By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
EL CAJON, California — Let’s dive into this week’s parsha, which we read every year on the Shabbos before Tisha B’Av, and explore the very first words of the Torah portion: “These are the words which Moshe spoke unto all of Israel across the Jordan…”
When Moshe speaks, he’s speaking to ALL Jews, including you and me, today and is creating a deeply personal connection with each one of us.
The Book of Deuteronomy, or Mishneh Torah, is Moses’ final speech to the Israelites, and it contains a fair amount of rebuke. But here’s the thing: Moshe’s rebuke isn’t harsh or condemning. He delivers it with the utmost respect, treating everyone with unconditional positive regard. Moshe knows that rebuke isn’t about tearing people down; it’s about lifting them up.
There’s a powerful teaching in Proverbs (9:8) that sums this up: “Do not rebuke the scoffer, for he will hate you; Reprove a wise man and he will love you.” Moshe doesn’t publicly shame the people for their mistakes, choosing instead to gently hint at their failings because, as Rashi points out, this helps preserve their dignity.
Moshe shows us how to do this well: when offering criticism, approach the person with the assumption that they are wise. It’s not about treating them as a fool; it’s about treating them as someone capable of growth and improvement. When we approach others with that kind of respect, our words will have a far greater impact.
Rabbi Baruch Simon, in discussing proper rebuke, shares an insightful teaching from Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz, the Shelah HaKadosh. He notes that, even when rebuking, Moshe takes care to honor the esteem of Israel’s leaders by highlighting their wisdom and discernment (Devarim 1:13). This isn’t just about offering critique, it’s about raising the spirits of the people and showing them that they, too, have value.
The Midrash Hagadol adds a terrific perspective: “The Holy One, Blessed Be He said to Israel: Moses’ rebuke is as dear to me as the Ten Commandments.” This tells us that rebuke, when done with love and care, is an essential tool for growth. And, when we read the Israelites’ fear-driven complaint to Moshe, that Hashem must hate them because they’ve been brought to the brink of the land of Israel, it’s a reminder of how easy it is to give in to panic and blame rather than practice pause and reflection.
As Rashi explains, the Israelites’ fear blinded them to the truth: Hashem didn’t bring them out of Egypt because He hated them; He did it because He loved them. The very challenges they were facing were opportunities to grow, to build a new identity as a people.
Moshe’s method of rebuke is rooted in mussar, a deep, caring instruction meant to help others grow. The key takeaway from Moshe’s approach is this, true leadership, true influence, comes from showing people respect, even when they’ve made mistakes. No one is beneath anyone else; we’re all human, with flaws and imperfections. By accepting others unconditionally, as Moshe did, we open the door to real change. The question is: how do we treat others? Do we allow ourselves to see them for who they truly are, or do we stand in judgment, pointing fingers?
It’s clear that Devarim is a treasure trove of mussar, perhaps one of the finest examples in all of Torah. Even in the realm of gematria, the word devarim (words) is closely linked to the word for “bees,” and there’s a powerful lesson in that. Bees can sting, yes, but they also produce sweet honey.
The gematria of mussar (306) is the same as the gematria for honey (306), and Av HaRachamon (306), Hashem, our Father of Mercy. The lesson? Mussar can sting us, just like a bee, but it’s ultimately for our benefit, it’s the sweet path that leads us closer to Hashem’s love and mercy.
One master of delivering moral lessons through storytelling was the Dubno Maggid, Rabbi Yaakov Krantz. He once explained why he often used folktales in his teachings with a brilliant parable: There was once a king’s son who was gravely ill and refused to take his medicine. The court jester, instead of lecturing him, began telling jokes. Eventually, the prince was laughing so hard that his mouth was wide open, and the jester quickly tossed the medicine into his mouth. The lesson? Sometimes, a bit of humor or an engaging story is the best way to soften the blow of tough messages.
And that’s what Moshe was doing, too. He didn’t shy away from delivering rebuke, but he did it in a way that would resonate deeply with his people, in a manner that opened their hearts to change. After all, as it says in Likuttei Amarim, “Words which come from the heart enter into the heart.”
Now, if we want to look at a true test of our growth, we only need to reflect on the lesson of senseless hatred, which led to the destruction of the Second Temple. We still have work to do. The deep divides between us today whether in religion, lifestyle, or belief, show us that we have far to go before we can truly be united. Perhaps if we, like Moshe, could look beyond the outer differences and see the divine spark in every Jew, we could move toward a time of celebration, not mourning.
Imagine a world where we embrace each other’s struggles, where we bring comfort to the pain of others, and where we can truly support one another with unconditional love. “Derech Eretz Kadma L’Torah”—being a mentsch comes before everything else. If we follow Moshe’s lead, we’ll begin to see that by accepting each other’s humanity, we’re not just building bridges with each other; we’re building the path for Moshiach to reveal himself.
As we approach Tisha B’Av, let Shabbat Chazon be a reminder to pause, reflect, and embrace stillness, allowing us the clarity and strength to face the inevitable challenges ahead. Tisha B’Av is commonly considered a day of mourning for our losses. Yet, it is more than that. It is also a day of recalling what is expected of us, reinforcing the promise of hope always emerging after a period of pain. H.O.P.E. ? “Hold On, Pain Ends.”
Hope is a core value in Judaism. Just as we believe in the rebuilding of the Third Temple with the coming of the Moshiach, we are reminded that renewal is always possible. This deep faith can inspire us to rebuild our own lives after hardship, guiding us toward growth and healing. One of Judaism’s 13 Principles of Faith says: “I believe with complete faith in the coming of the Messiah.” Renewal and redemption are always possible, in the world and within ourselves.
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares a weekly D’var Torah for Young Israel of San Diego, where he and his family are members. They are also active members of Congregation Adat Yeshurun.