The Torah ends with one of the most tragic – and profound – verses ever written. “And Moses died there, in the Valley of Moab, and God buried him there, and no one knows where he is buried until this day.”
As the Torah ends, we see the limits of human power. Moses, the man who came closer to God than any person in history, the man who said “take me first” when God threatened the Jewish people, dies there. And no one knows where he is buried until this day.
But Nachman of Breslov focused on two words in the verse. “No one knows,” says Rav Nachman, “not even Moses.”
According to Rav Nachman, this was God’s final gift to Moses – the awareness that for all he had lived through, for all the signs and wonders that he had seen, he was just beginning to learn. The most precious gift, says Rav Nachman, is the gift of not knowing, the awareness that there is more to this world than we can ever imagine, and that someday, perhaps, we will be wiser.
We Jews are known as the people of the book. That book – the Torah – has guided us and sustained us for thousands of years. But perhaps it would be more accurate to say that we are a people who learn together and grow together.
We sit around our study tables, not as experts but as learners, hoping to find comfort, hoping to find meaning in our lives. And we realize that there are many truths. Our life journeys may all be different, but there is a oneness in our need to grow, our need to understand, our sense that there is something beyond us, something that we will never fully understand.
Each of us holds a piece of a giant jigsaw puzzle, a flash of insight into life’s mysteries. We will never be complete without each other’s pieces. We must love each other and care for each other because none of us is complete.
We can never completely understand God, Rav Nachman tells us. But with each passing day, we can become more aware of the godliness in others, more willing to act, more willing to care. And that caring is all that we can accomplish on this earth.
There’s an old story about two men who ask a rabbi to settle a dispute. The first man makes his case and the rabbi says, “You’re right.” Then the second man make his case and the rabbi says, “You’re right.” Finally, a passerby says, “Rabbi, they both can’t be right.” And the rabbi says, “You’re right, too.”
We laugh at the joke the first time we hear it. But eventually, we come to understand the rabbi’s wisdom. “Both of you are holy.” he is saying to them. “Both of you have valid points. Listen to each other, care for each other, and create a better world.” This is the essence of Jewish spirituality. And it is the essence of justice.
But in recent weeks we’ve seen a different kind of spirituality. We’ve seen Supreme Court justices praying with their clergy as they reverse the law of the land and destroy the lives of millions of women. The old bromide, “Don’t judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes” is just a variation of a teaching from the Talmud.
The idea that six Justices have special wisdom, that they can impose their religious beliefs on us runs contrary to who we are. Nothing could be further from Rav Nachman’s teaching. “Nobody knows,” he reminds us, “not even Moses.” No one can act with religious certainty. We are all just seekers – the walking wounded, sent here to help each other.
Rabbi Israel Salanter, the founder of the Mussar Movement, taught that spirituality is not about forcing our sense of certainty on others. Spirituality is about changing ourselves so that we become more sensitive to the cries of others. “Other people’s physical needs are my spiritual needs,” he wrote.
When a 10-year old is raped, our spiritual need isn’t to blame her. Our spiritual need isn’t to lecture her. Our job is to comfort her and to protect her and to make sure that abortion services are available.
May we work together to create a world that is more caring, a world in which the love for each other is more important than dogma. And may sanity and kindness return to our country.