Are you the person everyone tends to come to with their questions, their struggles, or their to-do lists? Whether you’re a parent, a teacher, a volunteer—or a rabbi—at some point you’ve probably wondered, “How am I supposed to do all of this?” It’s not just overwhelming; it’s the deep human realization that we were never meant to do any of this alone.

This week, we begin the book of Devarim, Moses’s parting words to the Israelites. Standing on the edge of the Promised Land, he doesn’t give a victory speech. Instead, he tells a story. Their story. He recounts the journey, the stumbles, the triumphs—and the time when he, their leader, couldn’t do it alone. “How can I bear your troubles, your burdens, and your disputes all by myself?” he asks. The answer? He appointed others. He shared leadership. He invited partnership.

This verse, and the blessing it evokes, offers a powerful blueprint for sacred community. Pirkei Avot teaches: “Do not separate yourself from the community.” This isn’t just a moral reminder—it’s a blessing. A wish that we might find our place not above or apart from one another, but within and alongside.

As I begin my journey as your senior rabbi, I hold this verse close. Leadership, for me, is not about bearing burdens alone. It’s about being in relationship with each other, with our sacred traditions, and with the still-unfolding story of who we are and who we’re becoming. My vision is to co-create this kehilla together: to listen deeply, dream boldly, and build collaboratively. Just as Moses realized, the future is not carried by one, but cultivated by many.

So this week, let Moses’s words remind us that holy work is shared work. Whether by showing up, offering your voice, or extending a hand, you are part of shaping this community. Let us be co-authors of our collective story. Let us not separate ourselves from the community, but draw closer, with intention, compassion, and courage. Together, may we bear not burdens, but blessings.

When I used to go to camp, or on a big trip, my father would put notes throughout my duffle bags or backpacks for me to discover throughout the trip. They were sticky notes and letters hidden with messages of encouragement, love, and, very often, reminders. It wasn’t that he and my mother didn’t tell me these things all the time before I left, it was more like him wanting to make sure that even when we were not in direct contact, in the days before email and texting, that the important life lessons they wanted me to carry with me were always there. I’ve adopted this habit as well, and when I send Shiri off to camp each summer, I have so much fun writing little notes to discover during that time away. “Don’t forget to change your underwear.” “Be kind and smile.” “You’re wonderful.” “I love you!”Even when I leave for a trip, I often leave notes for my kids or Duncan to find. Except for the one about the underwear – I don’t have to remind Duncan to do that.

It turns out my father was not alone in his need to pass on those last-minute reminders and messages. In fact, this very action of cramming final words into those remaining few minutes before a departure either in person or in written form comes from the Torah. 

Parshat Devarim begins the final book of the Torah, which shows the Israelites totally unmoored by the change in leadership and location ahead of them. Devarim stresses the covenant between God and Israel and looks toward Israel’s future in a new land as they build a society that pursues justice and righteousness. The central theme of this section of text is monotheism, the belief in one God, and building a society around the laws we’ve been given over the course of the four previous books.

The book of Devarim is called Deuteronomy in English, originally from Greek, meaning literally the “second telling” because it is comprised of a repetition of the laws and rules shared earlier in the Torah. Interestingly though, 70 of the 100 laws that are given in this book are brand new to the Israelite nation. It almost reads as though God is getting ready to send them off on an adventure and has a list of 70 last-minute reminders on how to be human before they can officially start this next phase of their lives.

However, I don’t see this as procrastination. I don’t think God waited until the last minute, God was setting an example for the kind of leadership we need in our world, the kind that guides and encourages. True leaders want others to succeed, and so they pass along every piece of advice they can think of. What advice would you share? 

As the parent of a 6-year-old and 9-year-old, I think I’m relatively immune to the jabs they throw at me when we set down a boundary. When you’re a child, boundaries feel more like punishments than safety precautions. This, of course, means they’re quick to hurl at us a line like “You’re being unfair!” or “He gets to do this, so why can’t I?” or worst of all, but not unheard of, “I hate you!”

Despite my children’s belief that boundaries make me a terrible parent, setting clear expectations and limits is a critical part of parenting. What’s important isn’t that they like the rules, it’s that they understand them. That’s the thing about setting boundaries: both parties need to understand their purpose. If you set a boundary without explanation, it leads to all sorts of questions and distrust. Instead, establishing clarity in boundaries is how we best move forward. We learn this too in our Torah portion this week. 

Parshat Devarim begins the final book of the Torah, which shows the Israelites totally unmoored by the change in leadership and location ahead of them. Devarim stresses the covenant between God and Israel and looks toward Israel’s future in a new land as they build a society that pursues justice and righteousness. The central theme of this section of text is monotheism, the belief in one God, and building a society around the laws we’ve been given over the course of the four previous books.

As the narrative of this last book continues, we see the Israelites trying to find their place and larger purpose in their post-Egypt society. In the first chapter, they appear flummoxed and exasperated. They say out loud in verse 27, “God hates us.” This reaction is not totally unexpected. After all, they’ve lived through some pretty challenging times in their exile and wandering. Ever since they left Egypt, they feel as if they gained their freedom only to be handed more and more rules and responsibilities. It’s a childlike behavior, in a real way. Young children, and even occasionally tweens and teens as well, tend to forget or ignore all the things they are given, like food, shelter, love, not to mention life itself. They focus only on what they wanted but didn’t receive. And, being the overreactors that they are, the word “hate” might get thrown around.

The Israelite nation is a toddler nation, so to speak. We read this section of text to remind us that while being let down feels terrible, part of maturing is learning the value of hakarot hatov, or “recognizing the good.” With age (of an individual or a society) comes the experience to be able to look at the grand scheme of things. 

I’ve always found it peculiar when we ask children, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” It’s fun to talk about potential future professions, but by no means is this a reliable gauge of a child’s long-term interests. For one thing, children are often focused on fantasies of being like their fictional heroes, with little to no grasp on the world that awaits them. It also bothers me when adults put any sort of emphasis on the answer to this question, because we’re all constantly changing, growing, and learning, and to think that something you love or excel at when you’re five will be the passion you’ll carry forever feels like an unreasonable expectation. While there are some humans who know in their core at a very early age what their purpose in life is, the vast majority of us take years or even decades to find that purpose and then create a life with it. 

Does the question really affect children in a negative way? Perhaps not, but children do internalize much more than we give them credit for. So how much is ruled out early on in our minds because we receive external influence? When we feel pegged in a certain hole, our lives might not develop as freely as they could without that expectation. Moses is a prime example of this in our Torah portion this week. Thankfully, as we know, he overcomes this challenge.

Parshat Devarim begins the final section of the Torah, which shows the Israelites totally unmoored by the change in leadership and location ahead of them. Devarim stresses the covenant between God and Israel and looks toward Israel’s future in a new land as they build a society that pursues justice and righteousness. The central theme of this section of text is monotheism (the belief in one God) and building a society around the laws we’ve been given over the course of the four previous books.

The book of Devarim begins by saying “These are the words that Moses addressed to all Israel on the other side of the Jordan.” The image of Moses addressing all of Israel with strong, confident words is surprising, considering it was Moses who, way back in Exodus, said he could never be the leader because he was not a “man of words.” What changed?

Over the course of the last 40 years, Moses found his voice. He grew into a place where he no longer questioned his insecurities; he discovered he could use words wisely and skillfully. At this point in the Torah, he has not only found his power, but has maintained confidence in himself and managed to take that negative self view and flip it around. He is more than a “man of words.” He is a man who guides, teaches, and leads with those words. If only the Moses from Exodus could see this Moses now!

This moment in Torah is a clear reminder of what it means to change, to grow, and to embrace what we can become. What would it look like if we slightly changed the career question to, “What five jobs would you love to have in life?” or simply “What are you great at?” Perhaps that kind of openness would lead to more happiness and self assurance before we spend 40 years questioning ourselves in the desert.

As we reenter an in-person world and discover again what it means to connect with people face to face, it really puts into perspective how alone we’ve been over the last 18 months. Whether it was the frustration of online meetings or the isolation during quarantine, we didn’t just feel alone – we were physically separated. 

One of the effects of this aloneness is the perception of the burden of extra responsibility. Put another way, how do we know if our leaders are doing their jobs if we can’t see them? How do we even know who is doing which job? And how can leaders delegate when they can’t interact with their people? Without the benefits of interacting through our usual support systems, we’re left feeling either untethered and unfocused or tied down and stuck.

This feeling isn’t just a consequence of pandemics. It surfaces in times of imminent transition and change. Our Torah portion this week, Parshat Devarim, introduces the final book of the Torah, which shows the Israelites totally unmoored by their change in leadership and seemingly unknown future. As reassurance, Devarim stresses the covenant between God and Israel and looks toward Israel’s future in a new land as they build a society that pursues justice and righteousness. The central theme of this section of text comes back to the Jewish roots of monotheism, the belief in one God, and building a society around the laws we’ve been given over the course of the four previous books. 

Moses is in the midst of transferring leadership, sharing his final lessons with the Israelites, and helping the Israelite people prepare for this major transition. He reflects back on a moment when he was overburdened and unable to be the best he could be for the fledgling nation. To illustrate his point, Moses reminds the Israelites of the journey he himself took to build his support system in order to move the community forward. For example, he reminds them that he established a court system of different judges so that they didn’t have to wait all day for one person (Moses) to make a decision.  

In this reflection, Moses’s words come in two parts: “I cannot bear the burden . . .” and “How can I bear unaided . . .?” The leader of the Jewish people admits that the problem is too big, and he simply cannot bear the burden of leadership alone. These verses are usually read in the tune we chant for Eicha, Lamentations. The melody is sad and, quite honestly, draining. It very well captures feeling alone and without support.

Individual responsibility is one thing. Of course we should all have to account for our own actions. However, support systems are critical, especially in times of trauma or transition. As we enter the last book of the Torah, we see Moses reminding the Israelites to be there for each other through this change and always. What a perfect analogy as we rediscover what it means to be there for each other as a community.