Deuteronomy - Cycle One - 0101-0322 - Devarim

Devarim begins with an exact location…where Moses speaks to the Israelites. There’s detail and urgency in that first long sentence. In fact, so much happens before this portion even seems to begin, before Moses speaks (and we get to the real juice) that there’s an almost there kind of feeling. Then, there’s the number eleven. Eleven places are mentioned, it’s an eleven day journey to get to this location, and Moses speaks on the first of the eleventh month. Since there are twelve tribes of Israel, eleven further emphasizes this sense of almost completion.

And that’s Devarim. The bounty is in sight. The rush is on. You are at the final stages of a long journey. Your backpack is bulging with the enormity of the work done, that final twist in the path (or is it final?), this push of adrenalin, the great beat of your heart. You can almost touch the Promised Land, or (as I like to see it) the vision of divine consciousness. You have the focus, the millions of visions, the many names, the Kings you fought as well as the thirst and dead along the way. You have memories of waterfalls perhaps, of great acts of purification to drive out the giants of doubt, despair and fear, great intention, great fatigue, a buzz in your mind, almost microscopic intimacy with the details, the little moments. You’re so near collapse, mentally and physically, that you sometimes forget your breath. You’re insane from fear and desperation, so close to the light you can’t see it anymore. Without a final marker you feel like you’re heading the wrong way or in a state of stasis and more madness. No, you will never reach the peak like this. And then you have an epiphany, a transformation. You suddenly know where to go. You are no longer scared.

What could have happened? Was it a miracle?

At another level, as the core of God radiates out from the center, it can push your divine light away to the point of exile (see BeChuko-Thai 26:33). But with that same frequency, it can also pull you in (see BuChoko-Thai 26:41 to 43). That moment of pull is a great one. It’s the moment of return, when creation meets embracing, expansion meets contraction, and inhale meets exhale. Your divine spark shoots out of the divine hemisphere, and now, with that same force, it is in mid-turn and about to shoot right back in. You have your back to God and now you face Him in His exquisite light. The irony is that it takes the intimacy of transformation to transform. Your divine spark needs a catalyst to turn. Therefore, yes, the turning is nothing short of a miracle, a gift. In Devarim this miracle occurs right before the crossing of the Zered Brook. And like with any turning, the power of it parallels the depth of the pain experienced.

First, let’s look at the miracle. In Deuteronomy, God instructs the Israelites not to attack the land of Moab. In an odd parallel, Moab is compared to Seir. It seems in both cases the original occupants are driven out and annihilated (the former by the Moabites, the latter by the descendants of Esau). These actions are described in a finished past tense. They are solid.

Moses then says that this is exactly what the Israelites are to do in the land they have inherited. Suddenly, we’re in a future action based on the completed past (the inheritance). Is the future action perfect or imperfect? Completed or in process? The translations seem to differ. In any case, this reference (especially after 40 years of wandering) could seem surreal and distant like a dream but here it is strengthened. Not only is it the third example of its kind (and three’s the charm) but it is a vision of ourselves, a picture. Is it a violent one? One of suffering? Are we really to annihilate others? It is our choice. In Massey 33-52 we see that the driving out of the inhabitants is a symbol of a cleansing so that each individual human spark can merge with the divine. Many such illusions are in Torah, the purging of the impure from our bodies, from our communities, so that we can approach God’s radiance (see Acharey Moth and Kedoshim). So even though Seir and the Moab infer bloodshed and brutality, it isn’t ours to own. The miracle, ironically, is this same picture of violence that joins us together. Like all pictures, it can be seen from different angles or prisms. In short, it can be turned. And in so doing we can turn ourselves and face God. We can transform.

In Chukath 21:4-12, the crossing of the Zered brook happens right after the frightening scene with the snakes. Aaron has just died. There’s guilt, grieving, more battles within ourselves, suffering so extreme it drives us mad with snakebites. This desperation and obsession with pain brings us to an edge where the only thing that can cure us is to observe the details of our obsessions. Moses makes a copper snake and places it on a high pole. This visualization becomes a stronger experience than the suffering. Our emotions, our need to cause suffering, we realize, is nothing but an attempt to avoid the deeper truth. If we can look at the picture from a distance, like in Devarim, we can turn it. And in so doing we turn ourselves and face God. We can transform.

There is no doubt then that a transformation occurs right before the crossing of the Zered brook. How are we shown therefore that the brook is important?

There are all kinds of hints. We’ve already experienced the shock from Numbers to Deuteronomy. We’ve gone from the most distant voice possible (3rd omniscient) to almost the most intimate (2nd person past). Changes in voice are often used in Torah to create openings (for example, in Balak). Here, we’ve been hurled from the outskirts of consciousness (the all knowing place of he) into the place of you. Before, God was speaking to Moses and now Moses is speaking to us. It is a moment of culmination. In Torah, this isn’t the first time that there’s a presentation to the people, to the community, in other words, to us (see Exodus). This moment in Devarim is extended and ignited. Closer and closer we get to the sublime. In the recitation, explanation and consolidation of past adventures, it almost feels like our lives are being blurted out, quickly, to move us forward faster. Yes, we are almost there, to the place of divine consciousness. It’s urgent. It’s intimate. It’s Numbers on acid. It’s a wild ride. It’s hard to stay balanced, to keep up, to breathe. Then, we are jolted into the present with direct address. Now get moving and cross the Zered Brook. In another translation: Now rise up and get you over the Brook Zered.

In both translations the quotes are sudden (without transition) and we aren’t even given the benefit of dialogue tags. Who is speaking? God? Moses? Is it our own inner voice urging us on? Have things gotten so intimate that more (such as a reference to the speaker) might frighten us out of our transformation? The change is so fast that you know something is happening. You just don’t know what. It takes time to bring it in, to embrace it.

Second, there’s the repetition. The crossing is referred to three times. Each crossing is a new crossing, one of greater intensity and depth. Let’s quickly look at the crossing of the Arnon brook for comparison (Devarim 2:24). There isn’t any repetition. It feels in process. In my opinion, the crossing of the Zered has more in common with the deaths of Nabav and Abihu (Acharey Moth 16-1). There, we also learn that their deaths are that….and more. What matters here is the more. Death is hard. We are all hurt when others have to die. The aim here though is to get beyond suffering, to see it and to turn it and to set our own transformation in that which is more. Finally, in the third repetition of the crossing of the Zered we learn that 38 years have elapsed and the generation of warriors has died out. Therefore, the Israelites can now enter the Promised Land. We have been cleansed. We can merge with divine consciousness.

This is a big realization. The truth is though that we can’t merge if we don’t cross the Zered brook. We have to get moving. We have to move within, to breathe. With breath and balance we can now use the energy of our transformation to propel us towards the center of God. How many times have we reflected His beauty and done something kind and then stopped? Have we thought, in meditation, oh, this is too frightening. And then stopped. Have we been gifted with enough light to awaken the dead and then figured that the light will do the work (not us). How often have we thought that our turning from twenty years ago was enough and now we can sell out? Have we kept our light for ourselves? Have we made excuses, have run from either the embracing or the creating process; have exchanged one for the other? How often have we been transformed and then, because of habit or fear, once again clung to suffering? Have we looked at ourselves with equanimity, from a distance, have started to turn and then stopped? Have we seen the joy of the greater picture and known our breath then stopped knowing? Have we, in fear, preferred to focus on the image of violence and despair? I think the lesson here is that transformation is not enough. We want to breathe and embrace it. We want to use that kinetic energy from exile to send our divine spark towards that even greater light, towards the radiant core of the divine.

So, may we all know a miracle when we see one. May we know our breath during the rush, urgency and intimacy that frames each miracle. May we extend that miracle into an eternal moment as we transform. And may we gift our shine to all and ride it with joy and laughter beyond the territory of despair, over the Zered brook and right into the lap of the primal spark, the flame of peace and love. May we turn and breathe and turn some more. May we dance right into the embrace of God.