A Love Letter

An Idea for the 'Sabbath of Vision'

The intersection of Parashat Devarim with Shabbat Chazon, this ‘Sabbath of Vision’ is always an opportunity for deep introspection. This first portion of the Book of Deuteronomy begins with Moshe Rabbeinu’s amazing, veiled, ultra-sensitive words of rebuke, as Rashi points out in the name of the Sages. Moshe lists a number of ‘places’ that don’t even exist...because he does not want to embarrass or dishonor his people, so he alludes to their sins by hints, without mentioning them outright by name.

‘These are the words that Moshe spoke to all of Israel, on the other side of the Jordan, concerning the wilderness, concerning the Arava, opposite the Sea of Reeds, between Paran and Tophel, and Lavan, and Chatzerot, and Di Zahav…’ – (Deut. 1:1)

Many people who study Torah and its commentaries are aware of Rashi’s famous comment, that there are no such places as Tophel, and Lavan, and Chatzerot and Di Zahav. His words are usually noted as a simple, technical observation: Ok, Moshe made up some words and hinted to the places where Israel sinned, rather than naming the sins outright. Nice of him. We nod appreciatively at Moshe’s discretion and tact, and move on. But I think that we don’t really open up our hearts to consider the powerful pathos and emotional intensity of what this really means: How Moshe, who had quite a handful to put up with from these people for so many years, including the times they wanted to stone him....is still so sensitive, loving, and respectful – even though the time has come to rebuke them. I’m convinced there is a moving lesson here for our generation. How badly this sort of loving leader is sorely missing today… a truly loving leader like Moshe. What it means to care so deeply....and what it really means to be accepting and nurturing of others, and forgiving of their faults.

If we but linger here on this verse a bit, the entire emotional atmosphere of Sefer Devarim changes.

This is not merely a lesson in etiquette. It is one of the most evocative moments in Torah.

The man who is speaking has every conceivable reason to be bitter.

Throughout his life of selfless dedication to these people, he has been misunderstood more than understood. Rejected more than embraced. He has been accused of seeking power, blamed for every hardship, and more than once faced-off against an enraged mob prepared to kill him. He has carried this entire nation through forty impossible years, buried an entire generation, and knows that he himself will never enter the land for which he sacrificed everything.

Now, at the very end of his life, if anyone has “earned the right” to speak harshly, surely it is Moshe.

And he refuses.

That refusal is, perhaps, his greatest act of leadership.

What follows is not an indictment or legal brief, but the opening of a father’s final farewell to his children…and even more…a love letter.

Torah teaches us something that at first glance may seem paradoxical: Only someone who truly loves can truly rebuke.

The opposite is equally true. Much of what passes for rebuke today is not born of love at all. It is self-serving personal agenda hiding behind a smug, self-righteous mask.

If Moshe is frustrated—and how could he not be? —he doesn’t show it, and his rebuke never gives way to contempt.

Open up your heart and take note: His speech begins with “These are the words.” Words, not accusations. Not verdicts or labels. Not judgements or condemnations. Moshe knew the secret of words which sadly, we all tend to forget just at the moments we need to remember it most: that words have the power either to imprison a person inside his failures, trapping him in his own guilt and self-condemnation forever—or, to call him to freedom, toward his future. Moshe chooses the second. He reminds Israel what happened. He never suggests that what happened is who they are.

We have become accustomed to defining people according to their worst moments. One foolish statement. One failure, one weakness. One regrettable social media post.

One sin.

Identity becomes frozen.

The Torah refuses this way of seeing another human being.

Moshe certainly remembers the Golden Calf. He remembers the spies. He remembers Korach, the complaints, the rebellions.

But he sees something beyond these mistakes. He sees destiny.

This is why he alludes rather than accuses. He is speaking to who they are capable of becoming, not merely cataloguing who they once were.

I also think there is something profoundly moving in the timing.

Sefer Devarim always begins just before Tishah B’Av. This portion is always ready on Shabbat Chazon, the Shabbat of vision.

Normally we think of the “vision” as Isaiah’s vision. He foretold the destruction.

But there is another vision hiding in this Shabbat…Moshe’s vision.

The ability to look at a broken people and still refuse to define them by their brokenness.

Leadership today is often confused with charisma, or influence, or domination.

Our portion offers another definition: Leadership is carrying another person’s dignity even when they have dropped it themselves.

Moshe does not merely lead Israel through the wilderness. He protects them from being dishonored…even from themselves. He is speaking to an entire nation, but he still worries about embarrassing them. Isn’t this extraordinary? How unlike the age in which we live.

We inhabit a culture of exposure. Everything becomes public. Every failure archived. Every mistake amplified. Humiliation has become entertainment.

The Torah presents Moshe as a leader who instinctively covers rather than uncovers. Who protects rather than exploits; who heals rather than shames.

Moshe knew that redemption begins when we refuse to let brokenness have the last word.

He remembers every terrible mistake. He hides none of them. Yet he recounts them in a way that leaves room for tomorrow.

That is the essence of teshuva, repentance: It’s not about forgetting. Neither is it endlessly reliving. It is remembering in a manner that restores hope.

Moshe teaches us that a truly loving leader has the rare ability to hold another person accountable, while never ceasing to believe in them.

Everyone misunderstands this book of Devarim because it begins with words of rebuke. But the deepest truth is that this entire book, beginning now, is Moshe’s love letter to the people of Israel.

We are reading a love letter.

Consider what this book contains: His final words before his death. His deepest concerns for their future. His recollection of their shared history and all they had been through together. His warnings, born not of anger but of fear for what might become of them. His blessings. His affirmation that they are Hashem’s treasured people. The Shema. His final blessing to every tribe.

A man is standing at the edge of his own life, choosing his final words with infinite care.

What is a love letter if not someone’s deepest heart, entrusted to those he loves?

Unlike ordinary love letters, Moshe’s was never sealed away in a drawer. It became part of the eternal Torah. Every year, on the threshold of Tishah B’Av, the Jewish people open it again, and remember what it means to be truly loved.