Now we find the epilogue to D’varim and for that matter, the five books of the Torah. In prose we are prepared for the final poem by Moshe to come later.
Moshe stands with the people on the bank of the river Jordan. He has reached the age of 120 and tells the people he will not cross with them into the Holy Land. How hard this must have been for him! He tells them that Joshua will lead them, led by HaShem. He reminds them to be steadfast and strong, for HaShem is with them. He has written the commandments down to be carried by the priests carrying the Ark and tells the people they will take possession of the land. He warns against following foreign deities and reminds them when (not if) they do, they will pay the consequences of their actions, and will see the err of their ways.
Moshe has written down his song and teaches it to the people. He reminds them to write down this song in each generation and teach it to their children. This was the 613th commandment. Enter oral Torah. It expanded this to a call for every Jew in each generation to help in writing an entire Torah scroll. (Talmud Nedarim 38 A). Furthermore, over time we began reading all five books of Torah over 12 months for some, 36 months for others. Per Rabbi Sacks of blessed memory, this way the Torah does not grow old, but new in each generation.
Our scrolls are written on parchment, using a quill as it had been for hundreds of years. Why, might one ask? I’m a student of archaeology. There’s an interesting fact I learned along the way. Today studies continue of the Qumran Dead Sea Scrolls. We have amazing writings of another time such as the Lindisfarne Gospels or the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles. There are the clay tablets used in the ancient Ur libraries, and in Mesopotamia under the Sumerians and Babylonians. These survive today only because they were written on walls, on clay, or parchment. Had they been written on paper; they would not have survived.
We Jews are known as the People of the Book. It goes back to a reality I hold dear, that we have a story to tell, and we continue to tell those original stories, making them our own in each generation, and for that matter, at each telling. Rabbi Sacks elucidates one point that resonates within my soul. In this chapter, the song which we have interpreted to mean the entire Torah, Moshe uses the word “shira” meaning song no less than five times. The Netziv (Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda, Berlin 1816-1893) suggests shira means both song and poetry, and while much of Torah is prose, it can be read like poetry for two reasons: a. It is allusive rather than specific. It leaves unsaid more than is said, and b. Like poetry, it hints and deeper levels of meaning. Descriptive prose carries it’s meaning on the surface, while poetry does not.
Music is the window to the soul. We see times in Torah repeatedly where prose gives way to poetry. When Torah is read, there are cantillations each reader uses as they chant. We sing the psalms during services and our story stays alive with each succeeding generation. At the Pesach seder, I stand at Sinai with my people, it is my story as it has been over time. Through the year, we take that long journey, and it is our own. Our story, once read every seven years, now happens annually. As the written Torah expanded over time through oral Torah, so has the telling of our story, the singing of our song.
By the reading of this parsha, Rosh Hashana has past and a new year, 5783 has begun. We are amid High Holy Days once again. L’shana Tova and may you’re coming fast be easy and your year sweet.
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