At the heart of the book of Deuteronomy there is an assumption about the relationship between God and humanity that, frankly, we might find difficult. The books tells us repeatedly that God rewards the good and punishes the bad.

In last week's Torah portion, we read, "If you listen to [God's] rules and obey them well, Adonai your God will keep the covenant and the love that God promised to your ancestors. God will love you and bless you…" (Deuteronomy 8:12-13). We also read, "If you forget Adonai your God and follow after other gods and worship them…, you shall perish" (Deuteronomy 8:19). 

Why is it hard to accept this idea? What's wrong with thinking that God rewards people who obey God's commandments and punishes those who do not? Simply put, we find it difficult to believe it because it does not appear to be true. 

All around us, we see good people who have pain and difficulty in life, and we see bad people who appear to have comfort and pleasure. Clearly, a strict and literal belief in a God who rewards the good and punishes the bad in this world is not acceptable. 

In the opening of this week's Torah portion (Re'eh), though, we see some small indications that the Torah's view on reward and punishment is more nuanced than the simple caricature we might imagine. The portion begins with these words:

See, I am placing before you today blessing and curse: the blessing that you will listen to the commandments of Adonai your God that I have commanded you today, and the curse if you do not listen to the commandments of Adonai your God, but turn from the path that I command you today to follow after other gods that you have not known. (Deuteronomy 11:26-28)

Since ancient times, readers of Torah have noticed an oddity in the wording of this passage. Moses says here that there will be "the blessing that you will listen" and "the curse if you do not listen" (emphasis added). The shift from "that" (אשר) to "if" (אם) must be intentional and it must have meaning. What is that meaning?

It could be that Moses is saying that God does not offer blessings as a quid pro quo for listening to and obeying the commandments. Performing acts that God has commanded is itself a reward. The blessing you get for listening to the commandments is that you are able to listen to the commandments.

That, of course, is a paradoxical statement. But, I think, it is a paradox that makes spiritual sense. When you do something that is good and right – something that God wants you to do – your understanding of what makes it good deepens and it becomes a source of joy to you in your life.

For example, I have seen people who show up for a social action project – making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the homeless, for example – who come the first time because they have some abstract notion that it is "the right thing to do." After doing it once, though, their reasons for volunteering change. The come a second and a third time because they realize that it is not just an intellectually and morally laudable choice. They see that helping others is deeply rewarding on a personal and emotional level. It does not just make them feel good about how they have chosen to spend an hour of their time. They discover that they feel good about their whole being and about the world around them in a way they had not anticipated. Performing a "good deed" becomes a reward in and of itself greater than any material gain or comfort.

This is what the rabbis mean when they say, "The reward of a mitzvah is a mitzvah" (Pirkei Avot 4:2). There is no promise of material wealth and comfort for those who do what is right and just. There is no "pie in the sky when you die" for the righteous. If you want to see the reward for doing what God wants, look within yourself. You will see it in the way that your sense of connection to other people grows and in the way that your connection to God grows. That is the reward.

So, why does the Torah say that there is a curse if you do not listen to God's commandments? Why is the curse for the wicked portrayed as a literal quid pro quo when the reward is more ambiguously phrased as a paradox? Should we believe that God will curse us for doing what is wrong?

I don't think so, but I also think that the Torah is wise not to present the result of wrongdoing as an absolute parallel and opposite to the benefit of good behavior. Think of it this way: If there were a strict parallel, then the punishment for bad behavior would be the opposite of the reward for good behavior. Instead of God blessing us with the ability to listen to what God wants from us, God would punish bad behavior by removing our ability to hear God. 

I don't want to think that God gives anyone a curse that prevents them from listening. No matter what we have done, no matter how far we have strayed from doing what God wants, God still wants us to be able to open our ears and our hearts to turn back to God. That is why the Torah could not use the same word to explain how God rewards us and punishes us. Doing a mitzvah is a blessing in itself, but not doing a mitzvah does not cut off our access to hear what is good and right.

This, more nuanced way of reading Deuteronomy's theology of reward and punishment is comforting to me. I cannot believe in a God who showers the good with comfort and joy and punishes the wicked with sorrow and pain. It's not the way the world works in my experience. But I can accept a reading of the book that allows for the possibility that the blessing given to the good is an awareness that doing what is good enriches our inner lives more than we could have imagined.


Other Posts on This Topic:
Ekev: Deuteronomy vs. Job
A Prison for the Not Guilty

We all know that the Hebrew Bible was written a long time ago. We assume that many of the Bible's teachings were intended for a different political and social reality than ours. Sometimes, therefore, we are tempted to dismiss biblical teachings we find difficult, or even offensive, because, we say, they were "written for a different time." 

What we may not recognize though, is that the Hebrew Bible was very old already when the rabbis created the religion we know today. The rabbis who transformed a national cult of ritual sacrifices into a tradition of study, prayer and doing mitzvot were willing and able to accept the difficult parts of the Bible that must have seemed to them to be "written for a different time."

How? What did the rabbis do to make the Bible – even the parts written a thousand years before them – relevant to their time?

The rabbis began by assuming that the Hebrew Bible is a sacred text, a gift from God. Therefore, when parts of the Bible seemed to them to be out-of-step with the values and realities of their times, they assumed that there had to be a deeper meaning to be found through interpretation. Rather than simply reject the parts of the Bible we don't like, we can take a cue from from the ancient rabbis and probe for meanings hidden beneath the surface.

This week's Torah portion (Re'eh), for example, includes a passage that might make us cringe:

In the context of today's world, this passage sounds like a call for cultural extermination that reminds us of the Taliban destroying ancient Buddhist statues or the Islamic State's destruction of medieval mosques. That our own tradition might teach such behavior is distressing to us.

The ancient rabbis did not like it any better than we do. They were quick to point out that the Torah's laws concerning the destruction of foreign nations are no longer in effect because the specific nations mentioned no longer exist (B. Berachot 28a). But because the rabbis assumed that the Torah has something to teach every generation, they sought an even deeper meaning.

In the section of the Talmud that deals with idolatry, the rabbis interpreted the doubling of the verb, "destroy, completely destroy," in the above passage. The Talmud states that we are commanded to destroy idolatry twice. The first part, the easy part, is to remove idolatry's physical presence. The harder part is to wipe it from our way of thinking (B. Avodah Zara 45b-46a).

This is a teaching that we can take into our lives today. We may not see too many sacrificial altars dedicated to foreign gods in the world today, but idolatry does still exist. Any time we treat something that is not God as if it were a god – whether it is wealth, status, military might or intellectual prowess – we have committed idolatry. The commandment in this week's Torah portion to destroy places of idolatry is more than an anachronistic statement written "for a different time." It is a message to us to change the way we think, too.

Think about the things that you worship – things you treat as if they were as important as life itself. Commit yourself to put these things in their proper perspective. Ask yourself: What would it feel like to let go of your prized possessions? How would you see yourself differently if your self-worth was not measured by your status and social station? Would your life change for the better if you did not have the gadgets and gizmos that you depend upon? Isn't our attachment to such things really just a way of worshiping ourselves? Destroy them and then destroy them again – not with hammers and swords, but in the way we think.

When we consider the biblical text this way – finding personal meaning that transcends the literal and historic meaning of the text – we discover that the text was not written for "a different time." It was written for us. We learn that what is sacred about our tradition is not our blind obedience to the literal word. It is the tradition's ability to direct us toward happier, more fulfilling lives. That is the way the ancient rabbis read Torah. We can, too.

There is another lesson, too. When we reflect upon those who only see the literal text on the page – those whose fundamentalist faith insists that it is the only true religion – we realize what a small and self-defeating way it is to live with God. We could even say that such fundamentalism is itself a form of idolatry that treats the literal meaning of the text as a false god and ignores the deeper spiritual meaning. 

What irony! Those who destroy ancient artifacts because they believe they are obeying a command against idolatry, are practicing an even greater form of idolatry. By worshipping a text they do not probe to understand, they have become the thing they detest. Is that not always the way of fundamentalism that only sees the surface and ignores the mystery and meaning below?


Other Posts on This Topic:
The Problem with Certainty
Vayikra: Should I Bow to a Block of Wood?

We live in an age of individualism. We Americans teach our children from an early age that they are unique and special. We encourage them to grow into an identity of self-confidence. We want them, above everything else, to believe in themselves. 

It is no surprise, then, that many of our children grow up determined to succeed and ready to overcome every obstacle. However, many of them also grow into adults who believe that their every opinion and belief is inherently valid — even when it is unfounded and uninformed. Many act as if they have the right to live as they choose and to answer to no authority beyond themselves, regardless of the effect their choices have on others.

You can see the strengths and weaknesses of our romance with individualism. Our society produces people with tremendous drive and ambition, but also people who cannot see past their own egos. Often, it seems, they are the same people. There are a few business entrepreneurs, politicians, and Wall Street wheeler dealers who come to my mind when I think of this type.

It might seem reasonable to assume that one quality necessitates the other. We might think that it is our arrogance that produces our dauntless ambition, and that success naturally leads to egotism. I think that is a false assumption. 

There is classical interpretation of the opening lines of this week's Torah portion (Re'eh) that speaks to the possibility — and, perhaps, the need — for balance between our drive to succeed and our responsibilities to others. Being ambitious does not need to make you a jerk.

The portion opens with the words, "See, this day I set before you blessing and curse" (Deuteronomy 11:26). The voice of the text is Moses giving an impassioned sermon to the Israelites who are about to enter the Land of Israel. He implores them to observe God's commandments, and thereby receive blessing, but not to disobey and suffer a curse instead. 

Commentators from ancient times have observed a peculiarity in this verse. In Hebrew, the opening word, "See" (Re'eh) is in the singular, as if spoken to one person. However, the word meaning "before you" (lifneichem) is in the plural, spoken to a multitude. With this grammatical inconsistency, Moses seems to be speaking to one Israelite and to every Israelite at the same time. 

What does this teach us about individuality and responsibility? Moses speaks first to each person alone. The word, "See," in the singular, acknowledges that we each have our own way of seeing the world. We each are unique and the world benefits from our multiplicity of perspectives. Each of us has strengths and abilities that add to the richness of the world and that give each of us opportunities to excel and to achieve in ways that others cannot.

Yet, just three words later in the Hebrew, Moses reminds us that the opportunity for blessing and the danger of curse are not just for one individual alone. The consequences of our individual actions, positive and negative, are before us all in the plural. 

Our unique attributes and abilities are for each of us to discover and develop. We are invited to take pride in them and to push them to their limits. Yet, if we think that the benefits and risks of using those abilities are for ourselves alone, we are deluding ourselves. We are all in this thing called life together. 

Think about how much sense this makes and how it is proven true over and over again. The titans of Wall Street who brought about the financial crisis of 2008 did so because they thought their acumen and ability should bring material blessing to themselves alone. What we all discovered, though, is that they instead brought a curse upon our entire society. 

The ambitious politician who allows his unbridled personal cravings to rule him (yes, you know who I'm talking about), discovers that acts done in private have ramifications for thousands if not millions of other people. We humans are interconnected with each other and our individuality should not blind us to the way our actions effect one another. A society that only listens to the command to "see," given in the singular, but ignores the consequence, given in the plural, is a society built on delusion. 

Yes, we should raise our children to know that they are special. We should allow them to celebrate their uniqueness and to push their abilities to the highest they can reach. But that does not excuse us from also teaching them that they have an obligation to use those abilities for the benefit of all, not just for themselves. Our gifts are also responsibilities. The things that make each person special are also the things that bind us to one another. They command us to the duty to use our gifts to build a better world.

Great ability should not be an excuse for great selfishness. In fact, the opposite should be so. Life's true joy is in seeing that our abilities are gifts we have been given in order to share them with those who are before us. 


Other Posts on This Topic:
Toledot: Letting Go of the Struggle
"Not One of Them Was Left"

This week's Torah portion opens with Moses speaking these words: 

See, I place before you today blessing and curse: blessing, if you will heed the commandments of Adonai your God that I command you today; curse, if you will not heed the commandments of Adonai your God, but turn away from the path that I command you today to follow other gods that you do not know.

It takes a special person to deliver a message like that. You would not believe just anyone who told you that you have to change your life to meet the standards of God. Moses was the right person to transmit the Torah because of who he was.

The Or HaChayim reads the first two words of the portion, Re'eh anochi, as the command, "See me!" (Oddly, the verb, re'eh, is in the singular form, as if Moses were talking to only one person. More on that later.)

Moses, according to the Or HaChayim, used the great stature that the Israelites attributed to him to amplify his message. When the Israelites saw Moses, they saw a man of great power, authority and prestige. Since Moses appeared as a person who had received every blessing that God promised to those who follow the commandments, people believed Moses when he promised that they could receive that blessing, too.

In seeing Moses, people believed what the Rambam (Maimonides) taught: "Each person has the potential to be as righteous as Moses our Teacher" (Hilchot T'shuvah 2:2). Moses inspired people to believe that they could accomplish everything that he had achieved.

Yet, Or HaChayim says that Moses himself was not seduced by belief in his own greatness. He was able to "re'eh anochi," to see himself in ways that others could not, for Moses understood that all people have the same divine spark within them that he had. When he said, "See me," to the Israelites, therefore, he saw them. He attributed his own greatness to them.

That is why, according to the Or HaChayim, re'eh anochi, "See me!", is written in the singular. In his mind, Moses was talking to one person, to himself. In the end, the thing that made him such a great teacher was that he could see himself as he truly was, a creature of God just as his students were creatures of God. That is what truly made him great. That is what truly made him the right messenger for the Torah.


Other Posts on This Topic:
Re'eh: Giving and Receiving
Re'eh: MOST FOLKS ARE ABOUT AS HAP Y