Where do we stand? And who stands with us? This week’s Torah portion calls us to consider these questions. Its name, Nitzavim, comes from its opening words, Atem nitzavim, You Stand – with the You in the plural. In the parlance of the American South, we could translate that as: Y’All Stand.
And this ALL is a very broad one, unusually so for the Torah. Addressing the people on the plains of Moab as they prepare to cross the Jordan river and take possession of the land of Israel, Moses specifies that he is addressing absolutely everyone, ‘kulchem’, ‘all of you’: Not just the leaders, not just the men, but the women, the children, the strangers among them, all the hard-working manual labourers, the woodcutters and the water-drawers.
In fact, so comprehensive is the community that Moses is addressing that it even includes ‘those who are not here with us today.’ (JPS translation) Our tradition doesn’t understand that to mean those working from home or sick in bed that day – the midrash teaches that it means the souls of all Jews ever to exist. Even those not yet born, all future generations of Jews, are bound by the covenant that God made with the Children of Israel that day.
Generations of rabbis have used these verses to teach that we, today – on all todays, in every time and place – are just as bound up in a covenant with God as our ancestors were. It appears as the opening reading in some versions of the Torah service, to remind us of this point.
But is it fair? It is certainly of a piece with a strong theme in Jewish tradition, that there is something stronger than mere continuity between the generations – there is identity. As we say at Passover, we are all to regard ourselves as if we ourselves were taken up out of Egypt by God. That MY father was a wandering Aramean. That we are, in effect, our ancestors and their history is our history, their lived experiences are our lived experiences.
Which does not exactly answer the question of whether it is fair that we are bound by a covenant made untold numbers of generations before we were born.
Rabbi Don Isaac ben Judah Abarbanel, writing around the year 1500, explained the ongoing nature of the covenant in terms of debt. ‘Even as one’s estate is responsible for an unpaid loan, so Israel remains in debt to God for its liberation from Egypt and the gift of the Land of Israel’. (Cited in The Torah: A Modern Commentary, p.1378.)
It’s not a particularly attractive way of looking at the covenant, but perhaps it is not surprising either, given that Abarbanel was, in addition to being a rabbi, a statesman and a diplomat, a financier. Making sure that debts were paid, even over the generations, must have been an essential part of his business.
Shira D Epstein, once dean of the William Davidson School of Jewish Education at the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York, puts a more modern and perhaps less onerous spin on these verses. By shifting the focus of the opening verses from the eternal covenant to the ‘standing together’ that gives the portion its name, she teaches that the parashah calls on us all to be present, in the modern sense of mindfulness.
‘To deliberately and mindfully stand before or with anyone, we need to first make the choice to show up, and to be aware that our presence will be noticed and make a difference’, Epstein wrote in 2017.
She was responding to photos of ordinary people showing up to help with rescue work in the wake of a hurricane, but her words apply just as much to our world today, if not more so.
‘Troubled times can feel especially isolating; as our social media newsfeeds are saturated with images of terror and destruction, even those of us who live in safety and security can spin a narrative that we each stand alone. Yet, I am struck by the plentiful photographs of the people who show up – not because they are required to do so, but because they feel called to do so. Because they view themselves as part of something bigger – as connected to fellow humans in need’, Epstein teaches.
Epstein’s understanding dovetails with another essential theme underlying the parashah – that of free will, as Elsie R Stern observes (The Torah: A Women’s Commentary, p. 1228).
As our parasha comes to a climax, the importance of our free will comes into clear focus. Moses has warned us of the penalty for not making the right choice, saying that if anyone turns to idolatry, God will wreak a catalogue of punishments on them, culminating with ‘Adonai blot[ting] out their name from under heaven’. (Deut 29:19, JPS translation.)
But neither Moses nor God makes the choice for us. We ourselves must choose, and the stakes are as high as they can possibly be.
‘I call Heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life – if you and your offspring would live, by loving your God Adonai, heeding God’s commands, and holding fast to [God],’ the Torah exhorts us. (Deut. 30: 19-20, JPS translation.)
What does that choice look like in practice? How do we choose life and blessing? How do we love God, heed God’s commands and hold fast to God?
As Shira D Epstein teaches, we do it by showing up because we are called to do so. We do it by viewing ourselves as part of something bigger. We do it, as the name of the parashah teaches us, by standing together.
Richard Allen Greene, LBC rabbinical student
The views expressed in this D’var Torah do not necessarily reflect the position of Leo Baeck College.