Weekly D'var

PARASHAT DEVARIM
Dahlia Matanky

Shabbat Shalom and good morning! Thank you all for coming today just to hear me speak. And to celebrate my parents 25th anniversary, since I am sure you all knew about that as well.

Today we began Sefer Devarim with the first three chapters of the last book of Torah. Devarim, which means ‘words,’ is Moshe’s recount of the past forty years in the desert. This sefer is history at a standstill as the nation waits right outside of Eretz Yisrael. Indeed, as Moshe tells his devarim, his words, to the Israelites, he knows they will be his final as he will not be crossing with them into the promised land. It is a moment of pause, reflection, forewarning, and goodbyes during Moshe’s last few weeks–his final soliloquy.

In this Parsha, Moshe recalls his appointment of judges to ease his personal case load and bring effective justice to the people. He briefly recounts the journey from Sinai through the desert and how he sent one member from each tribe as a spy to scout out the promised land. He then critiques them again for their subsequent failure of faith that made it so their generation would die out in the desert and made G-d so angry that He even forbade Moshe from entering. Moshe also recounts some more recent events: the refusal of the nations of Moab and Ammon to allow the Israelites to pass through their countries; the bloody wars against the Emorite kings, and the settlement of their lands by the tribes of Reuben and Gad and part of the tribe of Manasheh on the condition that those tribes would still come with them continue to fight with the others for the promised land.

Indeed, we have heard these stories before. But this parsha is not merely a retelling, it is a critique. The rabbis designated the reading of Parshat Devarim for the Shabbat before Tisha B'Av to highlight the themes of sin, exile, and the consequences of disobedience, emphasizing the connection between the Jewish people's past transgressions and the destruction of the temple.

When G-d commanded the Israelites to leave the mountain and prepare to conquer the Land of Israel, Moshe complained to the people, saying that since G-d had fulfilled the promise of making the people as numerous as the stars, Moshe could could no longer “bear the burden” by himself (Devarim 1:10). He tells the people 
“אֵיכָ֥ה אֶשָּׂ֖א לְבַדִּ֑י טׇרְחֲכֶ֥ם וּמַֽשַּׂאֲכֶ֖ם וְרִֽיבְכֶֽם׃”
“How can I bear unaided the trouble of you, and the burden, and the bickering!” (Devarim 1:12). He instead proposed to have the tribes pick wise men as judges, creating a new judicial hierarchy for him to oversee.

In a kind light, Ramban understands “trouble—טָרְחֲכֶם” as refering to the overwhelming task of teaching Torah to so many people. However, Moshe’s language sounds distinctively negative. Moshe’s “How can I bear…” sounds like a leader who has had enough of his people, not one who just can’t teach that many people Torah. This word, “How- Eicha”, is known to us from the beginning of the megillah we read on Tisha B’Av. Similarly, in the Haftarah assigned to this week’s Parsha, the prophet Isaiah exclaims, “Eicha- How can it be that the faithful city has become a harlot; it was full of law, and righteousness lodged there, but now they are murderers!” (Isaiah 1:21). As previously mentioned, the Rabbis arranged the calendar so that we always read this Parsha before Tisha B’Av. This arrangement has led to the custom to read the “Eicha” in the Parsha in the same tone as we will read it tonight– a tone of revulsion and despair. In that case, Moshe’s words of trouble, burden, and bickering become an angry indictment. Rashi uses a Midrash to explain that Moshe lashed out because they themselves were trouble makers. They became a burden, clinging to him like sheets and endlessly prolonging disputes. When he showed up to a litigation early, they would spread rumors he was escaping family problems at home. When he was late, they would fear monger by spreading lies that he was staying late so as to scheme against them. As such, trouble, burden, and bickering, transform from normal words for legal disputes to angry accusations.

The components of this Midrash recall the story of Kamtza and bar Kamtza, a classic Rabbinic explanation for the destruction of the temple and Jerusalem. In this story, a man once planned a feast and instructed his servant to invite his friend, Kamtza. Instead, the servant mistakenly brought his enemy, bar Kamtza. Upon seeing him, the host demanded he leave. Bar Kamtza pleaded to stay, even offering to pay for his food, then half, then the entire feast—but the host refused and forcibly removed him.

Humiliated, bar Kamtza noticed the Rabbis present remained silent. He took their inaction as approval and reported to the Roman emperor that the Jews were rebelling. To test this, the emperor sent a calf as a peace offering. En route, bar Kamtza inflicted a blemish on it—disqualifying it by Jewish law but not Roman standards. The Sages debated offering it anyway to maintain peace, but one rabbi objected, fearing it would set a precedent. When they considered killing bar Kamtza to stop him from informing, the same again refused, concerned about legal misinterpretation. In the end, their inaction gave Rome the excuse it sought to destroy Jerusalem.

Similar to the Midrash, the story of bar Kamtza is one of spite, cruel words, and dishonorable actions. While bar Kamtza seems like a malicious person, one who I can understand not wanting at my dinner party, we still find a larger message from these stories. Moshe watched our nation become too much for him, too contentious, too full of hate and negativity. The Sages similarly taught that it was undue hatred and negativity within the community that brought the destruction of the Temple and our diaspora. Then and today, we have seen how our hatred has the power to unravel our very cores.

In a Parsha called Devarim, it is only fitting that I focus on our words. During the nine days, aside from abstaining from meat and music, many people also abstain from Lashon Harah, wicked speech. But typically, that is just during the nine days. Taking lead from Moshe’s Tochecha to the Jewish people in this Parsha, I would like to offer my own.Traditionally, Tochecha is translated as loving criticism– it is a tool used to guide people towards positive change rather than simply pointing out flaws or an accusation.

Here is mine: As a whole, I have noticed that the Modern Orthodox spaces I have been a part of nationally have a much higher propensity for gossip than secular or even less observant spaces. Lashon Hara is the antithesis of our Jewish identity–we have read today how the spies' lies led to their generation's demise in the desert, how the hateful words exchanged led to the destruction of the temple. While the Jewish jokes about how our community loves to gossip may be funny, they do reflect a challenging reality. We are so fortunate to be in communities where people are tight knit enough to know everything about everyone, but not only can it bring shame and embarrassment to community members when we gossip, it often becomes our easiest way of connecting to each other, leading us to deviate from more meaningful conversations. In high school, I realized that those who gossip are those who are gossiped about, and as much as I enjoy being the center of attention, I realized I didn’t want it in that way. So I began cutting back on my gossip. And you know what? It was extremely isolating. It made me aware of just how many of my friendships were based on Lashon Hara. In college, my friends in the Orthodox community began to be more aware of our specific tendency to gossip, with many of us making the active goal to cut down, some even stopping entirely. It has been a challenge, but a rewarding one. The friendships I have with those people are so much deeper than they once were.

Lashon Hara is a longstanding battle in the Jewish world–just flip to any page of the Chofetz Chaim. But I believe that this battle is a worthy one, one that will allow us to better ourselves and strengthen our community. Our words hold the power to guide nations, just like Moshe, and to be a part of its devastation, just like bar Kamtza. Choose them wisely, and perhaps choose to focus on the good. As my Grandma Trude z”l would say, “look through the world with rose colored glasses.” It really is much prettier that way. Shabbat shalom.