The Reflective Lessons are in the Humble Details

This morning we awakened to the news that Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz had passed away. In many ways he embodied the idea of living a life like Moshe's unadorned Ark, as is reflected in an ideal described below. 

Parshat Eikev

by Rabbi Avi Billet 

The Book of Devarim is referred to by the Sages as “Mishneh Torah.” Some translate this to mean a “review of the Torah,” but the fact that the Sefer HeChinukh counts 200 mitzvot in the final book of the Torah would stand to suggest that the phrase would be better understood as “the portion of the Torah that requires the most review” rather than a repeat of things seen before. Think of the phrase “v’shinantam l’vanekha” – you shall review with your child – as a proof for this direction of thinking. 

Most of the book is a collection of Moshe’s final speeches to the Israelites, so it certainly contains a review of some elements of national history, such as the separate incidents of appointments of judges and spies, as recorded in Devarim 1, recollections of Revelation in Devarim 5, and now re-experiencing the events surrounding the Golden Calf in Devarim 9-10. 

The retelling of these tales inevitably includes tidbits we did not see in the first go-around, and two of my favorites in Parshat Eikev are the presence of a river flowing from the mountain (9:21) and the instruction Moshe had been given to make a temporary Ark for the Luchot (10:1-5). [There is also the odd mention of Aharon’s death in the context of the Golden Calf (10:6), though he died almost 40 years later – see Yerushalmi Yomaa 1:1 and Sotah 1:10.] 

The Ark that Moshe made is not the Ark Betzalel made for the Mishkan (see Rashi on Devarim 10:1). One simple proof is that this is a wooden Ark, while Betzalel’s was significantly adorned with gold. We could ask the question as to what the plan was for the first Luchot, as Moshe makes clear that he was only instructed to make the Ark at the same time he was instructed to carve out the second set of tablets which he was to bring up the mountain for his final 40-day venture, at which time God was to one again inscribe the words of the “Ten Commandments.” Ramban says he wasn’t given this instruction for the first Luchot, because God knew the first ones would be broken. Or HaChaim argues they were so supernatural they would have stored themselves had they not been destroyed by Moshe. He further suggests that Moshe was instructed by God to make an Ark “for you” (meaning for Moshe) to indicate that the second Luchot were actually Moshe’s, for he had carved them out himself and now would need a place to store them, whereas the first Luchot were entirely of God’s design in both selection and engraving. A number of sources indicate that the pieces of the broken Luchot were gathered and put into the Ark along with the second Luchot (Baba Batra 14b, Yerushalmi: Shekalim 6:1, Sotah 8:3). 

I do not know why these details were not shared with us in Parshat Ki Tisa. Perhaps in the heat of everything else going on, these details seemed a little trite. There was so much more at stake at the time, the peoples’ concerns for where the Luchot were to be stored seemed largely unimportant in the scheme of things. Now, in hindsight, it is at least an interesting question. But is there more to what Moshe is trying to teach us through his recounting these details to the Israelites? 

There are different messages and lessons to be gleaned from this episode, when we look at the narrative through colored glasses that look beyond the unfolding of the narrative Moshe describes. 

Rabbi Moshe Shternbuch noted that the broken Luchot, having been forged by God (ma’aseh Elokim) and therefore of a superior holiness level, can be deemed breakable when Israel is not worthy of having them. This indicates that a scholar who studies Torah but does not guard it, especially if he is exalted through his Torah knowledge or is praised for his wisdom has only taken a “sam hamavet” (toxin) for himself. In placing the Tablets in the wooden ark, Moshe was demonstrating that Torah is not meant to be stored in those who are haughty. 

Unadorned wood, as we know from the plain coffins we traditionally use for traditional Jewish funerals (also interestingly called an “Aron”), is symbolic of humility. In a sense, it is the ultimate equalizer, perhaps even demonstrating that just as everyone is equal in death, the Torah is meant to be an equalizer in that no one is to personally feel more elevated on account of one’s Torah accomplishments. [This means that even if someone is honored by others on account of one’s Torah achievements, this should not get to the person’s head. People may choose to follow a rabbinic leader, but the rabbinic leader is not supposed to demand fealty.] 

Rabbi Shternbuch continued suggesting that the broken and second Luchot were placed right next to each other to indicate that if a person handles oneself properly, Torah – the lasting set of Luchot – becomes an elixir for him. One who does not merit has the broken Luchot (as a metaphor) serve as a toxin. 

Therefore, everyone has a choice: embrace Torah in its completed form, with holiness and humility, or in its broken form (without humility), from which the holiness departed. 

Another message that can be gleaned from having both sets of Luchot in one Ark is that there is a constant reminder of what each can represent. The first Luchot were a highest ideal. God’s attributes were relatively short-tempered, the demands upon the people were strong, our end of the bargain subject to significant scrutiny. In a sense, the covenant forged over the first Luchot was either unattainable, or at the very least unsustainable. 

The second Luchot, the ones which survived, were accompanied by God’s 13 Attributes of Mercy, which provided a framework for a much more sustainable relationship between the Almighty and the Israelite nation. 

Both sets of Luchot are placed together in the same Ark to show that second chances can exist and they can be everlasting, but the ideal, although broken, is still there. It is something we ought to think about, to contemplate, to include in our lexicon as something we would like to achieve, if we could only figure out how to mend what is broken, how to turn back the clock to a time when we were more innocent, had better energy, weren’t jaded by our recent experiences, weren’t cajoled into a place from which we feel stuck with the second best, no longer pining for that ideal because life got in the way. 

Is it wrong to look back on errors (or missed opportunities) we wish we could have again? There is what to be said about learning from mistakes, growing from the chances we lost or messed up, looking at the old photo albums with wistful nostalgia. There is also tremendous value in looking more forward than in the rearview mirror. 

Moshe’s original Ark is meant to remind us that what needs to guide all life choices is to go about life simply and humbly. For the most part, we are in charge of our own destiny. While there are hopefully always people who help us along the way, it is our choices, decisions, and courses of action which are most significant in determining the path our lives take. 

Sometimes we completely miss this. Sometimes we fall into the trap of blaming others when things don’t go the way we might have preferred. Upon introspection, sometimes we see it actually was our fault that things turned out negatively. Sometimes we may see that things which did not seem so good at the time turned out to be amazing blessings – only visible through the viewpoint of the passage of time, in the panorama of a reflective life. 

If a humble Ark can help us see this, this added detail of the story that Moshe shares with the Israelites in the last weeks of his life may be Moshe’s way of demonstrating, or perhaps even seeing in his own personal experience, that when one reflects on a life lived with honesty and humility, many things become much more clear in hindsight than they were in the moment. 

May we be blessed, through our humility and introspection, to achieve this kind of clarity.