Parshas Devarim / Shabbos Chazon 5780
What is Eichah doing here?
אֵיכָ֥ה אֶשָּׂ֖א לְבַדִּ֑י טׇרְחֲכֶ֥ם וּמַֽשַּׂאֲכֶ֖ם וְרִֽיבְכֶֽם׃
(דברים א:יב)
How can I alone bear your trouble, your burden, and your quarreling?
(Devarim 1:12)
Moshe Rabbeinu invokes the word Eichah as he ponders how he can manage the enormity of leading the Jewish People. Offering a sneak peak of Tisha B’Av, this pasuk is read in the same trop as Megillas Eichah, which never fails to send a brief shiver down my spine.
If Moshe’s concerns seem to fall short of the tragedies usually associated with Tisha B’Av, the Midrash only makes things more puzzling:
שְׁלשָׁה נִתְנַבְּאוּ בְּלָשׁוֹן אֵיכָה, משֶׁה, יְשַׁעְיָה, וְיִרְמְיָה. משֶׁה אָמַר (דברים א, יב): אֵיכָה אֶשָֹּׂא לְבַדִּי וגו’. יְשַׁעְיָה אָמַר (ישעיה א, כא): אֵיכָה הָיְתָה לְזוֹנָה. יִרְמְיָה אָמַר: אֵיכָה יָשְׁבָה בָדָד, אָמַר רַבִּי לֵוִי מָשָׁל לְמַטְרוֹנָה שֶׁהָיוּ לָהּ שְׁלשָׁה שׁוֹשְׁבִינִין, אֶחָד רָאָה אוֹתָהּ בְּשַׁלְוָתָהּ, וְאֶחָד רָאָה אוֹתָהּ בְּפַחֲזוּתָהּ, וְאֶחָד רָאָה אוֹתָהּ בְּנִוּוּלָהּ
(איכה רבא א:א)
Three prophesied with the language of Eichah: Moshe, Yeshayah, and Yirmiyah. Moshe said, “How (eichah) can I bear it alone?” Yeshayah said, “How (eichah) has [the city] become like a harlot?” Yirmiyah said, “How (eichah) she sits in solitude!”
Rabbi Levi said…[Moshe] saw it in tranquility, [Yeshayah] saw it in wantonness, and [Yirmiyah] saw it in defilement.
(Eichah Rabbah 1:1)
On the one hand, the Midrash connects these three declarations, linking the statement of Moshe Rabbeinu in our parsha to the tragedies of national moral decay and the destruction of Jerusalem referred to by the later prophets with the same word. But on the other hand, the context and import of Moshe’s statement would appear to be completely at odds with these cries. Indeed, the Midrash itself refers to Moshe’s declaration of the word Eichah to have been made at a time of peace and tranquility. To be sure, the job of leading the nation was a struggle, but at the moment Moshe utters these words, the people have put the forty years in the desert behind them and are poised to enter the Holy Land. Why is a Tisha B’Av motif visited upon this seemingly innocuous pasuk?
The Shem MiShmuel explains that the Midrash is describing the evolution of sin. When we see behavior we don’t approve of, we sometimes react in a wholesale denouncement of that person’s character. They are behaving that way because they’re nasty, vindictive, or completely lacking in yiras shamayim. But the truth is far more nuanced. In reality, sin can sometimes be reflective of qualities that are decidedly noble.
Someone talks loudly in shul and disrupts others around them. Are they inconsiderate and boorish, or perhaps heimish and friendly? The reality is that both are true. Despite our tendency to view human behavior in black and white terms, even poor behavior may well maintain a foothold in redeeming qualities of one’s personality.
What Moshe Rabbeinu saw, the Shem MiShmuel explains, was a nation of divergent opinions. Leading and managing such a nation is challenging, but, at the time, the system still worked, hence the characterization of this period as being one of שלוה—tranquility, according to the Midrash.
But from diversity can come divisiveness. Unfortunately, this was the case for the Jewish People. What began as a truly noble mark of the people—a diversity that enabled the growth of a far broader web of ideas, thoughts, and innovations than would have been possible with only one mode of thinking—eroded into a divisiveness that undermined community and nationhood.
The Midrash asserts that the era of Moshe was one of tranquility, yet still must be linked with the times of Yeshaya and Yirmiyah. It is not enough to mourn the spiritual deterioration of the Jewish People; we must understand where the story begins.
We make comprehensive assessments not only of others, but, unfortunately of ourselves, too. In both instances, they are a copout. When launched at others, a complete stripping down of a human being into a superficial one-line label of “rude/nasty/apikores” or the like insulates us from the need to judge favorably one we find ourselves at odds with.
When used against ourselves, these overly simple definitions are similarly unfortunate. “I just don’t have the ability/time/wherewithall/talent/strength/focus/personality” is a statement we may be quick to credit ourselves for making it sounds delightfully humble and self-effacing. But it also becomes a shield we can hide behind as we excuse any behavior that may just take some work to get right.
Recognizing that what may present as “bad middos” are actually “good middos” that have strayed from a path of decency or productivity is a helpful first step in fighting against ourselves. Insisting that possess absolute flaws in our character or ability does not create fertile ground from which to grow. Viewing ourselves as fundamentally good and immensely capable reframes the landscape and provides motivation to achieve more.
Consider:
“I’m so slow,” vs. “I work methodically.”
“I’m really impatient,” vs. “I love when things move efficiently.”
“I can’t control myself,” vs. “I’m really passionate about certain things.”
“I get totally distracted,” vs. “I have a wildly creative mind.”
In each example, the former is a means of excusing poor behavior cloaked in a veneer of humility. The latter is a positive reframing of a struggle that begins to point to ways that same quality can be productively harnessed.
Chazal tell us that the Mikdash was destroyed because of baseless hatred: divisiveness that had run amok within our nation. In the Midrash above, they offer the recipe to correct that failure: see the kernel of goodness in that very same behavior so that we can redirect, rather than resign. Both nationally and personally, this is the roadmap to redemption.