The 2 versions of the 10 Commandments tell us what the true purpose of God taking us out of Egypt. It was to be a light unto the nations. That we should show the world how to lead an ethical & moral life, individually & as a nation.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

You can’t help but notice the striking differences between the two versions of the Ten Commandments—one in the Book of Exodus and the other in this week’s parashah, Va’etchanan, in Deuteronomy.

For example, in Exodus we are told to keep Shabbat because God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. In Deuteronomy, however, the reason is different: we are to remember that we were slaves in Egypt and that God brought us out with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm.

There is another famous difference. In Exodus the command begins with “Zachor”—”Remember the Sabbath day.” In Deuteronomy it begins with “Shamor”—”Observe” or “Keep the Sabbath day.”

Why the difference?

The Sages taught that Zachor and Shamor were spoken together, but there is also a practical lesson. If you don’t remember Shabbat, you won’t keep it. And if you don’t keep it, you won’t remember it. The two go hand in hand. Every week, by observing Shabbat, we strengthen our memory of it, and by remembering it, we prepare ourselves to observe it again. As Ahad Ha’am famously said, “More than the Jews have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jews.”

The different reasons for Shabbat also reflect where the Jewish people are at each moment in history.

At Mount Sinai, in Exodus, the nation had only recently left Egypt. The great lesson was universal: God is the Creator of the entire world, and Shabbat bears witness to Creation. The people were just beginning to understand their relationship with God.

In this week’s parashah, however, the people are no longer standing at Sinai. They are camped on the eastern side of the Jordan River, about to enter the Land of Israel. They are about to become a nation responsible for building a just society.

That is why Deuteronomy emphasizes the Exodus. Remember what it was like to be slaves. Remember what it means to have no rest. Therefore, your servants and everyone in your household are entitled to rest as well. Shabbat is not just a privilege for the master; it is a right shared by everyone.

This is one of the Torah’s great ethical teachings. God did not take the Jewish people out of Egypt simply to free them. He took them out so they could build a society founded on justice, compassion, and morality—to become a light unto the nations.

The two versions of the Fourth Commandment are not contradictory. They complement one another. One reminds us that God is the Creator of the universe. The other reminds us that, because God redeemed us from slavery, we must build a society that respects the dignity and humanity of every person.

Something to think about.

One of the most important lessons that we learn from this week’s portion is the transfer of power to the next generation. But for that transfer to take place we have to teach the next generation how to conduct themselves.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

This week’s parashah, Va’etchanan, is the second parashah in the Book of Deuteronomy. It begins with one of the most moving moments in the Torah. Moshe pleads with God one last time to let him enter the Land of Israel.

Think about it. For more than forty years, Moshe has led the Jewish people. His one great personal dream is to enter the Land. Yet God tells him, “No.” Moshe will see the Land, but he will not enter it.

Why?

The Torah gives the immediate reason—the incident of striking the rock—but there is also a broader lesson. Leadership must be able to transfer from one generation to the next. Moshe was the perfect leader to take a nation of slaves out of Egypt and transform them into a free people. But now a different kind of leader is needed. Joshua will lead the nation into the Land, where they must build a society governed by law and justice.

Freedom is not something that appears overnight. You cannot simply remove the shackles from slaves and expect them immediately to know how to govern themselves. History teaches that lesson repeatedly. The French Revolution, for example, overthrew a monarchy but eventually descended into the Reign of Terror and then Napoleon. The Russian Revolution replaced one form of tyranny with another. Political freedom without moral and legal preparation can quickly become chaos.

The American Revolution followed a different path. The Founders had been raised under English common law. George Washington considered himself an English subject until Britain rejected the rights of the colonies. When independence came, the new nation still understood that freedom depended upon the rule of law.

That is exactly what Moshe spent forty years teaching. He transformed a nation of former slaves into a people who understood law, justice, and responsibility. And then he had to do one more thing: prepare the next leader.

It is no accident that the first paragraph of the Shema appears in this week’s parashah. It commands us to teach our children “when you sit in your house, when you walk on the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up.” In other words, every moment is a teaching moment.

But children learn far more from what they see than from what they hear.

Researchers studying the early Gush Emunim movement noticed that many children remained committed to the ideals of their parents. Why? Not simply because of classroom education, but because they saw their parents living those values every day. Parents practiced what they preached.

Children are like sponges. They quickly recognize hypocrisy. If we tell them one thing but live another way, they notice. But if they see us living by the values we teach, those lessons become real.

Perhaps that is Moshe’s final lesson. The greatest measure of a leader is not how long he remains in power, but whether he prepares the next generation to carry the mission forward.

That’s something for all of us to think about.

Moses stresses the sin of the spies because they did not believe that we would be able to overcome all the obstacles to liberate the Land of Israel. Lewis and Clark were sent by President Jefferson, and they gave a different report. It will be hard but we and & will be able.

The Sin of the Spies and the Courage to Fulfill a Mission

One of the interesting aspects of this week’s Parshat Devarim is that when Moses reviews Israel’s failures in the wilderness, he emphasizes the sin of the spies. At first glance, that seems surprising. Wasn’t the sin of the Golden Calf even more serious? Why does Moses focus so heavily on the spies?

One answer is that the two sins were fundamentally different.

The Golden Calf was primarily a sin against God. The sin of the spies, however, was not only a failure of faith in God—it was also a failure of faith in the Jewish people and in the Land of Israel. Ten of the twelve spies concluded that the mission was impossible. They did not believe the nation could conquer the land, despite God’s promise. Only Joshua and Caleb had the courage to say, “Yes, we can.”

That contrast brings to mind an interesting moment in American history.

In 1804, shortly after the Louisiana Purchase, President Thomas Jefferson commissioned Meriwether Lewis and William Clark to explore the vast new territory. Their expedition encountered enormous dangers. They crossed difficult terrain, endured harsh weather, and even survived attacks from wild animals, including grizzly bears. Yet their reports did not conclude that the task was impossible. Instead, they acknowledged the hardships while affirming that the territory could be explored, settled, and developed.

That spirit eventually became associated with what Americans called Manifest Destiny—the belief that the nation had a mission to settle the continent from coast to coast. The pioneers who followed Lewis and Clark faced extraordinary hardships. Establishing farms in places such as Oklahoma, the Dakotas, and other frontier regions required tremendous courage, sacrifice, and perseverance. Yet they believed the mission could be accomplished.

The spies reached the opposite conclusion.

After only two years in the wilderness, they saw the challenges and declared, “We cannot do it.”

Now, forty years later, Moses stands before a new generation. The entire Book of Deuteronomy takes place during the final month of his life. He reminds the people that entering the Land of Israel will not be easy. They will no longer experience the daily open miracles of the wilderness. The manna will cease. They will have to farm, defend themselves, build cities, establish courts, and create a functioning society.

God’s miracles will not disappear—but they will become more hidden.

Nevertheless, Moses teaches that the mission remains the same. The Jewish people are called to build a nation founded upon the Torah, demonstrating that a society can be both strong and ethical, both prosperous and moral, grounded in God’s principles.

That is precisely what the spies failed to understand. They measured the obstacles but forgot the mission.

Lewis and Clark acknowledged the obstacles but believed the mission was achievable.

Moses wanted the new generation to adopt that second outlook. Once a people loses confidence in its God-given mission, it has already surrendered. But when it embraces that mission with faith, determination, and hard work, even great challenges become opportunities.

That is a lesson as relevant today as it was on the plains of Moab.

Something to think about.

We have to remember that, while we value all people, we do not value all ideas. There are some ideas that cannot be justified.

Learning from Our Mistakes: The Timeless Message of Parshat Devarim

The Book of Deuteronomy (Devarim) begins in an unusual way. Moses gathers the Jewish people and starts reviewing the events of the previous forty years in the wilderness. He recalls their failures, their complaints, their moments of doubt, and the consequences that followed.

At first glance, it might seem as though Moses is simply reopening old wounds. Why remind a new generation of so many painful episodes?

Because that is not what he is doing.

The Torah does not recount our mistakes to embarrass us. It recounts them so that we will learn from them.

One of the remarkable features of the Bible is that it does not portray its heroes as flawless. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, David—all are presented as human beings with strengths and weaknesses. Their greatness did not lie in never making mistakes. Their greatness lay in recognizing those mistakes, accepting responsibility, and growing from them.

That is one of Judaism’s most profound teachings. Perfection is not the goal. Growth is.

Parshat Devarim is always read before Tishah B’Av, the day on which we mourn the destruction of both Temples and many other tragedies in Jewish history. The Sages teach that the Second Temple was destroyed because of sinat chinam—baseless hatred between Jews.

The point of remembering these events is not to dwell on the past or assign blame. It is to ask ourselves what kind of society we are building today. Are we treating one another with dignity and respect? Are we strengthening the bonds of our community? Are we learning from history, or are we repeating it?

This message extends beyond Jewish history. Every individual, every family, every community, and every nation makes mistakes. Success does not come from pretending those mistakes never happened. It comes from having the honesty to confront them and the courage to change.

That is Moses’ final lesson before the Jewish people enter the Land of Israel. Freedom brings responsibility. A mature nation does not ignore its past; it studies it, learns from it, and resolves to do better.

As we read Parshat Devarim and prepare for Tishah B’Av, we are reminded that our past should never be a prison. It should be a teacher.

If we are willing to learn from our mistakes, then even our failures can become the foundation for a stronger future.

While we should not have baseless hatred towards one another, we should stand up for what is right and hate evil and evil doers.

As we welcome Rosh Chodesh Av, we also begin Parashat Devarim. The Book of Deuteronomy opens with Moses reviewing the Jewish people’s forty years in the wilderness. He is not recounting their failures to embarrass or shame them. Rather, he is teaching an essential lesson: we grow by learning from our mistakes.

That is precisely why Parashat Devarim is always read before Tisha B’Av. As we enter the Nine Days, we are called not only to remember the destruction of the Temple but also to examine our own behavior as individuals and as a community.

The Talmud teaches that the Second Temple was destroyed because of sinat chinam—baseless hatred between Jews. That does not mean we ignore wrongdoing or pretend that every action is acceptable. Judaism teaches both compassion and moral responsibility.

We must care for one another. We should ask how we can help our fellow Jew succeed, grow, and live a better life. At the same time, the Torah also teaches that there are actions that cannot simply be overlooked. Murder, idolatry, and behavior that destroys society are not matters of personal preference. They are genuine moral evils that must be confronted.

My mother, of blessed memory, once gave me advice I have never forgotten. She said, “If you’re going to hate, use your hate wisely. Hate a Hitler or a Stalin. They were evil. Don’t waste your hatred on someone who is merely a schlemiel—someone who is simply imperfect.”

That captures an important Torah principle. Baseless hatred means despising people for trivial reasons—for political disagreements, for differences in custom, or because they practice Judaism differently than we do. One person may wear tefillin according to Sephardic custom, another according to Ashkenazic custom. Those differences should never divide us.

But neither should we confuse unity with moral indifference. We are commanded to love our fellow Jew, yet we are also commanded to stand for what is right and to resist genuine evil.

As we begin these Nine Days, let us remember both lessons. Let us reject baseless hatred and strengthen our love for one another. At the same time, let us have the courage to uphold truth and justice, refusing to surrender to whatever ideas or fashions happen to be popular at the moment.

Those are the lessons of Parashat Devarim, and they are just as important today as they were when Moses first spoke them on the banks of the Jordan.

The Book of Deuteronomy opens with Moses going over the history of the Jews in the Wilderness. This was to teach us to learn from our mistakes. Great leaders learn from their mistakes.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

This week’s parashah, Devarim, begins the Book of Deuteronomy. It is always read on the Shabbat before Tisha B’Av because Moses is looking back over Israel’s history. He reminds the people not only of God’s blessings, but also of their failures. Yet the purpose is not to dwell on the past. It is to learn from it.

That is one of the Torah’s greatest lessons. The question is not whether we make mistakes—we all do. The real question is whether we learn from them.

If you look through the Bible, virtually every great leader is flawed. Abraham has moments where he falls short. Moses makes mistakes. King David commits serious sins. The Torah never hides these flaws. Instead, it teaches us that greatness is measured not by perfection but by the willingness to grow.

A good example outside the Torah is George Washington. A new movie, Young Washington, makes the point that Washington was not born the leader we remember today. As a young officer in the French and Indian War, he made serious military mistakes. But he learned from them. Those painful lessons helped shape the commander who would later lead the Continental Army and become America’s first president.

The Torah presents the same contrast through Israel’s first two kings.

King Saul was commanded to destroy Amalek completely. Instead, he spared King Agag and allowed the people to keep the spoils. When the prophet Samuel confronted him, Saul refused to take responsibility. He blamed the people. But the king is responsible for the nation’s decisions. Leadership means that the buck stops with you. Samuel then executed Agag himself. Our tradition teaches that because Agag had been spared even briefly, he fathered descendants, one of whom was Haman, the villain of the Book of Esther.

King David also committed a terrible sin in the episode of Bathsheba. The Midrash relates that David once said that if he had been given Abraham’s tests, he would have passed them. God answered, “I will give you your own test.” David knew temptation was coming, yet he failed.

Afterward, David wished the episode could simply disappear. Instead, God made sure it would remain in the Bible for every generation to read. Why? Not to humiliate David, but to teach us something essential. David admitted his sin. He repented. He accepted responsibility and changed.

That is why David became the model of Jewish kingship. Not because he was perfect, but because when he failed, he did not hide, deny, or blame others. He accepted responsibility and grew from the experience.

As we approach Tisha B’Av, that is the message of Parshat Devarim. Nations, communities, and individuals all make mistakes. The real tragedy is not failing; it is refusing to learn. The path to redemption begins the moment we honestly acknowledge our shortcomings, accept responsibility, and commit ourselves to becoming better.

Something to think about.

When the tribes of Reuvan, God & half of Dan request land on the other side Jordan, Moses allows it provided that they remember that they help with the liberation of all the land of Israel.

Good morning.

This week’s parashah brings us to the conclusion of the story of the Jewish people in the wilderness. Next week, we begin the Book of Deuteronomy, where Moses recounts and reflects on the events of those forty years. That transition makes this week’s portion especially significant.

One of the major events in this parashah is the division of the Land of Israel among the tribes. Each tribe has its own unique role and character, and each receives its own inheritance. Together, however, they remain one nation. There are twelve tribes receiving portions of the land, while the Levites receive no territorial inheritance because their role is to serve the spiritual needs of the people.

Another important event involves the tribes of Reuben, Gad, and half the tribe of Manasseh. They are shepherds, and they see that the land on the eastern side of the Jordan is especially well suited for their livestock. They ask Moses if they may settle there instead of crossing into the Land of Israel.

Moses agrees—but only with an important condition. They may not settle down and begin enjoying their inheritance until they have first helped the rest of the nation conquer and secure the land west of the Jordan. They must fight alongside their fellow Israelites until every tribe has received its inheritance.

The lesson is profound: you cannot think only of yourself. Even though each tribe has its own identity and its own needs, every tribe remains part of something larger—the Jewish people.

We see this same principle earlier in the parashah with the daughters of Zelophehad. They are granted the right to inherit their father’s land, but they are instructed to marry within their own tribe so that the tribal inheritance remains intact. Once again, the Torah balances the needs of individuals with the needs of the community.

This balance is essential. We get into trouble when we think only about ourselves or only about our own families and forget that we are part of a greater whole. At the same time, the community must never lose sight of the dignity and legitimate needs of each individual.

In many ways, this is a principle found in other systems as well. Consider the ongoing debates about the Electoral College in the United States. Whatever one’s opinion, its original design reflects the idea that more populous states should not simply overwhelm the voices and interests of smaller states. A healthy society seeks to balance the will of the majority with protections for the minority. The minority should not be able to impose its will on the majority, but neither should the majority ignore or dismiss the legitimate concerns of the minority.

That is exactly the balance we see in this week’s parashah. The request of the two and a half tribes is respected, but their personal interests cannot come before the welfare of the nation. Likewise, the needs of the nation do not erase their unique circumstances.

Finding that balance—between individual responsibility and communal obligation—is never easy. Yet it is one of the Torah’s enduring lessons and one that remains deeply relevant today.

Something to think about.

In this week’s portion we get to the division of the Land of Israel among the tribes. That within each tribe they divided the land among the families. The Torah is emphasizing the concept of private property. That your land is yours and that it cannot be taken away by the government.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

As we continue through this week’s parashah, we come to the division of the Land of Israel. At first glance, it may seem like a long list of boundaries and inheritances, but it teaches one of the Torah’s most important principles.

Last week, we read about the daughters of Zelophehad. Their concern was that because their father had no sons, their family’s portion of the land would be lost. They emphasized that their father had been a loyal member of the Jewish people. He had not joined Korach’s rebellion or participated in the other great sins of the wilderness. They simply wanted to preserve the inheritance that rightfully belonged to their family.

Now we see why that issue was so important. The land is divided among the tribes, and then each tribe divides its inheritance among its families. Every family has its own permanent inheritance.

The Torah is teaching something remarkable: it recognizes the importance of private property. Your farm is your farm. Your inheritance is your inheritance. Even the king cannot simply seize it because he wants it. While land could be transferred under certain circumstances, in the Jubilee year it returned to the original family. The land ultimately belongs to God, but He entrusted it to individual families as a permanent inheritance.

This was revolutionary in the ancient world. In many kingdoms, everything ultimately belonged to the king. He could confiscate property or change the rules whenever he wished. The Torah rejects that idea. Even the king is subject to God’s law.

This reminds me of a famous statement by the eighteenth-century British statesman Edmund Burke. He described the poorest man living in a humble cottage. The wind may blow through the cracks. The rain may come in. The snow may enter. But the king may not enter without permission. In other words, even the poorest person’s home is protected from arbitrary government power.

That idea has deep biblical roots. The Torah teaches that ownership carries dignity, responsibility, and independence. It is one reason the daughters of Zelophehad fought so passionately for their father’s inheritance. They understood that this was not merely about land. It was about preserving the family’s place, identity, and future within the nation of Israel.

Today we sometimes hear the claim that “property is theft.” The Torah teaches something very different. If property is honestly and legally acquired, it is to be respected and protected. Even rulers are limited by law. No one—not even a king—is above God’s justice.

That is one of the enduring lessons of this week’s parashah: freedom is sustained not only by faith, but also by respect for law, responsibility, and the rights of every individual.

Something to think about.

As we end the Book of Numbers we are preparing to enter the Land of Israel. Up until now God took care of our every need. Now it is time for us to show God that we are able to stand up and take care of ourselves.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

This week’s parashah, Matot-Masei, brings the Book of Numbers to a close. Next week we begin the Book of Deuteronomy, which is essentially Moses’ farewell address before the Jewish people enter the Land of Israel.

The Book of Numbers has been the story of the Jewish people in the wilderness. But why does the Torah devote so much attention to those forty years?

Because the wilderness was a unique stage in our nation’s development. Every day, the Jewish people experienced open miracles. God provided food through the manna. He gave them water. Their clothing did not wear out. Every basic need was taken care of. They lived under God’s direct care.

Now everything is about to change.

As they enter the Land of Israel, they will have to farm the land, build businesses, establish courts, defend themselves, and create a functioning society. The miracles will not disappear, but they will become less obvious. God will still be there, but now the people must assume responsibility for their own lives.

In many ways, this is like raising children. A young child depends on a parent for everything. But every good parent hopes for the day when that child can stand on his own. The greatest compliment a child can give a parent is, “I can take care of myself now.”

That is what God is saying to Israel. Until now, you have been like children. Now you must become a mature nation. Live by the Torah not only in the synagogue, but also in the marketplace, in the courtroom, on the farm, and in government.

One of the lessons we saw in last week’s account of the war against Midian is that all of the captured property was brought before Moses and carefully accounted for. Nothing was hidden. Leadership demanded complete transparency.

Even Moses could not simply say, “Trust me.” The Torah teaches that honest leaders should also be accountable leaders.

I was reminded of this by a friend who served as treasurer of my Masonic lodge. He insisted on having his books audited every year. I told him, “We all trust you. Why do you want an audit?” He answered, “Because if I made an honest mistake, I want it to be found and corrected.”

That is a powerful lesson. Transparency protects both the public and the leader.

It is also one of the principles behind the American Constitution. Our system of checks and balances assumes that power must always be accountable. Everyone watches everyone else—not because we assume people are dishonest, but because human beings are imperfect, and accountability helps preserve integrity.

As the Jewish people prepare to enter the Land of Israel, the Torah teaches that a free society must also be a responsible society. It must be built on honesty, accountability, and leaders who are willing to let their actions be examined openly.

Something to think about.

The commandment to destroy Median was not one of revenge. It was to mete out justice for the evil that Median had meant to commit against the Torah and the Jewish people. That is why it was so harsh.

Now for a Quick Devar Torah.

One of the most difficult and controversial sections of this week’s parashah is the war against Midian. At first glance, it is deeply troubling. The Torah commands a harsh campaign against the Midianites, and after the battle Moses even rebukes the officers because the Midianite women had been spared. Modern readers naturally ask: How can this be the Torah? What is going on here?

To understand this passage, we first have to recognize that the Torah does not present this as a war of revenge. It is a war of justice.

A question immediately arises: if the sin at Baal Peor involved both Moab and Midian, why was Midian singled out?

The Sages point out an important distinction. Israel was about to pass through Moabite territory. The Moabites therefore had reason to fear the approaching Israelites, even if their response was wrong. Midian, however, had no such justification. The Israelites were not planning to enter Midianite territory. Midian chose to participate willingly in a campaign to corrupt and destroy Israel spiritually.

This also explains Moses’ anger after the battle. The Midianite women were not innocent bystanders. They had been active participants in the plot that led Israel into idolatry and immorality. Kozbi herself was a Midianite princess who willingly took part in that effort. The issue was not simply military victory—it was bringing justice to those who had deliberately sought Israel’s spiritual destruction.

History offers parallels. When the Magyar raiders swept into Europe during the ninth and tenth centuries, they lived by pillaging, looting, and terrorizing their neighbors. Their way of life came to an abrupt end after their crushing defeat at the Battle of Lechfeld in 955. Their military power was broken, and they abandoned a life of conquest to establish the settled Kingdom of Hungary. Sometimes history teaches that there are actions which simply cannot be tolerated indefinitely.

The Torah is teaching a similar lesson. Some forms of evil are so destructive that society must draw a firm line and say, “No further.”

But the parashah is also teaching the Jewish people something about themselves.

The greatest danger is not only the enemy on the outside. It is moral weakness on the inside. If a nation loses confidence in its purpose, if it begins to question whether its mission is worth defending, it becomes vulnerable to those who seek its destruction.

History repeatedly illustrates this principle. Before Germany invaded France in 1940, France possessed one of the largest and best-equipped armies in Europe. Yet military strength alone was not enough. A nation that loses confidence in itself becomes far easier to defeat than one that remains united around its purpose.

The same is true spiritually.

The Jewish people have a mission from God. We may disagree about politics, policies, or countless details of Jewish life, but we cannot lose sight of the fact that there is a mission. That shared purpose is what binds us together.

That was the real danger posed by Midian. Their goal was not merely to defeat Israel physically, but to undermine Israel’s moral and spiritual identity from within. Once a people loses its sense of purpose, everything else becomes vulnerable.

That is why the Torah presents the judgment against Midian with such severity. It is not celebrating violence. It is emphasizing the seriousness of a deliberate attempt to destroy a nation’s soul.

Something to think about.