Never to Pray Alone: Va'etchanan 5786

This piece by Rabbi Kenigsberg was first published in the Hanassi Highlights, Wednesday 22 Jiuly. You can read it in Hebrew, thanks to ChatGPT, here.

The opening of Parshat Va'etchanan is one of the Torah’s most poignant moments. After forty years of leading the Jewish people through the wilderness, Moshe Rabbeinu asks for just one thing: the privilege of entering Eretz Yisrael.

Chazal famously note that the numerical value of the word Va'etchanan is 515, teaching that Moshe prayed no fewer than 515 times to be allowed into the Land. Few images capture the power of perseverance in prayer more vividly than this. Moshe refuses to give up, pouring out his heart again and again, even as the answer seems increasingly out of reach.

Yet only a few verses later we encounter a puzzling statement. Addressing the people, Moshe says: "Hashem became angry with me because of you, and He did not listen to me."

The words seem difficult. The Torah itself makes clear that Moshe Rabbeinu's inability to enter the Land was connected to the events at Mei Merivah. How, then, can he say that Hashem refused his prayer "because of you"?

Some explain that Moshe is referring not to punishment but to leadership. He was the leader uniquely suited to guiding Israel through the wilderness; the next generation required a different kind of leader. "Because of you" means that, for the sake of the people, history demanded that Yehoshua lead them into the Land.

Rav Soloveitchik, however, hears something even deeper in these verses.

Notice the opening word: Va'etchanan - I pleaded. It is singular. It is the prayer of one person standing alone.

Throughout his life, Moshe Rabbeinu never prayed only for himself. After the sin of the Golden Calf, after the episode of the spies, and on countless other occasions, he stood before Hashem on behalf of the Jewish people. Their suffering became his suffering; their fate became his concern.

This time was different.

According to the Midrash, had the people joined Moshe in prayer, the decree might have been overturned. The sin at Mei Merivah was indeed his own. But the loneliness of Va'etchanan - the fact that he carried this burden without the prayers of those for whom he had prayed so often --- belonged to the people.

Perhaps this is one of the enduring lessons of communal life.

A shul is not merely a place where people happen to pray in the same room. It is a place where a community gathers to carry one another's hopes, worries and burdens before Hashem. We rejoice together, we mourn together, and we pray not only for ourselves but for all those around us too.

Shabbat Nachamu, the first Shabbat after Tisha b'Av, marks the beginning of comfort and rebuilding. Perhaps that rebuilding begins not only with grand visions of redemption but with simple acts of responsibility for one another. The journey from the loneliness of Churban to the consolation of Nechamah is paved by communities that notice one another, care for one another, and pray for one another.

May we take to heart the lesson of Va'etchanan: that no Jew should ever have to stand before Hashem alone. May our tefillot, offered together and for one another, bring comfort, healing and redemption to all of Am Yisrael.

Shabbat Shalom!

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.

Comfort and contentment: Va'Etchanan 5784

This week, with Shabbat Nachamu we begin a cycle of comfort and consolation following the weeks of sadness and mourning over the past tragedies of the Jewish people. The next seven weeks of comfort and healing will lead us into the new year that awaits us. But we begin, in this week’s parsha, with a synopsis and summary of all Judaism: the Ten Commandments, the Shema and the explanation of the Exodus from Egypt that we give to the wise son at the Pesach seder. 

Broadly speaking, this parsha encapsulates the entire structure of Torah and Jewish life. Since the reading of Va’etchanan invariably falls on Shabbat Nachamu, we can see how the Torah is teaching us that comfort and consolation are spiritual values and attainments: these things do not necessarily depend on material wealth or worldly success. Our society, so rich in material goods and advanced technology, suffers greatly from all sorts of mental and social dysfunction. Depression is the “black dog” (as Churchill described his recurring bouts of this condition) that affects over a third of the citizens of the Western world at some time in their lives. True comfort and serenity are difficult for human beings to achieve and even harder to sustain. 

This week’s Torah reading offers us a formula to achieve the elusive goal of contentment. And it lies within the parameters of those three principles of Jewish faith which it outlines. 

The Ten Commandments establish a structure of belief and morality to which every individual can ascribe and aspire, no matter how decadent the society in which we are enmeshed. The moral strictures that protect life, person and property are the basic rules of Jewish life and faith. Given the dysfunction between parents and children, a commercial world that never sleeps, acceptance of robbery and corruption as social norms, daily murders and a sexually dissolute society, how can one avoid being depressed?  Though civilization teeters on the brink of self-destruction, the Ten Commandments point the way out of the social morass into which we are sinking. The Shema is the vehicle of connection of our soul with the Creator who fashioned us and gave us life. Belief in the one and universal God, the omniscient and omnipotent ruler, is the greatest gift of the Jews to the human race. This belief gives us discipline and security, purity and nobility, the whiff of immortality and a sense of purpose in knowing that life is never in vain. 

Finally, understanding the uniqueness of Israel in God’s scheme of things as represented in the story of the Exodus from Egypt, gives structure and perspective to our national and personal lives. But it takes wisdom and knowledge—a wise son—to appreciate and treasure this memory of the distant past. This memory alone can also give us a sense of comfort and well-being and contribute towards the consolation and contentment we so ardently seek. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein