Devarim
Introduction
Mussar Before Halacha
Part A: Why Mussar First?
בְּסִיעְתָּא דִּשְׁמַיָּא
The Malbim asks a fundamental question about the Book of Devarim. Unlike the first four books of the Torah, which speak in the familiar prophetic formula—“And God spoke to Moshe, saying…”—this final book opens in an entirely different tone:
“These are the words that Moshe spoke…”
Yet this too is Torah. Though Moshe speaks in his own voice, he does so under Divine command. Devarim serves as the bridge from the revealed Torah (Torah min HaShamayim) to the Torah as transmitted and interpreted by the sages (Torah She’b’al Peh). It is the moment where God’s voice merges with the voice of our greatest teacher—Moshe Rabbeinu.
This is why we call him Moshe Rabbeinu—Moses our Teacher—because none of us could succeed in a Torah life without learning from him. He was the first and greatest human transmitter of God's word.
This chain of transmission is the very first teaching in Pirkei Avot:
“Moshe received the Torah from Sinai and passed it to Yehoshua, and Yehoshua to the Elders…”
The premise of Devarim is this handing over—from God to Moshe, from Moshe to the people, from prophet to sage, from Beit Din to Beit Midrash. Rabbinic authority—when faithful to the Torah—is built into the Torah itself.
The Malbim also notes that the first part of Devarim (up to Chapter 12) is devoted to mussar—ethical rebuke—while the second half reviews, explains, and expands upon the mitzvot that the Jewish people would live by in the Land of Israel.
But why mussar before halacha?
The Mishnah in Berachot asks: why do we recite the first paragraph of the Shema before the second (“Ve’haya im shamoa…”)? The answer:
So that we first accept the yoke of Heaven, and only then the yoke of the mitzvot.
Because if we don’t know why we are keeping the mitzvot, they can become little more than a psychological fig leaf—a way to cover over our ego, our anger, our insecurity. We can even use Torah as a mask for our flaws rather than as a path to refine them.
If we forget that this whole life of mitzvot is about submitting to God, we may find ourselves religious but not faithful.
We must remember: it’s not about what we like. It’s not because we’re so smart or so frum.
It’s because He said so.
He is One.
He is King.
He is Father.
He is Mother.
He is our Beloved—and there is no other.
This is why the formula of blessings before performing mitzvot begins as it does:
“Baruch Atah HaShem, Elokeinu Melech HaOlam…”
“Blessed are You, HaShem our God, King of the Universe…”
We speak to God, not about Him. It’s a declaration of allegiance.
Then the blessing continues in third person:
“…asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu…”
“…Who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us…”
First comes the relationship—our loyalty and awe—then comes the specific action.
This is the structure of mitzvah observance:
Emunah before halacha.
Heart before hand.
Yirah before performance.
---
Part B: Answering the Call
The Midrash on Devarim 1:12—“How can I bear your trouble, your burden, and your strife?”—draws a profound connection between three moments in Torah and Tanakh, all anchored by a single word:
אֵיכָה / אַיֶּכָּה (eichah / ayeka).
Though vocalized differently, they share the same letters—and raise the same existential question.
Ayeka? – “Where are you?” – God’s question to Adam after the sin in the Garden (Bereishit 3:9)
Eichah? – Moshe’s lament about the burdens of leadership (Devarim 1:12)
Eichah? – The opening cry of the Book of Lamentations: “How could it be…?”
When God says Ayeka to Adam, it’s not a question of geography—it’s a question of accountability.
He gives Adam a chance to respond, to own up, to be vulnerable, and to begin to heal.
When Moshe says Eichah, he is not just overwhelmed by the burdens of leadership, but by the weariness that comes from leading a stiff-necked people through petty disputes—lost donkeys, messy divorces, endless grievances.
And when Yirmiyahu wails Eichah, it is the anguished cry at Jerusalem’s destruction:
“How has the city that was once full of people become like a widow?”
But we already know the answer.
As the Talmud says:
“A house already set aflame was burned.”
The sin preceded the sword.
Each instance of Eichah / Ayeka is a challenge to the human being:
Where are you?
Where is your behavior?
Where is your responsibility?
That is the real meaning of mourning on Tisha B’Av:
Not just grief for the Temple’s destruction, but grief for the way we destroy ourselves.
In Sefer Bamidbar, we watched as the people were tested again and again.
How will they react to difficulty? Will they learn, will they cry out, will they grow?
The Torah’s answer is clear:
Call out to God. Cry, pray, repent.
That is our weapon. That is our lifeline. That is our way forward.
In times of tzarot (suffering), such as these, we are called to act. Fasting and repentance on Tisha B’Av—or any public fast day—is not a custom, but a Torah obligation. According to many authorities, it is a mitzvah d’oraita.
And this year feels like one of those times.
The murder of an innocent boy.
The murder of a holy rabbi.
Both within days.
Both by knives wielded by Jewish hands.
Surely this is not a year to take Tisha B’Av lightly.
Let us answer the call.
Micha Turtletaub
Rosh Chodesh Menachem Av, 5771
© 2015
בְּסִיעְתָּא דִּשְׁמַיָּא
The Malbim asks a fundamental question about the Book of Devarim. Unlike the first four books of the Torah, which speak in the familiar prophetic formula—“And God spoke to Moshe, saying…”—this final book opens in an entirely different tone:
“These are the words that Moshe spoke…”
Yet this too is Torah. Though Moshe speaks in his own voice, he does so under Divine command. Devarim serves as the bridge from the revealed Torah (Torah min HaShamayim) to the Torah as transmitted and interpreted by the sages (Torah She’b’al Peh). It is the moment where God’s voice merges with the voice of our greatest teacher—Moshe Rabbeinu.
This is why we call him Moshe Rabbeinu—Moses our Teacher—because none of us could succeed in a Torah life without learning from him. He was the first and greatest human transmitter of God's word.
This chain of transmission is the very first teaching in Pirkei Avot:
“Moshe received the Torah from Sinai and passed it to Yehoshua, and Yehoshua to the Elders…”
The premise of Devarim is this handing over—from God to Moshe, from Moshe to the people, from prophet to sage, from Beit Din to Beit Midrash. Rabbinic authority—when faithful to the Torah—is built into the Torah itself.
The Malbim also notes that the first part of Devarim (up to Chapter 12) is devoted to mussar—ethical rebuke—while the second half reviews, explains, and expands upon the mitzvot that the Jewish people would live by in the Land of Israel.
But why mussar before halacha?
The Mishnah in Berachot asks: why do we recite the first paragraph of the Shema before the second (“Ve’haya im shamoa…”)? The answer:
So that we first accept the yoke of Heaven, and only then the yoke of the mitzvot.
Because if we don’t know why we are keeping the mitzvot, they can become little more than a psychological fig leaf—a way to cover over our ego, our anger, our insecurity. We can even use Torah as a mask for our flaws rather than as a path to refine them.
If we forget that this whole life of mitzvot is about submitting to God, we may find ourselves religious but not faithful.
We must remember: it’s not about what we like. It’s not because we’re so smart or so frum.
It’s because He said so.
He is One.
He is King.
He is Father.
He is Mother.
He is our Beloved—and there is no other.
This is why the formula of blessings before performing mitzvot begins as it does:
“Baruch Atah HaShem, Elokeinu Melech HaOlam…”
“Blessed are You, HaShem our God, King of the Universe…”
We speak to God, not about Him. It’s a declaration of allegiance.
Then the blessing continues in third person:
“…asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu…”
“…Who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us…”
First comes the relationship—our loyalty and awe—then comes the specific action.
This is the structure of mitzvah observance:
Emunah before halacha.
Heart before hand.
Yirah before performance.
---
Part B: Answering the Call
The Midrash on Devarim 1:12—“How can I bear your trouble, your burden, and your strife?”—draws a profound connection between three moments in Torah and Tanakh, all anchored by a single word:
אֵיכָה / אַיֶּכָּה (eichah / ayeka).
Though vocalized differently, they share the same letters—and raise the same existential question.
Ayeka? – “Where are you?” – God’s question to Adam after the sin in the Garden (Bereishit 3:9)
Eichah? – Moshe’s lament about the burdens of leadership (Devarim 1:12)
Eichah? – The opening cry of the Book of Lamentations: “How could it be…?”
When God says Ayeka to Adam, it’s not a question of geography—it’s a question of accountability.
He gives Adam a chance to respond, to own up, to be vulnerable, and to begin to heal.
When Moshe says Eichah, he is not just overwhelmed by the burdens of leadership, but by the weariness that comes from leading a stiff-necked people through petty disputes—lost donkeys, messy divorces, endless grievances.
And when Yirmiyahu wails Eichah, it is the anguished cry at Jerusalem’s destruction:
“How has the city that was once full of people become like a widow?”
But we already know the answer.
As the Talmud says:
“A house already set aflame was burned.”
The sin preceded the sword.
Each instance of Eichah / Ayeka is a challenge to the human being:
Where are you?
Where is your behavior?
Where is your responsibility?
That is the real meaning of mourning on Tisha B’Av:
Not just grief for the Temple’s destruction, but grief for the way we destroy ourselves.
In Sefer Bamidbar, we watched as the people were tested again and again.
How will they react to difficulty? Will they learn, will they cry out, will they grow?
The Torah’s answer is clear:
Call out to God. Cry, pray, repent.
That is our weapon. That is our lifeline. That is our way forward.
In times of tzarot (suffering), such as these, we are called to act. Fasting and repentance on Tisha B’Av—or any public fast day—is not a custom, but a Torah obligation. According to many authorities, it is a mitzvah d’oraita.
And this year feels like one of those times.
The murder of an innocent boy.
The murder of a holy rabbi.
Both within days.
Both by knives wielded by Jewish hands.
Surely this is not a year to take Tisha B’Av lightly.
Let us answer the call.
Micha Turtletaub
Rosh Chodesh Menachem Av, 5771
© 2015