On Shabbat Mevarchim Elul, we read Parashat Re’eh, which is replete with mitzvot, as are the subsequent parashot. The attempt to find a common denominator for the mitzvot in Moshe’s Devarim address, and their division into Torah portions, is challenged by the need to explain all the mitzvot that deviate from that definition, exposing its shortcomings. I would nevertheless like to suggest a common thread that links many of the mitzvot in Parashat Re’eh, which relates to the nature of the teshuvah process that begins with the onset of Elul, the month of repentance.
The thread that weaves the various mitzvot in Parashat Re’eh is helping Torah-observant people to recognize their control over the cultural and social norms of their environment, and their own negative natural tendencies.
The parasha opens with a directive for Am Yisrael to purge the land of all remnants of idol worship when they enter Eretz Yisrael: “You shall utterly destroy all the places where the nations whom you shall dispossess served their gods,” (Deut. 12:2), and instead establish the worship of God, cleansed of characteristics that typified idolatrous worship practices: “Only you shall not eat the blood; you shall pour it upon the earth like water” (Deut. 12:16).
The Torah recognizes the depth of cultural temptation and the difficulty of separating oneself from the surrounding environment, and therefore positions the mitzvot of eradicating idolatrous worship as an urgent need that must be accomplished alongside the military effort of conquering and settling the land.
The next mitzvah permits eating meat even outside the framework of the Shelamim peace offering, which was apparently prohibited during the journeys in the wilderness. This allowance became necessary given the wide dispersion of settlement in the Land of Israel, far from the Mikdash. However, even given the permission, eating guidelines are provided, designed to prevent gluttonous and unrestrained consumption, limiting the type of meat, the rules of its slaughter, and the obligation to pour out the blood, as the author of Sefer HaChinukh explains (Mitzvah 452):
"From the roots of the commandment: So that we do not train ourselves in the attribute of cruelty, which is a most despicable trait. Indeed, there is no greater cruelty in the world than one who cuts a limb or flesh from a living animal while it is still alive before him and eats it. I have already written many times about the great benefit to us in acquiring good traits and distancing ourselves from bad ones, for good clings to good."
The next three prohibitions in the parasha describe attempts at incitement by false prophets, family members, or tyrannical leadership, to incorporate elements of idol worship among individuals or groups. The methods of temptation used by the inciters are sophisticated and rely on magical sleight of hand - “a prophet or dreamer of dreams,” family conscience - “when your brother or your mother’s son entices you,” or positions of power taken by “evil men.” The Torah does not spare those who are tempted, expecting them to succeed in repelling attempts at seduction and withstanding the power of the inciters.
The mitzvah that seems to demand the most strenuous control from a person, despite their emotional state, is the restraint required of someone while mourning for the death of relatives: “You are children of the Lord your God; you shall not cut yourselves nor make any baldness between your eyes for the dead.” Although we do not live in a culture in which such acts are accepted, we can understand from the verse that explains the prohibition against harming the body—”for you are a holy people to the Lord your God, and the Lord has chosen you to be His treasured people from all peoples who are on the face of the earth”—that the purpose of the prohibition is to limit the scope of mourning, based on faith that this is God’s will, as the Malbim explains there:
Therefore, one should know that every grief and bad incident, God forbid, is the will of God, for His honor, or for atonement of the sin of the living person, which is also God’s honor and will, and it is fitting that one who is set apart for God to nullify his sorrow before God’s will.
In other words, even in times of disaster, there is no place for emotional release, and rational-faithful thinking and acceptance of divine judgment in submission are required.
The restriction on eating certain types of birds and fish as detailed later in the parasha once again sets an expectation to put aside one’s physical needs and desires, exercise judgment, and refrain from foods that do not meet halakhic criteria. Stories of heroism from Hamas captives over this past year demonstrate the exemplary restraint of those who seek to be meticulous about the boundaries of these laws, even in situations of pikuach nefesh.
The prohibition of cooking meat and milk, which concludes the laws of forbidden foods, has been offered various explanations that counter it with prevalent idolatrous practices, or as stemming from concern for animal suffering. Whatever the reason, these laws demand restraint and curbing one’s desires in order to observe the prohibition according to halakha.
The next section of Parashat Re’eh features mitzvot related to a person’s wealth, including methods of its distribution, the manner of enjoying its fruits, explicit mitzvot to relinquish some wealth due to the obligation to give to others, or even to forgive loans that were given with the thought that they would be returned to the owner. The Torah does not recognize a person’s absolute ownership over their own property, even when acquired through hard work.
Halakhah relies on a person’s value system to dictate that the distress of others and the need to support them will overcome their desire for wealth. Parashat Re’eh thus reveals the beauty of the Jewish paradox: precisely when a person limits their natural freedom in choosing their food, expressing their emotions, and managing their property—they merit true freedom from the shackles of culture, nature, and society.
In Sifrei Devarim on one of the mitzvot in the parasha, the prohibition is elevated from a personal family guidance to a public imperative (Sifrei Re’eh 96):
You shall not cut yourselves—do not make factions, but all of you should be one faction.
The midrash ignores the continuation of the verse, which suggests that the prohibition addresses the reality of responding to death, and uproots the commandment from its context in a sequence of laws directed at the individual. Parashat Shoftim will outline a list of public laws, and there too the obligation to listen to the authority of the sages will be emphasized to prevent disputes. Why did the author of the midrash of Sifrei Devarim decide to interpret what is clearly an individual mitzvah as directing the public toward unity?
I would like to propose an interpretation that integrates with the atmosphere of the current war, which is reminiscent of the atmosphere in which many of the traditions of Sifrei Deuteronomy were written, in the years following the failure of the Bar Kokhba revolt, as the Jews of Eretz Yisrael were overcoming the great disaster that befell them. The experience of disaster involving casualties often causes division, stemming from pointing an accusing finger at those who navigated the situation.
The midrash in Sifrei (like other drashot throughout the literature of midrashei halakhah) wishes to restrain human nature in searching for culprits and emphasize unity instead. The continuation of the verse—”for you are a holy people to the Lord your God, and the Lord has chosen you to be His treasured people from all peoples who are on the face of the earth”—reminds us that Israeli public life does not depend on agreeing on a uniform course of action, but stems from an eternal primordial choice. Only faith in this greater connection will enable the wounds of disaster to heal.
Dr. Brachi Elitzur researches midrash on biblical narratives and characters through postbiblical and Rabbinic literature to understand the shifts they undergo throughout the generations. She is the author of Portraits through the Generations. Dr. Elitzur is currently in the second cohort of the Kitvuni Fellowship program, writing a book that will take the reader along the paths of Aggadah on the book of Genesis.