August 8, 2024

Most mornings here at Ramah, I start my day before most of camp has woken up with yoga on the new meditation platform overlooking the agam (lake). One of our fellow staff members teaches the class and about 10 of us regularly gather to breathe, stretch, and challenge ourselves both physically and mentally. Even if I’ve been up late the night before, our 7 AM yoga sessions always leave me with a sense of calm energy that I carry with me for the rest of my day.

We end each class seated, with our eyes closed. We inhale together, and exhale on “Om.” I’m always a little surprised by the strength of our collective “Om,” the way our voices blend together in unison, expressing our rootedness to the universe and to each other. Over the past few days, I’ve noticed something different for me in hearing our “Om.” I can almost no longer tell whose voice is whose. What’s more, I feel everyone’s voice coming from my own. 

This phenomenon has me thinking about what it means to speak for another person. As a parent, I do think quite a bit, speaking on behalf of my children in a number of settings. When I call our health insurance company, I even have to identify myself as whichever kid I’m calling about in order to get through their voice prompts or they won’t talk to me. I also do this as a rabbi. The words I share in this forum and in others are how many people learn about our community, what we stand for, what we care about. I represent our interests in local and national organizations. When I speak in this way, I have to maintain an awareness that my words are not only my own; they belong to our entire community. 

We open the book of Devarim this week, reaching the final book of the Torah in our yearly cycle of reading. Devarim is well-known as Moshe’s final speech to the Israelites, his retelling of their story and review of the mitzvot that distinguish them as a people. And while Moshe speaks throughout the book of Devarim in the first person, his opening words in our parashah tell us that he does not see these words as his own. Rewinding the story of the people to Sinai, he says: “Our God spoke to us at Horeb, saying: You have stayed long enough at this mountain.” (Devarim 1:6)  In this, his most consequential speech to the people, he is repeating God’s words, speaking for God, not for himself.

Moshe’s retelling, however, doesn’t always match the original. In some cases, there are significant differences between the words as they appear in the earlier parts of the Torah and the words here in Devarim. There are multiple ways to approach these textual inconsistencies, but rather than looking at them through the lens of a literary analysis or a historical-critical reading, I want to take the text as it presents itself and think about how, even when speaking for God, Moshe inserts himself into the story. 
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In Moshe’s retelling of the story of the Israelites, his review of mitzvot and laws, we see his emotions: his anger, his frustration, his anguish. We see an increased focus on justice and the rule of law. We see Shabbat take on a new dimension, requiring not a recollection of the grandeur of creation, but fair treatment of those who serve us, inspired by ourselves having been liberated from servitude. 

When we read these opening chapters of Devarim, this week and over the next few Shabbatot, we cannot help but see that what purports to be an unfiltered recounting of God’s word is not that at all. Moshe’s “Om,” as it were, is not a channeling of God’s “Om;” it is not God’s voice coming through Moshe’s mouth. Moshe’s “Om” is fully his own, the expression of a leader who has touched divinity, but is, in his final moments, unquestionably human.

Shabbat shalom.