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.

As children’s brains develop and they learn to understand the world, they move from black and white divisions to more nuanced categories and combinations. I remember when I was a child myself how at first there were clear separations. People celebrated Hanukkah or Christmas. New friends were either boys or girls. People had curly hair or straight hair, or they were tall or short. You get the idea. At this young age, we’re not trying to exclude or narrow our world view. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. We’re trying to understand as much of the world as possible, we simply don’t have enough context yet to understand all the complexities. But as children, these identifiers act as ways in which we do or don’t identify with people, and those who fit into a different category become “other.” As adults, we have enough experience to realize that every human being is different because that’s how we were created by God. When we run into problems is when we slip back into that “other” way of thinking. 

Throughout the Torah we hear about the different tribes and groups of people that comprise the Israelites and the ones they meet along their journey. Usually this serves to differentiate the new nation from others, but occasionally, the Israelites are reminded of their commonalities. 

This week in our parshah we enter into the final book of the Torah, Devarim (Deuteronomy). 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. 

In chapter two, we read about the Israelites as they proceed to the Promised Land. Until now, Israel’s encounters with other nations have been mostly negative. From enslavement in Egypt to war with Amalek, Sihon, and Og, they’ve had a rough go when encountering other communities. However, in verses four and five, a different description is laid out: “And charge the people as follows: you will be passing through the territory of your kinsmen, the descendants of Esau who live in Seir. Though they will be afraid of you, be very careful not to provoke them.” 

This is the first time that another nation is referred to as “kinsmen” for the Israelites since they’ve left Egypt. Perhaps it’s because they need to learn to live at peace with others now that they will have their own land and established territories. Regardless of the specific reason, this is a clear sign of how Israel has matured as a people, and it hints at their capability of finally continuing on their own as a new nation in partnership with other people, and not just with God. As our connected world seems more and more divided, this week’s Torah portion reminds us that social progress is moving from stranger to kinsmen and not the other way around. 

When I entered rabbinical school, I was convinced that I was the right person to be an “education rabbi.” I never saw myself as a pulpit rabbi, thinking I didn’t have the stamina or disposition to sustain the rigors of pulpit work. I wasn’t sure I could do funerals or b’nai mitzvah with the grace, conviction, or authority as the rabbis I had grown up with, so I followed a slightly different path. I sought out positions in education and the day school world so I could work where I thought I would excel. Then four years into my rabbinate at a day school I had to decide if teaching middle schoolers was really my strong suit, but because I hadn’t been a full-time synagogue professional, I felt torn in different directions, neither of which seemed exactly right at the time. I was terrified of leaving the day school world I know, yet wasn’t sure synagogue life was right for me. Then I took a leap.

This week in our parshah, the Israelites follow a story not so different from mine as we enter into the final book of the Torah, Devarim (Deuteronomy). 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.

Moses has been the leader of the Israelite nation for the entire Exodus and origin of the nation. While he was the right person for that part of the job, delivering God’s message and inspiring with his own words, life in the land of Israel will be very different. As they arrive at this pivotal moment, Moses says, “I cannot bear the burden of you by myself.” Moses is aware that it is no longer the time for preaching and teaching of the new laws. It will soon be time for battles and conquering the land. Moses is self-aware enough to know this is not his strength as a leader.

As a day school rabbi, I quickly learned that I needed more expertise in the classroom. Of course this expertise comes from years of experience, so I sought out mentors and advisers and asked seasoned teachers to observe my class and provide feedback. But when that didn’t seem to improve my classroom comfort level, it was time to evaluate whether I was the right person for the job. Now, several years later, I’ve had the benefit of not only trying a different path and loving it, but also learning enough from my previous experiences to discover I even like teaching middle schoolers, just not when it’s all I do!

In life we all have endeavors in which we excel, as well as endeavors in which we might expect to excel, but for whatever reason don’t. The Torah this week reminds us that it’s never too late to switch paths or admit that a certain job might not be the right job. Just because you have a job that you think you might love doesn’t mean you’ll be successful at it. When it’s time to make that decision, may we do it with the strength and self-awareness of Moses.

A few year ago, the summer before Matan was born, we bought a new couch. Our old couch was still in great condition, but we expected, and rightly so, that a larger couch would better suit the needs of our growing family. We went and sat on many couches looking for the right balance of child friendly, clean lines, adequate seating, and comfort. We settled on a couch that was a sectional and included a chaise lounge.

Previously, my regular couch spot had been the corner of the sectional. Everyone knew this was my spot. But with this new couch, I had great visions of using the forward-facing chaise lounge to relax with my feet up, back straight, TV ahead. What happened? The couch arrived, and my grand plan to move to this new spot lasted only a few months after Matan’s birth. Back to my corner I went. After so many years in the same spot, it just didn’t feel right to move. The perspective was different, the cushions not squished just so, and it simply didn’t work.

As human beings we are hardwired to become creatures of habit. When we stay somewhere too long, or do something the same way long enough, it can be very difficult and even painful to make a change. The Israelites are acutely aware of this in our Torah portion this week, Devarim. 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 Israelites at this point in the Torah have been stationary for a bit. They have created camps outside the land of Israel and grown as a nation. They have become accustomed to this transient lifestyle, and there is some concern for how they will adjust to their new land. In Moses’s first discourse to the people, he begins, “The Lord our God spoke to us at Horeb, saying: ‘You have stayed long enough at this mountain.’” God understood the danger in the people growing too comfortable where they were, reluctant to move toward an unknown future.

A big shift can be scary, but our growth as an individual or community often requires a change. A growing family needs more space, just as a growing synagogue or school might. When we first got the new couch, I went back and forth in different spots for three months so that I could properly nurse and snuggle with Matan. It wasn’t a huge, life-altering change, but the discomfort of changing routine and losing my cozy corner was both physical and emotional. While living in the routine and within our (sometimes literal) comfort zone is easy, and even necessary at times, we grow and learn much more when we stretch into new, uncharted territories. Parshat Devarim reminds us that it is our job to keep moving, to search out the next challenge, and to overcome it together. Does that mean I’m giving up my spot? Not a chance.