Deuteronomy chapters 29-30 takes place on Moses’ last day. Here he concludes his parting message to his people. First he details all those who stand before him, not just standing — as in the Hebrew verb “om-dim” — but firmly as if to say Here we stand — “nitzavim” — ready to make a covenant with G-d. He mentions the chiefs, the tribesmen, the elders, the officers — in other words, the men who administer the laws, those who must live by them and those who enforce them. He goes on to name the children, the women, and the strangers in their camp who chop the wood and draw the water. And he is still not finished. “Not with you only do I make this covenant. But both with those who are here today with us, and with those who are not here.”

Not here? Who could that be? The commentators agree that this refers to future generations. Divine justice and compassion is hereby extended to world Jewry forever. All we have to do is accept it.

Moses summarizes the rewards of faithfulness and the dire results of unfaithfulness. He even predicts the reactions of other nations who will witness those dire results for the Jewish people — destruction of the land they are about to enter, and exile for their descendants.

Finally we get the people’s answer, phrased so eloquently that two of its words in Torah scrolls and in printed Hebrew Bibles are topped with 11 dots: “The hidden things belong to the Lord our G-d, and the revealed things belong to us and our children (lanu ul’vaneynu, the dotted words) forever, to put all the words of this Torah into action.”

Hearing the commitment to pass this heritage along, Moses predicts that even though future generations endure violence and exile, once they return and listen to the Divine teaching and seriously undertake to follow it, G-d will return to them and gather them in. No matter where they are scattered — even “in the far ends of the sky” says Moses. The sky, indeed? Could he be talking about another planet? Another universe? Maybe not. After 40 years traversing the desert, maybe any distant place could seem like a different world. The promise, however, is to gather that repentant generation and restore it to its land.

Clearly the key to this promise of future redemption is found in those two dotted words: lanu ul’vaneynu. By training our children in our faith, by educating them in Torah, we build toward that redemption.

One question we could ask is: What redemption? Is Moses talking about the Messiah? Or Theodor Herzl?

Chapter 30 verse 6 gives the Torah’s answer. After returning to the Land, “G-d will circumcise your heart and the hearts of your descendants, to love G-d with all your soul and all your being, so that you may live.”

A people, a nation, united in commitment to a code of conduct and a sacred tradition can weather storms and survive. Sometimes that unity looks unachievable. But in one amazing paragraph the Torah answers that objection:

“For this Mitzvah, this commandment I give you today, is not too mysterious for you, and not far away. It is not in heaven, that you should say: Who will go up to heaven and get it for us and let us hear it so we can do it? And it is not overseas, that you should say: Who will cross the ocean and get it for us and let us hear it so we can do it? [No,] it is very near you, in your own mouth and your own heart, to do it.”

No wonder many congregations read this section on Yom Kippur. It certainly reminds us to take responsibility for ourselves and our future. That is what the High Holidays are all about, isn’t it? Facing a new year — apples and honey and all — Nitzavim give us a memorable shot in the arm.

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Do you like variety in your learning? You get plenty of it in the Sedrah called “R’eyh” — in Deuteronomy chapters 11 thru 16. Here we find subjects like sacrificial worship, idolatry in the family or in a whole city, dietary laws, treatment of the poor, paying tithes, the three pilgrimage festivals, the year of release. Right in the middle of all these various Mitzvos, we get into the rules about debt.

Debt ceilings are nothing new. Here we find directions on what to do if you reach your debt ceiling and still need money. Biblical Israel had an out that we could use today, however. Every seven years came the Sabbatical year — the year of release called “Sh’mitah” — when debts were cancelled.

Still someone could reach his debt ceiling in year 1 or 2. No way to survive until year 7. In that case he could become an eved ivri — a Jewish slave. He could sell himself into indentured servitude to pay off his debt. Or as the Talmud explains, the court could sell him to pay back money he stole. Maximum time his new owner could keep him? Six years. After that, as we read in Deut.15:13, “you must send him out free.” Not just send him out, but “do not send him away empty-handed. Provide for him from your flock, your threshing-floor and your wine-press wherewith G-d blessed you. And remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt.”

Slavery certainly did not end with the Exodus. Not in Israel and not in many other societies. Worldwide exploitation of fellow humans lasted well into modern times, and indeed exists today. Usually the slaves were taken from other populations. For example, Arab slave traders for the last milennium or more got their victims by raids on Sub-Saharan Africa, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Eastern Europe too. In fact the name Slavs for Eastern European tribesmen is given as the origin of the word “slave.” In the 19th century alone an estimated 11-18 million black Africans were taken across the Red Sea, the Indian Ocean or the Sahara desert by Arab slave traders. Another 9-12 million got sent to America. Reportedly, black slaves still serve some Saudi Arabian masters.

Greek and Roman “civilizations” practiced slavery on a large scale too. Aristotle accepted the theory of “natural slavery” — that some people are slaves by nature. Imperial Rome, of course, enslaved whole populations.

But back to the eved ivri of Deuteronomy. This was not an enemy soldier taken prisoner in war, nor an eved canaani to whom different rules applied. This was a man — or a woman — who had all the rights and responsibilities of every member of every tribe of Israel.

How could one Jew take advantage of another Jew this way? Strange and repugnant as the procedure seems to us today, ancient Israel was not the only society that enslaved its own people. Russia had 4 centuries of slavery of its own people, ethnic Russians whom Czar Ivan III in 1438 bound to their owners by law. Only in the 18th century were these slaves converted to serfs. No great improvement. They were still peasants and house servants tied to the estate.

By the end of the 20th century, some 27 million people were still in slavery throughout the world. The average price of a slave globally = $340.

That is how slaves in other cultures left their masters — they got a new master. No provisions from anyone’s flock or threshing-floor or wine-press.

What our Sedrah does also tell us, however, is that some indentured servants got to like their dependent life style. “If he says to you: ‘I will not go away from you,’ because he loves you and your house and he has it good there. Then take him to the doorpost and run an awl through his ear and into the door, and he will be your permanent servant.” Clearly the Torah associates shame with voluntary servitude. Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai commented on this directive: “The ear that heard the Divine words, ‘for the people of Israel are My servants,’ and yet preferred a human master, let that ear be drilled.” In other words, value your freedom!

“The Jews are very smart. You know why?”

“OK. Why?”

“They cover their heads. Keeps the brains warm.”

Well, I was able to control myself and did not laugh. His respect was sincere, for whatever reasons.

Reading Deuteronomy chapter 4, we find some other reasons — arguably far more compelling ones — for respect and admiration from the non-Jewish world. “See,” says Moses, “I taught you rules of conduct that you should observe in the land you are going to possess. Keep them and do them, for they are your wisdom and your understanding in the eyes of all the nations, who will say: Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people.” Our principles, our “mishpatim” can earn us our neighbors’ respect, IF we use those principles to guide our lives.

And Moses continues: “For who is a great nation that has G-d so close by, like our G-d whenever we call Him?” Prophet or plebeian, Elijah or Tevye, no Jew needs an intermediary to contact the Divine.

“And who is a great nation that has laws and principles as righteous as this Torah that I set before you today?” Who indeed. Laws like “take care of the land and it will nourish you.” Principles like “the righteous of other nations have a place in the World to Come.” Rules of conduct like “you shall have honest weights and measures.”

History’s blows make us acutely aware of the outside world’s hostility. We know about anti-Semitism, prejudice, discrimination, crusades, inquisitions, pogroms, Koranic curses, Holocaust deniers. That is not the whole world.

We can lose sight of the other side of the coin. There is respect out there, even some admiration. It can come from unexpected sources. Leo Tolstoy, Mark Twain, Oskar Schindler — or my Belgian airline passenger. It can also come from an insightful pope, from pro-Israel Evangelists, or from that anonymous Gentile traveller who proclaimed that the human race is one body and the Jews are its head.

Let’s be grateful for the friends we have. We need them all.

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The first words of this week’s Torah portion pose a       

question that echoes down the centuries. Korach rises up to challenge the leadership of Moses and the High Priesthood of Aaron, becoming a prototype for self-interested rebels. Some 250 prominent Israelites join him in his revolt. And how does the Torah introduce him? Does it say “Korach spoke….or rose up….or planted a new flag?” No, it says “Korach took” and then proceeds to detail his lineage and the names of the tribal princes who joined him.

And what did he take? It never says.

Obviously this wording challenged others besides Moses, namely many of our Biblical commentators. Ibn Ezra, for example, undertakes to supply what he takes to be a missing word: men. Korach took men; he did not do this alone. Rashi interprets the statement to mean he took status upon himself. As a son of Yitzhar, son of Kehat, son of Levi, Korach felt just as much entitled to authority as his first cousins Moses and Aaron who were sons of Amram, Yitzhar’s brother.

Similarly, the Kli Yokor commentary holds that Korach “took” sides with the Reubenites, who were still angry that their tribe lost its seniority and therefore its leadership role. So Korah’s chief lieutenants were Datan and Abiram, princes of the tribe of Reuben.

The Or haHaim approaches the situation differently. Korach “took” himself away. Separated himself from the camp. Set himself apart as a sign of superiority.

One meaning is very clear. Korach took the Jewish people for a highly dramatic ride in his own time. And he was certainly not the last rebel to fire controversy in Jewish life.

Korach’s rebellion ends with him and his followers dropping into a sudden sinkhole with their houses and families. As if the “earth opened its mouth and swallowed them!” And all the people flee the place, hearing their cries as they fall into the pit.

Couldn’t happen? Or could it? This year’s natural disasters in many parts of the world open a question about the fate of Korach & Co. And our modern examples are not prompted by any human rebellion. As far as we know.

How does Korach’s arrogant challenge and shocking defeat impact Jewish history? Perhaps the most picturesque comment on the whole story comes in another story, told by one Rabbah bar Bar Khana, a rabbi in the Talmud known for his tall tales. He says:

I was travelling in the desert, and an Arab took me to a spot where there was a crack in the ground. I bent down and put my ear to the crack. And I heard the voices of Korach and his followers calling out:  “Moses and his Torah are true, and we are liars!”