Now Let Us Sing: Nitzavim-Vayelech

Now Let Us Sing
D’var Torah for Parashat Nitzavim-Vayelech - Deuteronomy 29:9-31:30
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman


As the book of Deuteronomy begins to draw to its close, so—we are well aware—does the year. Nitzavim-Vayelech (Deut. 29:9-31:30) is the last double portion that we will have this year, and it pretty much sums up not only Deuteronomy, but in fact, the whole Torah.

The power to choose is first given to us back in Genesis. Having eaten of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Bad, as long as we had become aware of the difference between the two, God figures we might as well learn what the one is and what the other, and what the consequences of each will be. The power to choose may be ours, but the end result is not. Each and every choice we make leads us in one direction or another. Ultimately, how far we get depends on how we got there, on the choices we made along the way.

The Torah is so much more than a collection of stories. It is even more than the 613 commandments that it contains. It really is a training manual. Following its regimen—not blindly, but rather through close examination and interpretation—makes us stronger as individuals and as a people. The Torah teaches us to stand firm with our beliefs and principles, but not without bending at times, if the winds call for flexibility. Each and every moral exercise we go through braces us for the next test life will throw in our way. We learn that choosing life sometimes means we have to offer up our own lives. We learn that hiding or running away from the calling we hear along the way serves no purpose at all. Inaction is not a choice.

Nitzavim, the near-to-last portion of Deuteronomy, written almost 3000 years ago, contains a glorious vision of Eternity: It is an image of the entire Jewish people, present past and future. The entire population—both leaders and followers, rich and poor, men women and children, born to the Jewish faith or having freely embraced it—finds itself standing together, attentive, purposeful, focused, at a moment that is both particular and universal. It is both the beginning of our history and at our goal. At that infinite and eternal moment, we face God, none of us shirking our duty, all nitzavim—standing at the ready. We had found our way through deserts and unfamiliar lands. We had crossed rivers and oceans, traversed time and place. We even explored the sacred space that exists between humanity and God. We are unafraid. Filled with the strongest force of all, the force of life, we are prepared to go forward at a moment’s notice, confident that no enemy, oppressor or aggressor, will ever stand in our way.

It is the moment Moses had been waiting for. He knew it would arrive; throughout the trials and tribulations of the last forty years, he had been arguing, defending, accusing, teaching—always teaching!—the rules of sacred living to this stubborn nation. At times he was frustrated, at times elated. He had given his all to this important mission. Now he saw it accomplished. His work was nearly done. It was nearly his duty at this point to transfer his power to the next generation.

But there was one commandment left to give. All 612 others had already been given (some twice or even more—for example not to shed innocent blood; not to boil a kid in its mother’s milk; to be just but also compassionate). Now the time came for the giving of the final mitzvah.

The people stand attentively. What could it possibly be? What was left out of forty years of training, teaching and interpreting?

This final commandment is as eternal as the moment in which it is given. It is a deed that we can start but that, having begun it, we cannot stop.

It is to teach the Torah and to perpetuate it. Assembling the people—men, women and children—to listen and understand its words; writing these words down so they do not disappear in the vagaries of time; and, most importantly, to make them real through our own lives and deeds. This is the final commandment of the Torah.

Chapter 31, verse 19 calls the Torah a song that we must learn and teach, one infinite act of joining ourselves with eternity: “And now, write for yourselves this song, and teach it to the Children of Israel. Place it into their mouths, in order that this song will be for Me as a witness for the children of Israel.”

This song isn’t only for us to hear. Its strains reach as far as the highest heavens, stirring even God’s heartstrings.

The learning, teaching and practicing of Torah are thus rolled into one action, one mitzvah. It may be the final mitzvah, the last of the 613 commandments in the Torah, but it is also the very first. We engage in it the moment we tell a child about Noah and the rainbow; each time we talk about the Parting of the Red Sea; every time we think of the Ten Commandments and their role in our lives.

We end as we begin—with a blessing, with a prayer, with a song. Blessed are you, Adonai our God, eternal ruler of the universe, for giving us the many opportunities to sense holiness—your mitzvot—and for this particular mitzvah: The commandment to sing your praise.
Now let us sing.

©2010 by Boaz D. Heilman