Parshas Nitzavim-Vayeilech 5784
If you went on a walk in the woods and found someone standing at the foot of an enormous maple tree muttering to himself, “What a desk! What bookcase!,” what would you make of him—a madman, or an artist? I think we’d give him the benefit of the doubt. No, no piece of furniture yet exists, yet it’s unlikely that he’s hallucinating. Far more likely he’s a carpenter. What stands before him is the raw material from which the beautiful furniture he sees in his mind’s eye can be produced.
As Moshe Rabbeinu’s life draws to an end, Hashem announces this reality, doing so with unusual emphasis. “הן קרבו ימיך למות—Indeed, your days are approaching death (Devarim 31:14).” The Midrash notes that the use of the word “הן—Indeed” is not just to punctuate the declaration with greater seriousness, but actually serves to tie this statement to others that Moshe had been made previously.
The Midrash (Devarim Rabbah 9:6) describes Moshe’s reaction to Hashem’s declaration that He would die and would not have the opportunity to lead the People into Eretz Yisrael, prefaced by the word “הן—Indeed”:
“But, Hashem,” Moshe said, “Didn’t I praise you with that very word when I said, ‘הן לה׳ אלקיך השמים ושמי השמים—Indeed, to Hashem, your G-d, belong the Heavens and the uppermost Heavens (Devarim 10:14)’? Why is this same word now being used against me?”
“True,” Hashem replied, “But you also used that same word to sin, when you said, ‘הן לא יאמינו לי—Indeed, [The Jewish People] will not believe me (Shemos 4:1)’ Therefore, it is appropriate that that same word now comes to end your life.”
The word “הן—Indeed” appears to connect sin and punishment. In the earliest days of being selected as leader of the Jewish People, Moshe doubted them, thinking them incapable of maintaining faith in Hashem’s salvation after all they’d gone through. It is this sin that is remembered now, identified as the cause for Moshe Rabbeinu being prevented from continuing his leadership into the Holy Land.
Why is this?
Perhaps it has less to do with Moshe distancing himself from the People, and more with Moshe distancing himself from himself.
In one of the better-known comments in all of Hilchos Teshuva, the Rambam demands that we appreciate the full import of the endowment of free will. He insists that we “not be like the fools who believe that Hashem decrees in advance whether a person will be a tzaddik or a rasha. Rather, each and every person has the ability to be a tzaddik like Moshe Rabbeinu or a rasha like Yeravam (Hil. Teshuva 6:2).”
Moshe Rabbeinu looked upon the Jewish People and insisted that they could not believe. But why not? Moshe himself believed in Hashem, maintained hope in His salvation, in spite of all the trials and tribulations he and the rest of the nation had been through. Why could he believe but they couldn’t? What made him different?
The answer is choice. Moshe had exercised his free will—time after time—to deepen his faith in Hashem, the knowledge of His Presence, and his certitude that He would one day save His people as promised. The people had made other choices—again and again—and now found themselves further from the closeness and intimacy that Moshe enjoyed with Hashem.
Yet if it was only a series of choices that landed the two parties where they presently sat, the story was far from over. Free will means that in any moment, a person can make other choices and begin to curve his path towards a different destination. If Moshe was Moshe because of the choices he’d made, the People—far as they presently were—could likewise begin to choose better. Choose belief. Choose faith. Choose hope.
To declare that the People could not choose better is to say, in effect, that what separated the People from Moshe was something fixed, something predetermined. That Moshe’s own belief could not have been otherwise. It was the product not of choice, but of faith.
Moshe wasn’t only distancing himself from the People, but from himself, from the credit due him for having chosen properly. Middah k’neged middah, in direct correspondence to Moshe’s “הן—Indeed”, Hashem removed Moshe from his position. If the People could not choose better, then Moshe could not be rewarded for his own good choices.
The fellow in the forest gazing up at that gorgeous maple isn’t a fool, he’s a visionary. He sees the tree not only for what it is, but what it can become. “What a desk! What a bookcase!” These are the beautifully crafted items waiting to emerge from the wood, ready to be carved from the raw material that lay before the artist.
If we looked in the mirror and started muttering to ourselves, “Moshe Rabbeinu! What a beautiful Moshe Rabbeinu!” perhaps we wouldn’t be all that crazy. Perhaps we’d just be visionaries, seeing a future that each of us has the ability to create. Moshe became the man he did through a long chain of proper choices. If we simply chose a bit better, what could we become?