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There is a particular Jewish genius for scheduling the worst possible feedback session at the worst possible time, and then calling it mercy. This week, while we are already approaching Tisha B’Av with the emotional buoyancy of a damp mattress, tradition gives us two interventions in rapid succession. First comes Parashat Devarim, in which Moshe, a man who once insisted he was “not a man of words,” embarks on a speech so extensive that it requires an entire book. Then comes the Haftarah of Chazon, in which Isaiah surveys the spiritual condition of Jerusalem and delivers the most eloquent “we need to talk” in recorded literature.
Within days, we will sit on the floor and mourn the destruction of the Temples, the exile of our people, and several thousand years of history displaying an alarming commitment to worsening after dark.
You might imagine that a nation preparing to commemorate its greatest catastrophes would be permitted a little emotional cushioning. Perhaps a reassuring Torah portion involving rainbows, ladders, or somebody finding a wife beside a well.
Instead, we get Moshe and Isaiah.
Apparently grief requires a warm-up act.
Devarim is generally described as Moshe’s final address to the Jewish people, although “final” is being used here in the traditional Jewish sense: announced several times, followed by considerably more talking, several additional blessings and at least one crucial point remembered at the door.
Moshe stands on the edge of the Promised Land, which he will not enter, and begins reviewing 40 years of national history for the benefit of the people who will.
He recalls the appointment of judges, the disastrous episode of the spies, the refusal to enter the land and the battles with Sihon and Og. The Golden Calf has not yet been called to the witness stand. That humiliation is scheduled for later, because even a dying prophet understands episodic structure.
Moshe does not produce a sentimental slideshow entitled “Our Wilderness Journey,” set to flute music and........
