own strategy for coping with the problem is similar to that of the books of Isaiah. It appeals to us to accept that the Divine will remains a mystery from the human perspective. “My ways are not your ways,” intones such a God. Yet it doesn’t just leave it there. Even in the original form of the text, the closing section appears to ask God to reconsider the judgement. The last verse reads, “You cannot have utterly rejected us, and be exceeding wroth against us!” As if this weren’t enough, the rabbis then decreed that the text should always appear with the penultimate verse repeated at the book’s end. This is the most famous line of the whole book, half of which is repeated at the close of every Torah service. “Turn us, O God, unto You, and we shall be turned; renew our days as of old. Chadeish yameinu kekedem….

This rabbinic tactic does not solve the theological problem, but I find something strangely comforting in its acknowledgement of the struggle we face. I also find it poignant how these words have found their way into our liturgy, bringing with them an echo of their original context. Thus even the act of prayer and reverence that is the closing of the Torah service, can be seen as carrying with it a question to God. For me, knowing that such questions are allowed is one of the greatest beauties of Judaism.

Rabbi Janet Burden
Ealing Liberal Synagogue and West Central Liberal Synagogue