Shabbat Shuva: looking back and looking ahead

Adapted from a d'var torah I gave on Ha'azinu/Shabbat Shuva 5781.

Ha'azinu consists primarily of Moshe's final poem, recited to the people before he ascends the mountain to see the land and die.

The language is very different from what I'm used to in the torah. It is not the language of events and facts and commands; it is the poetry of evocative images and allegory. It resembles the writings of the prophets -- which makes sense, as Moshe was a prophet too and these are his final words. Prophets give us words of admonition and words of comfort, and Moshe here gives Yisrael both.

The plain reading, the p'shat, of this text is a recounting of Yisrael's relationship with God. It's mostly focused on the negative -- God did all these good things and Yisrael rebelled and worshipped false gods and so on, and God withdrew. The price of that withdrawal was high; that generation did not get to claim the land, build the Temple, and fulfill God's plan that started with the Exodus.

In the end, though, there is a nechemta, a consolation -- that if the people return from their wrongful ways, God will be there for them. This was the case for the people Moshe was speaking to -- they were redeemed from the sins of their parents and granted entry into the land of Israel.

It seems possible to read this poem on another level, too. Moshe is at the end of a long life, the last third of which has been filled with contention and challenges, struggles with the people he leads and sometimes with God. Moshe, too, rebelled against God and cried out at the apparent unfairness of the consequences. But here, at the very end, it is clear that he has accepted God's authority, praising Tzur Yisrael, the Rock of Israel, repeatedly. He has returned fully to God, and when he dies God Himself takes Moshe's final breath with a kiss.

We usually read this portion on Shabbat Shuva, the Shabbat before Yom Kippur, when we too are focused on reflection of the past and aspirations for the future. We are especially challenged this year, when our our world, our country, our society, and perhaps our personal lives have seen many challenges. We face plague, violence, turmoil, corruption from national leaders, personal losses, extremism, and fear and uncertainty. We are fragile, even more than usual. But while we pray and confess in the plural, Shabbat Shuva and the whole season of repentance really call on us to take a personal accounting and not just a societal one.

There are two things I think are important about that personal accounting. The first is that it's important to look in both directions. We look back on the past year, on places where we missed the mark, and we try to make amends for the damage we've caused, try to set things right, and seek and grant forgiveness. We confess our sins many times and yet it's never enough; we always seem to have more wrongs to set right. It's a mix of depressing, embarrassing, and -- in the end -- cleansing. Deadlines can move us to action.

But then we look ahead -- teshuva is about returning to the right path, not just cleaning up after mistakes, so what will we do differently in the coming year? What will we be more careful of? What hazards do we now know are waiting to trip us up so we should look out for them? What will we learn from the past, and how will we apply it?

The second thing is that we don't have to do it all at once. If we can repair one relationship, make amends for one thing we've done wrong, accept amends and forgive one person who has wronged us, that is progress. Don't let perfect be the enemy of good. We shouldn't be looking for easy outs, for the chance to say "well I fixed that; I'm good for the year". But we also shouldn't be overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all, by the realization that we can never do enough -- a feeling that I find particularly intense on Yom Kippur day.

Our Yom Kippur liturgy includes a blanket forgiveness clause where we say that we forgive people who have wronged us, even if they didn't ask like they're required to.¹ I don't know how kosher this is and I wish I were stronger, but when I say that passage, I quietly insert "except...". There are a few people who have wronged me severely -- I'm not talking about passing slights here -- and until they do some sort of teshuva then no, I cannot forgive them. I'm not holding a grudge; I'm just waiting for them to make amends. There were five people on that list last year (my lifetime high as of then), people I was waiting to see positive change from, usually for years. This past year I was able to remove three of them. It feels great to be able to make those repairs! Making repairs requires both parties to be willing, so we never know if it will happen until it does.

Unfortunately there are additions to my list this year, all rooted in a single source, but maybe someday those people, too, will see the harm they've done and want to fix it. It's not under my control, so there's no point in focusing on it and letting it pull me down. There's plenty of work to do that I can affect; the day is short, the work is plentiful, and the master is insistent (Avot 2:15). If you, too, have people trying to pull you down, I hope you can take Rabbi Tarfon's words to heart. I hope I can too.

Ha'azinu is, on its face, about Yisrael's failings and teshuva, its path. On another level, it's about Moshe's path too. And maybe on yet another level it's about us, our path. Looking back we see failures and rebellion and wrongs done and received -- but looking ahead, we see return and renewed relationships and maybe even greater rewards.

Israel returned, and will again in the future. Moshe returned. May we also be able to return, one step at a time, to each other and to our King.

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Monica Cellio‭ staff

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