By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D. in El Cajon, California
Let’s begin at the beginning of this week’s parsha, which we read on the Shabbos before Tisha B’Av every year, and look at the first words of the Torah reading, “These are the words which Moshe spoke unto all of Israel across the Jordan…” Yes, Moshe spoke his words to ALL Jews, not just those alive then, but to all, including us today. When we read this parsha, Moshe is speaking directly to me and to you. This makes Devarim a particularly human parsha, one in which Moshe establishes a quite personal relationship with each of us.
And he speaks his words of rebuke and critique with unconditional positive regard for all. He demonstrates mussar in showing us how to preserve the dignity of human beings, kavod ha beriyot, by building up the sinner, as it says in Proverbs (9:8), “Do not rebuke the scoffer, for he will hate you; Reprove a wise man and he will love you.” Rashi also teaches us that Moshe only hinted at the serious sins of that generation to avoid shaming and embarrassing others.
Oh, if we all only abided by this example, what a wonderful world it would be. But alas, we are all simply human. In this parsha, we are given exhortation and warnings. We are taught that as a society striving to be at a certain level of moral behavior, with each other and for each other, will help insure our survival.
As we begin Sefer Devarim, we encounter Moshe in the closing chapter of his own remarkable life. After leading the Israelites for 40 years through triumphs, failures, rebellion, miracles, and endless uncertainty, he knows his time is drawing to a close. These are not simply farewell remarks. They are the culmination of a lifetime of leadership, teaching, and loving a people who often tested his patience. If anyone had earned the right to remind the Israelites of every mistake they had made, it was Moshe. Yet that is not what he does.
The Sages notice something remarkable about Moshe’s words. When Moshe recalls Israel’s past failures, he does so indirectly. Rather than publicly recounting every sin, he refers to places whose names evoke memories the people would immediately recognize. “Di Zahav” quietly reminds them of the Golden Calf. Other locations recall moments of complaining, fear, and missed opportunities. Moshe trusted that they would understand without being humiliated.
That restraint is striking. It tells us as much about Moshe’s character as it does about his message. He understood that preserving another person’s dignity is not secondary to delivering the message; it is part of the message itself. The goal of rebuke is not to make someone feel worse about themselves. The goal is to help them become better.
People rarely change because they feel ashamed. Shame almost always leads to defensiveness, withdrawal, resentment, or denial. Genuine growth, on the other hand, begins when people feel respected enough to honestly examine themselves. We lower our defenses when we know we are safe. We become open to change when we know we are not being condemned.
That is precisely what Moshe models.
Long before there were studies on emotional regulation, motivation, or interpersonal communication, Moshe demonstrated that timing, tone, and compassion matter just as much as content. The words themselves are important, but equally important is whether those words can actually be heard.
Most of us know what it feels like to receive criticism that was intended to help but only left us feeling diminished. We also know the extraordinary impact of someone who gently pointed out something we needed to hear while never causing us to question our worth. The difference isn’t merely what was said. It is how it was said and why it was said.
That “why” deserves our attention.
When we offer criticism, whose needs are we serving? Are we genuinely motivated by concern for another person’s well-being, or are we reacting because their behavior inconveniences us? Those motivations can easily become confused. We may overlook habits that are genuinely harmful to someone we love because confronting them feels uncomfortable. Yet we quickly point out behaviors that irritate us, disrupt us, or make our own lives more difficult.
The Rambam teaches that the mitzvah of tochecha, offering rebuke, is rooted in love. We speak because we care about another person’s welfare, not because we need to vent our frustration. That distinction changes everything. One conversation strengthens a relationship; the other weakens it.
This is especially true within families. Ironically, we often reserve our least patient words for the people we love most. Because we feel safe with them, we sometimes speak with a level of bluntness we would never use with a colleague, client, or even a stranger. Yet those closest to us are also the ones whose hearts we most want to protect.
Parents know this struggle well. There is an understandable temptation to explain everything to our children. We want them to avoid our mistakes, embrace our values, and make wiser decisions than we did. Sometimes that desire leads us into lengthy lectures that begin with good intentions but end with glazed eyes and closed ears. We speak longer because we care more. Yet children, like adults, often remember a calm conversation, a thoughtful question, or a meaningful story long after they have forgotten an extended lecture.
Perhaps that is why Moshe spends so much of Sefer Devarim telling stories. Rather than simply issuing commands, he revisits experiences. He reminds the people where they have been so they can better understand where they are going. Stories have a way of reaching places that arguments cannot. They engage not only the mind but also the heart.
That may explain another fascinating feature of Devarim. More than any other book of the Torah, it emphasizes teaching and learning, and lessons in mussar. Moses understands that his leadership is ending, but the lessons must continue. His greatest concern is not that the people remember him. It is that they remember the covenant and live by it. Like every loving parent and every wise leader, he recognizes that his influence will continue not through his presence but through the values he leaves behind.
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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.