Earlier this week, Prime Minister Netanyahu convened his cabinet and made the observation that it was the first time ever that the cabinet of Israel had met without Shimon Peres. As the last surviving founding father of Israel, the entire history of the State of Israel, up until this week, had been entwined with the story of Peres’ own life.
Peres was the Alexander Hamilton of the State of Israel. He was an immigrant, who struggled to appear authentically Israeli in comparison to some of his native-born rivals. He was David ben Gurion’s right-hand man, and spent the War of Independence, not on the battlefield, but behind the scenes procuring weapons and allies. In the 1980s, during Peres’ second stint as prime minister, he rescued Israel’s economy, combating inflation and transitioning the economy away from a rigid statist socialism. He understood that human capital is Israel’s most important resource. His most famous legacy is his determination to leverage Israel’s strength into a lasting peace with its neighbors. His singular and indefatigable devotion to that dream earned him the respect of both his political allies and opponents and brought a panoply of world leaders to Jerusalem on Friday to offer their final respects.
Interestingly, it was our own, American president, and not one of the Jewish speakers, who alluded to the Torah portion in his remarks at the funeral:
הַעִיד֨תִי בָכֶ֣ם הַיום֮ אֶת־הַשָמַ֣יִם וְאֶת־הָאָרץ֒ הַחַיִ֤ים וְהַמָ֙וֶת֙ נָתַ֣תִי לְפָנֶ֔יָ הַבְרכָ֖ה וְהַקְלָלָ֑ה ובָֽחַרתָ֙ בַֽחַיִ֔ים לְמַ֥עַן תִחְיֶ֖ה אַתָ֥ה וְזַרעֶָֽ
“I call upon heaven and earth to bear witness this day that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse; therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live.”
President Obama presented those words to suggest that the way to honor the legacy of Shimon Peres was by seizing the opportunities that are before us to chart a path that can secure a future for ourselves and the coming generation. That is not very different from the way that Moshe used those words. Moshe, in our parashah, is in the process of saying goodbye to the Jewish people after 40 years of leadership. He wants them to understand that his leadership will not determine their future as much as their choices will determine their future.
The Torah is timeless but also preserves hints about the original context of when a particular message was first conveyed. We see several examples in this week’s Torah portion. Note the phrase, הַעִדי֨תִי בָכֶ֣ם הַי֮ום I call heaven and earth to bear witness this day. And we see this in the opening words of the parasha:
אַתֶ֨ם נִצָבִ֤ים הַיום֙ כֻלְכֶ֔ם לִפְנֵ֖י ה׳ א-ֱלהֵיכֶ֑ם ראשֵיכֶ֣ם שִבְטֵיכֶ֗ם זִקנֵיכֶם֙ וְשֹ֣טְריכֶ֔ם כֹ֖ל אִ֥יש יִשְראֵֽל׃
You stand this day, all of you, before the LORD your God—your tribal heads, your elders and your officials, all the men of Israel.
What is it about that particular day? Why does Moshe choose that day to deliver the powerful and moving messages of repentance and warning and inspiration? And what meaning can we take on this day, just hours from the start of a new Jewish year?
One hint can be found in a verse towards the end of last week’s parasha, towards the beginning of the section with which our parasha begins:
וְלֽא־נָתַן֩ ה׳ לָכֶ֥ם לֵב֙ לָד֔עַת וְעֵינַ֥יִם לִרא֖ות וְאָזְנַ֣יִם לִשְמֹ֑עַ עַ֖ד הַי֥ום הַזֶֽה׃
Yet to this day the LORD has not given you a mind to understand or eyes to see or ears to hear.
What is it about this day? The Talmudic sage Rabbah says in response to this verse (Avodah Zarah 5b): אמר רבה ש”מ לא קאי איניש אדעתיה דרביה עד ארבעין שנין
A person can cannot fully understand the words of his teacher, of his rebbe, until forty years have elapsed. The messages that Moshe gives in thees final parshiot of the Torah, Moshe’s words on the last day of his life, are words that could not have been understood earlier. Only after 40 years of leadership could Moshe trust that his message of repentance and responsibility could be heard and comprehended.
There are certain messages that take time to penetrate and can only be understood after years. I’m not yet 40 years old. Perhaps I don’t understand anything yet. But when I think of this teaching, I recall thinkers and teachers and those who exercised leadership over a period of decades, and were able to shift their thinking, both in light of new challenges, new opportunities, and in response to messages from long ago finally penetrating and making themselves understood.
Rav Yehuda Amital, my teacher, survived the Holocaust as a teenager and came to Israel where he fought in Israel’s war of independence and then established one of the first of the yeshivot hesder that combine advanced Torah study with army service. He kept a book of Torah teachings by Rav Kook with him during the war and those sustained him during the hardest times. After the war he adopted the specific Religious Zionist world-view of Rav Kook and was one of its most prominent proponents…until forty years later. In the 1980s and 1990s Rav Amital realized that the reality of the Holocaust made it impossible to embrace a simplistic understanding of Divine Providence and reward and punishment. Since there does not exist a credible theology for why millions of innocent Jews were murdered, there can be no credible theology for the death of any innocent person.
Rav Amital also realized that the reality of the Holocaust made it impossible to embrace a simplistic understanding of how Jewish history has unfolded and would continue to unfold. The twentieth century was the era of the Holocaust and it was the era of the return to Zion. One cannot speak of Jewish history as being about only one of those stories. The redemption of Israel and the return to Zion have not unfolded in a consistent and clear way. Rather, we suffered our greatest loss, at the very time when we returned to Zion. There is no special insight into God’s plan. No assurances about where we are located along the pathway to redemption.
Moshe Maya wrote a book exploring and chronicling the ways that Rav Amital was shaped by the Holocaust forty years after surviving the war and coming to Israel. When Rav Amital read the book he responded, “I didn’t like the book because it says that I changed my mind. Then I changed my mind.”
And so, on this first Shabbat without Shimon Peres, as the State of Israel begins its first year without the guidance of its founding generation, we find ourselves in the situation of listening to Parashat Nitzavim. Like the Children of Israel facing a future without Moshe, only memories and words remain of the generation that has guided us for so many years. It is our choices that determine the endurance of their legacy. Moshe was convinced that on the day that he died, forty years after beginning his mission, his students finally understood his lessons to them.
Do we understand the lessons of Israel’s founding generation?
Rabbi David Wolkenfeld 