A couple of weeks ago, we lifted up the strange yet meaningful blessing called Birkat Hagomel which we say when we’ve made it through a harrowing experience, in which we say Baruch atah Adonai eloheinu melekh ha-olam ha-gomel l’hayavim tovot, she-g’malani kol tov: Blessed are you Adonai, sovereign of time and space, who rewards with goodness those who have (moral) debts, and who has rewarded me with goodness.
We said it was a reminder that the good fortune, the blessings that come our way may not be solely (or at all) attributable to out goodness in the same way that misfortune or challenging circumstances are not solely (or at all attributable) to those experiencing them, but that rather there is a thread in the universe, which we might call divine circumstance, that we call “blessed,” whether or not it can be attributable to our actions.
This past week’s Torah portion, Ekev (“As a consequence of”), makes this point explicitly in narrative form. Moses is offering the people his farewell address as he prepares to bid them adieu as they go forth to the promised land and he reaches the end of life. “Hear, O Israel,” he says to them. “You are about to cross the Jordan… Say not to yourselves, ‘The LORD has enabled us to possess this land because of our virtues.’ It is not because of your virtues and your righteousness that you will be able to possess their country; but it is… in order to fulfill the oath that the LORD made to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” (Deuteronomy 9:1-5).
Once again (or, prior to, since this verse preceded our blessing), another reminder that sometimes the blessings in our lives have sources other than our own actions.
But lest we think our actions don’t matter, Moses speech contains, buried within it a reference to the fact that our actions are so important in reference to how God’s presence manifests in the universe.
Moses goes on to remind the people that, in fact, despite the fact that they are about to be blessed with possession of the promised land, their wanderings in the wilderness, if anything made them unworthy of this land, speaking in particular about the incident of the golden calf when, with Moses spending time with God on Mt. Sinai receiving the two tablets/ten commandments, they create a golden calf to stand in as God in Moses’ absence.
“‘The LORD further said to me,” Moses said to the people in his farewell address, recalling to them the events of that notorious day, “‘I see that this is a stiffnecked people. Let Me alone,’ [God said to me] ‘and I will destroy them and blot out their name from under heaven, and I will make you a nation far more numerous than they.'” God threatened to end the people and start over with just Moses.
Why does this pericope suggest our actions matter in reference to God’s presence in the world? In the use of the phrase “Let Me alone,” the ancient rabbis say, God is signaling to Moses to intervene—to restrain God’s power—and to unleash God’s compassion. By saying, “Let Me alone” God is actually saying, “You, Moses, and human beings generally, have the capacity to not leave me alone. Take note of this capacity.” Human agency, according to the rabbis, is the secret ingredient in transforming divine power into divine compassion. And it works. I threw myself down before the LORD…And the LORD gave heed to me,” Moses said (Deut. 9:18-19).
While we can’t necessarily attribute all of our blessings solely to our own actions, nor can we throw up our hands and say, “nothing we do matters.” It matters. Our actions unveil divine compassion in this world.
