Quick greet, dead heat

This week’s pre-Shabbat Pirkei Avot post takes us back to Perek 4.

There’s something of a conundrum at Avot 4:20, where Rabbi Matya ben Charash opens his teaching with this short piece of advice:

הֱוֵי מַקְדִּים בִּשְׁלוֹם כָּל אָדָם

Be first to greet everyone.

Usually we all benefit from the fulfilment of precepts in Avot that recommend a particular course of conduct. But here we have a zero sum game. If I greet you first when we meet, you cannot greet me first, and vice versa. Does this matter? Probably not. If we look at the major commentators on Avot, we do not find anyone who raises this point.

Some commentaries suggest that the thrust of this teaching lies in its tail: that it should apply even to a non-Jew (commentary ascribed to Rashi), an idolator (Bartenura) or even an enemy (R’ Shmuel di Ozeda, Midrash Shmuel). Rabbenu Yonah says that these words are mussar but does not spell out what that mussar is, unlike R’ Shmuel di Ozeda, who pointedly observes that it’s not enough to deign coldly to return someone else’s greeting if that person should greet him first.

Rabbi Matya is actually reminding us that greeting another human being should not be a mere mechanical act or conventional social reflex. As Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau (Yachel Yisrael) notes, when a Jew greets another person, the word used is שָׁלוֹם (shalom, “peace”). To offer another person peace is to confer a blessing. By being first to greet others we express our peaceful intent—with one major caveat. There is no magic power in the word shalom: as important as it is for us to choose the right words when we greet others, it is equally important for us to greet them with a friendly disposition (Shammai at Avot 1:15; R’ Marc D. Angel, Koren Pirkei Avot). Growling “shalom” while you scowl is unlikely to produce the requisite effect.

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The nuance of desire: Va'Etchanan 5785

The Torah, as we all well know, is multilayered. The rabbis have taught us that there are 70 facets to every piece of the written Torah. We are also aware that it is impossible to adequately convey every nuance and possible meaning that lies embedded in the Torah. Each word demands elucidation, commentary and explanation before we can gain any proper understanding of its message. The entire book of Devarim is itself an elucidation and explanation of the first four books of Moshe. This is why Devarim employs different words to describe those events and commandments that were mentioned earlier.

A prime example is the repetition in this week’s parsha of the Ten Commandments revealed to Israel at Sinai: the text here differs slightly from the wording recorded in the book of Shemot. The Talmud, in its rendition of the Oral Law, states that these variants—such as the use of the word shamor for the observance of Shabbat instead of zachor—indicate that God uttered both words simultaneously, a feat that is beyond human comprehension and ability. The Talmud means to show us that every possible interpretation and layer of meaning in the Torah was delivered in one go at Sinai. Only the Oral Law and the work of Torah commentators through the ages has revealed these original strata of meaning for our study and practice.

In the last of the Ten Commandments, the Torah here in Parashat Va'Etchanan uses the word titaveh whereas in Parashat Yitro it uses the word tachmod. Both words mean “desire”, but they are differently nuanced.  One carries overtones of an impulsive, spur of the moment desire that arises out of seemingly random circumstance – an advertisement in the media or a chance meeting or sighting. Such a desire is not planned, but stems from our inherent human weakness in wanting to possess what we do not yet have. The other desire is long planned and may have been part of our lives for years or even decades. It borders on being an obsession or an addiction within our makeup. Both types of desire can destroy a person and the Torah cautions us against these symptoms of self-destructive behavior.

The Talmud tells us that the eyes see and the heart then desires. Guarding one’s eyes guards one’s heart as well. This example of the Torah’s self-elucidation makes each lesson clear to all and challenges us to apply it wisely in our own lives. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

For "Comfort and Contentment", Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on this parashah last year, click here.

What are we doing when we say Shema?

Sometimes our own familiarity with the things we daily say, see and hear can cause us to stop thinking about their meaning and significance. We say Shema each day, but must never take it for granted. Our member Paul Bloom looks further into this mitzvah and points out things we may easily miss.

One of the most famous sentences in the entire Torah is:

 שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל ה׳ אֱלֹקֵינוּ ה׳ אֶחָד

This pasuk is found in our parashah. We say it every day. But what does it really mean?

Rabbi Alan Kimche explains something powerful: even though Shema appears in the siddur, it’s not actually a prayer — at least not in the way we usually think of prayer. Normally, in tefillah, we ask Hashem for things: health, peace, livelihood, wisdom, redemption. But Shema is different. It’s not a request — it’s a declaration. A pledge of allegiance.

Just like soldiers pledge loyalty to their country, when we say the Shema, we are pledging our loyalty to Hashem, to the Jewish people, and to our mission in this world. And those first two words — “Shema Yisrael” — aren’t just a poetic beginning. They’re a command: Listen. Pay attention. Tune in.

Why “listen”? Why not “see”? Rav Yitzchak Hutner points out that seeing can mislead us — it’s easy to be fooled by appearances. Just think back to the very first sin in the Torah: Chava saw the fruit and it looked good — and we all know where that led. But true understanding, true depth, comes from listening. Hearing the voice of Hashem, hearing the wisdom of Torah, listening to the truth that often can’t be seen with the eye, only felt in the heart. That’s why we cover our eyes when we say Shema — because the truths we’re affirming aren’t visible in the world around us. The world today looks divided, broken, chaotic. But we say “Hashem Echad” — we declare that beneath it all, there is unity. There is a Divine plan.

Another beautiful idea comes from the Maharal of Prague. He explains that when we say “Shema Yisrael,” we’re not talking to Hashem — we’re talking to each other. To all of Am Yisrael. This isn’t just a personal statement. It’s a national mission. I don’t say Hashem is my God — I say He’s our God. We’re in this together.

There’s a third layer — from the Sfas Emes. He reminds us that we actually heard the first two commandments directly from Hashem at Har Sinai — not through Moshe, but with our own ears. That voice of Hashem still echoes in the world, even if we can’t hear it in the usual sense. When we say the Shema, we’re reconnecting to that eternal voice.

And finally, the Gemara tells us something beautiful: the very first people who ever said “Shema Yisrael” were the sons of Ya’akov Avinu. When Ya’akov was on his deathbed, he asked his sons if they shared his faith — and they replied: “Shema Yisrael” — Listen, our father Yisrael, Hashem is our God, Hashem is One. In that moment they were saying, “We are with you. We carry your faith forward.” And so when we say Shema today, we’re also speaking to our ancestors — saying to them: “We are still here. We believe. We continue your path.”

We are part of that eternal chain. When we say “Shema Yisrael”, and we connect to Ya’akov, to Har Sinai, to thousands of years of Jews who came before you — and, IY”H, to generations who will come after us.

Ode to Zion

There is a famous kinah, penned by Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi. It’s called "Tzion Halo Tishali" (“Zion, will you not ask?”), and we recited it in shul yesterday morning following a beautiful explanatory introduction by Eli Friedwald.  A prominent part of the Tisha b'Av liturgy, it expresses the poet's deep love and longing for the Land of Israel and Jerusalem. The author, a 12th-century Spanish Jewish poet and philosopher, wrote this kinnah while yearning for a return to the Land of Israel. 

Max Stern took this kinah as his inspiration for composing a two-part Ode to Zion for violin solo, woodwind quintet and strings. Max describes this Ode as a tone poem in two parts. The opening section, “Ani Kinnor”, is the song of a bird awaiting the dawn while it poses the question “O Zion, will you not ask how your exiles are?” The second section, “Dawn”, describes the breaking forth of the light:  "Happy is he who waits to see your dawn breaking forth".

You can listen to Ode to Zion on Max’s YouTube channel here.

A year earlier, Max wrote a shorter Ode to Zion, for flute and viola, that you can listen to here.

Moshe’s Final Message and the Challenge of Success

 “These Are the Words”: Moshe’s Final Message and the Challenge of Success

 As Sefer Devarim begins, a profound shift in tone, audience, and mission unfolds. The Torah introduces this book with the phrase “אֵלֶּה הַדְּבָרִים אֲשֶׁר דִּבֶּר מֹשֶׁה” – “These are the words that Moshe spoke.” The Sages note that this introductory phrase marks a break from the style of the previous four books of the Torah, which were relayed directly by God through Moshe. In contrast, Sefer Devarim is Moshe’s own voice – his reflections, his warnings, and his reinterpretations. It is a Torah for a new generation. In this article Rabbi Paul Bloom reveals what it is that Moshe has in mind. 

This fifth book of the Chumash is addressed not to the Israelites who left Egypt, but to their children, a generation born in the wilderness, destined not for wandering but for conquest and settlement. Their challenges are different: not slavery and survival, but sovereignty and success. And Moshe, having led them for forty years, now must begin again—not with new laws, but with new perspective.

The Or HaChaim HaKadosh notes that the word “אֵלֶּה” (“These”) has a gematria of 36, signifying that the entire book of Devarim was spoken by Moshe over the last 36 days of his life, from Rosh Chodesh Shevat to his passing on 7 Adar. In these final weeks, Moshe condenses a lifetime of teaching into a series of powerful addresses, culminating in VeZot HaBerachah, his final blessing to the people.

Hidden Messages in Names: What Is “Di Zahav”?

At the outset of Sefer Devarim, the Torah presents a list of six mysterious place names. Some are familiar, but others are either unknown or symbolic. One such place is “Di Zahav” – literally, “enough gold.”

The name “Di Zahav” appears nowhere else in the Torah, and it does not refer to a real geographic location. What is it, then? Chazal, in Berachot 32a, offer a stunning interpretation: Moshe is not criticizing Bnei Yisrael – he is defending them.

Moshe is subtly alluding to the sin of the Golden Calf (Egel HaZahav), suggesting that part of the blame rests not with the people, but with God Himself. “You gave them too much gold,” Moshe argues. They were like children overwhelmed by sudden wealth. Just as a spoiled child, given too much and too soon, is likely to falter, so too did Bnei Yisrael stumble under the weight of affluence they could not yet handle.

This is a radical idea. Moshe, as a sanegor, a defender, pleads for mercy and understanding. In doing so, he raises a crucial theme that reverberates throughout Sefer Devarim: the spiritual danger of prosperity.

The True Test: Affluence and Forgetting Hashem

While generations of Jews have perished al kiddush Hashem, martyred through persecution and hatred, far more have been lost through comfort, wealth, and cultural assimilation. In Devarim, Moshe warns again and again:

“You will eat and be satisfied… your silver and gold will increase… and your heart will become haughty, and you will forget Hashem your God.” (Devarim 8:10-14)

Affluence brings independence, and independence breeds spiritual amnesia. This is the underlying current of Sefer Devarim. Moshe’s great fear is not Canaanite armies or desert thirst. It is that, once the people have vineyards and villas, they will forget their Source.

The placement of “Di Zahav” at the beginning of the book is Moshe’s coded message : “Success will be your greatest test.” And it remains ours today.

From Theory to Practice: Preparing for Life in the Land

Another major shift in Sefer Devarim is the transition from theoretical halachah to practical mitzvah observance. For 40 years, many commandments – especially those concerning land ownership, agriculture, and social justice – remained abstract. The people had no private property in the wilderness, no fields to tithe, no courts of inheritance.

Now, as they stand on the eastern bank of the Jordan, Moshe begins again: “הוֹאִיל מֹשֶׁה בֵּאֵר אֶת הַתּוֹרָה הַזֹּאת” – “Moshe began to explain this Torah…” (Devarim 1:5). Rashi says this means he explained it in 70 languages but, on another level, he translated Torah into real life. He taught them how to live the Torah not as wanderers, but as a sovereign society.

The Sefas Emes sees in Devarim the beginning of Torah Shebe’al Peh – the Oral Law. While it is still part of the Written Torah, the style and substance of Devarim begin to reflect human articulation and interpretation. This marks the evolution of Torah – from divine dictation to human integration.

Modern Echoes: The American Dream and the Torah Challenge

We live in a time of remarkable affluence. In Western countries – especially in America – Jews enjoy freedoms, wealth, and opportunities unprecedented in our history. We should be deeply grateful for this. But we must also remember: Di Zahav – “too much gold” – is not a blessing without risks.

Comfort can dull conviction. Success can weaken memory. The challenge Moshe foresaw in Devarim is no less real today: How do we hold on to our spiritual identity in a world that gives us everything?

Yom Kippur’s Vidui ends with the double expression: “תִּעִינוּ וְתִּעְתָּנוּ” – “We have strayed and You have let us stray.” Built into our confession is an acknowledgment of environment. We ask Hashem to judge us not only by our choices, but by the context in which they were made, a theme Moshe introduced with Di Zahav.

The Watchmen of Yerushalayim: Who Guards Our Spirit?

The Radak, commenting on a verse in Yeshayahu, offers a poetic insight: Who are the true guardians of Yerushalayim? Not only soldiers, but those who remember it in their daily prayers. Those who cry for its loss and long for its restoration.

Through centuries of exile, the spiritual memory of Yerushalayim, recited in every birkat hamazon, every tefillah, every Tisha b’Av – kept the dream alive. That memory brought us home.Today, as we rebuild Yerushalayim with stone and steel, we must also rebuild it with soul and memory. The walls will stand strong only if the spirit within remains rooted in Torah.

Conclusion: A New Beginning

Sefer Devarim is not a mere repetition; it is a reinvention. Moshe Rabbenu takes the eternal truths of Torah and adapts them for a new generation, a new landscape, a new spiritual battleground.

We are that generation. The affluence of our time is both a blessing and a burden. Moshe’s voice, echoing across millennia, reminds us: Don’t forget. Don’t let the gold distract you. Don’t mistake comfort for purpose.

May we hear Moshe’s words anew. May we rise to the challenge of our own Di Zahav, and live lives of gratitude, commitment, and clarity.

“These are the words…”

Let us listen. Let us remember. Let us build.