א. הַאֲזִינוּ הַשָּׁמַיִם וַאֲדַבֵּרָה וְתִשְׁמַע הָאָרֶץ אִמְרֵי פִי:.
ב. יַעֲרֹף כַּמָּטָר לִקְחִי תִּזַּל כַּטַּל אִמְרָתִי כִּשְׂעִירִם עֲלֵי דֶשֶׁא וְכִרְבִיבִים עֲלֵי עֵשֶׂב:
ג. כִּי שֵׁם יְהֹוָה אֶקְרָא הָבוּ גֹדֶל לֵאלֹהֵינוּ:
ד. הַצּוּר תָּמִים פָּעֳלוֹ כִּי כָל דְּרָכָיו מִשְׁפָּט אֵל אֱמוּנָה וְאֵין עָוֶל צַדִּיק וְיָשָׁר הוּא:
ה. שִׁחֵת לוֹ לֹּא בָּנָיו מוּמָם דּוֹר עִקֵּשׁ וּפְתַלְתֹּל:
ו. הַלְיהֹוָה תִּגְמְלוּ זֹאת עַם נָבָל וְלֹא חָכָם הֲלוֹא הוּא אָבִיךָ קָּנֶךָ הוּא עָשְׂךָ וַיְכֹנְנֶךָ:
ז. זְכֹר יְמוֹת עוֹלָם בִּינוּ שְׁנוֹת דֹּר וָדֹר שְׁאַל אָבִיךָ וְיַגֵּדְךָ זְקֵנֶיךָ וְיֹאמְרוּ לָךְ:
ח. בְּהַנְחֵל עֶלְיוֹן גּוֹיִם בְּהַפְרִידוֹ בְּנֵי אָדָם יַצֵּב גְּבֻלֹת עַמִּים לְמִסְפַּר בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל:
ט. כִּי חֵלֶק יְהֹוָה עַמּוֹ יַעֲקֹב חֶבֶל נַחֲלָתוֹ:
s1. Listen, O heavens, and I will speak! And let the earth hear the words of my mouth!
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"G‑d’s word is like rain in a dry land. It brings life. It makes things grow. There is much we can do of our own accord: we can plow the earth and plant the seeds. But in the end, our success depends on something beyond our control. If no rain falls, there will be no harvest, whatever preparations we make...There is only one Torah, yet it has multiple effects. It gives rise to different kinds of teaching, different sorts of virtue. Torah is sometimes seen by its critics as overly prescriptive, as if it sought to make everyone the same. The midrash argues otherwise. The Torah is compared to rain precisely to emphasize that its most important effect is to make each of us grow into what we could become. We are not all the same, nor does Torah seek uniformity. As a famous mishnah puts it:
When a human being makes many coins from the same mint, they are all the same. G-d makes everyone in the same image—yet none is the same as another."
- Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
"Let my teaching fall like rain: Just as the rain is one thing, yet it falls on trees, enabling each to produce tasty fruit according to the kind of tree it is—the vine in its way, the olive tree in its way and the date palm in its way—so the Torah is one, yet its words yield Scripture, Mishnah, laws and lore. Like showers on new grass: just as showers fall upon plants and make them grow, some green, some red, some black, some white, so the words of Torah produce teachers, worthy individuals, sages, the righteous and the pious."
- Sifrei
The analogy of a rope, whose upper end is bound above (to G-d? to the universe?) and the lower below (to the earth? to us?), is compared to the soul. In our tradition, part of our soul is bound above, and part of the soul is enclosed in our body. There are many profound implications, and lessons, of the rope imagery described in this week's parsha, Haazinu:Just as a rope is comprised of many strands, our relationship with a divine presence is multifaceted, multi-sensory, and its complexity is what gives it strength.
Each of the mitzvot, the ethics given to us in the Torah, can be seen as individual threads of a greater rope that keep us intensely connected to G‑d, and each other. When we neglect these ethics, it causes some strands to disconnect and the entire rope to weaken.
A tug on the bottom of a rope will pull down the top of the rope, too. The implication is that everything I do affects G‑d. Maybe it's G-d that's on the other end of my rope. When I fall, I drag G-d down with me.
That can be a frightening thought. It makes G‑d seem vulnerable.
It means that G‑d is with us all the time, even when we have fallen down. The rope connecting us ensures that we are never in crisis alone.