(1) Moses summoned all Israel and said to them: You have seen all that Adonai did before your very eyes in the land of Egypt, to Pharaoh and to all his courtiers and to his whole country: (2) the wondrous feats that you saw with your own eyes, those prodigious signs and marvels. (3) Yet to this day Adonai has not given you a mind to understand or eyes to see or ears to hear. (4) I led you through the wilderness forty years; the clothes on your back did not wear out, nor did the sandals on your feet; (5) you had no bread to eat and no wine or other intoxicant to drink—that you might know that I, Adonai, am your God.
(9) Moses and the levitical priests spoke to all Israel, saying: Silence! Hear, O Israel! Today you have become the people of Adonai your God: (10) Heed the Adonai your God and observe God's commandments and God's laws, which I enjoin upon you this day.
"To this day" — I have heard that on the day when Moses gave the Book of the Law to the sons of Levi, as it is written, (Deuteronomy 31:9): “And he gave it to the priests the sons of Levi”, all [the rest of the people of] Israel came before Moses and said to him: Teacher Moses, we, too, stood at Sinai and accepted the Torah, and it was given to us; why, then, do you give the people of your tribe control over it, that they may tomorrow say to us, “Not to you was it given, but to us was it given?” Moses rejoiced at this matter and in reference to this he said to them, (Deuteronomy 27:9) “This day have you become the people Adonai your God,” meaning, Only this day have I come to understand that you are attached to and have a desire for God.
Rabbi Elimelech Bar-Shaul
There is a magnificent teaching here in these verses for all generations and all situations. A person can see wondrous things, true revelations, and yet, paradoxically, not see them…The blessed Almighty gives the person eyes to see and ears to hear and a heart to understand, but it is the person who must choose to see and hear and understand. It is the person who must open his eyes well to see, and even then he cannot see unless he also opens his heart to understand. For if a person just sees with his eyes alone, he may react emotionally. But as long he does not direct his mind to what he has seen, his emotional reactions will fall short of understanding
Rabbi Michael Barclay
The 13th-century mystic Rumi taught, “Mysteries are not meant to be solved. The eye goes blind when it only wants to see why.” This Torah portion reminds us that our senses are not only for understanding the physical world, but also for deepening our spiritual relationship with God.
As we approach Rosh Hashanah, it is crucial to remember this teaching. All year, we easily forget what is important and get caught up in our physical experience. What we see or hear distracts us, keeping us in a cycle of concern only about physical needs and passions. Mortgages, school, finances and the like become our focus. We pay attention to distractions that we see rather than remembering that sight itself is miraculous. We focus on the music instead of being in awe that God created humans with musical talent. This passage reminds us to step back for a moment, re-evaluate our lives and remember the purpose of our souls.
Cheshbon ha-nefesh, an “accounting of the soul,” is the process we are to utilize during this time to look at our life practices and values. Have I really lived a life of depth? Have my priorities been reflected in my behavior? We must not be distracted by the glitter and sounds, but instead focus on the deeper desires of our soul.
Gratitude - Mary Oliver
What did you notice?
The dew-snail;
the low-flying sparrow;
the bat, on the wind, in the dark;
big-chested geese, in the V of sleekest performance;
the soft toad, patient in the hot sand;
the sweet-hungry ants;
the uproar of mice in the empty house;
the tin music of the cricket’s body;
the blouse of the goldenrod.
What did you hear?
The thrush greeting the morning;
the little bluebirds in their hot box;
the salty talk of the wren,
then the deep cup of the hour of silence.
When did you admire?
The oaks, letting down their dark and hairy fruit;
the carrot, rising in its elongated waist;
the onion, sheet after sheet, curved inward to the pale green wand;
at the end of summer the brassy dust, the almost liquid beauty of the flowers;
then the ferns, scrawned black by the frost.
What astonished you?
The swallows making their dip and turn over the water.
What would you like to see again?
My dog: her energy and exuberance, her willingness,
her language beyond all nimbleness of tongue,
her recklessness, her loyalty, her sweetness,
her strong legs, her curled black lip, her snap.
What was most tender?
Queen Anne’s lace, with its parsnip root;
the everlasting in its bonnets of wool;
the kinks and turns of the tupelo’s body;
the tall, blank banks of sand;
the clam, clamped down.
What was most wonderful?
The sea, and its wide shoulders;
the sea and its triangles;
the sea lying back on its long athlete’s spine.
What did you think was happening?
The green beast of the hummingbird;
the eye of the pond;
the wet face of the lily;
the bright, puckered knee of the broken oak;
the red tulip of the fox’s mouth;
the up-swing, the down-pour, the frayed sleeve of the first snow—
so the gods shake us from our sleep.