I’m a rabbi, so it’s probably no surprise when I say that I love Torah. I love the stories and the people and the conundrums, and love that Torah is the shared vocabulary that we play with as a Jewish people. I love how we debate it and create new stories and midrashim to explain things in it. I sometimes even love it when it Torah makes me uncomfortable, because I know that it can inspire good opportunities for reflection and conversation. When Torah says something that I think is a little too much “of the time” it was written--or that has been used to justify decisions that I believe are not in the spirit of what Judaism stands for—I believe in talking back to the text. After all, isn’t that what we mean when we say that being the People Israel is being the people who Struggle With God? It’s not a new thing for a rabbi to be uncomfortable with Torah. The Talmud and Midrash are full of moments when the ancient rabbis interpreted their way out of sticky passages. They said, “No no—the Torah didn’t really mean ‘an eye for an eye’ literally; it clearly meant that if someone’s eye gets put out, they should be paid money after a legal process and court proceedings that create a strictly logical payment scale for what an eye is worth based on the going rates of the common market.” They said, “Well, yes, of course the Torah says that you are supposed to stone your wayward and rebellious son to death, but the definition of a wayward and rebellious son that the Torah must have had in mind is so specific that, clearly, there never has been and never will be such a case in actuality—so, of course, no parent would ever be in a position to have to stone his or her own child to death.” Some of the passages of Torah that I find most challenging are the passages about the conquering of the land of Canaan. I have an incredibly close relationship with the land and state of Israel and have lived there over several years of my adult life, but there are passages such as one we read in this week’s Torah portion that have been used to justify some terrible things in history and in current events—and which go against the very other passages that make me most love Torah most. In this week’s Torah portion, it says, “You shall destroy all the people that the Eternal One your God delivers to you, showing them no pity.” How can we read that, when right there also in the Torah it says, “Love your fellow human being as yourself” (Lev. 19:18); “When you see your enemy’s donkey collapsed under its burden… you must raise the donkey with him” (Ex. 23:5); “You must not abuse or oppress a stranger, for you were 2 strangers in the land of Egypt” (Ex. 22:20); “Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground” (Gen. 4:10) !? We can spend a long time talking about what we should do and can do to interpret passages about the conquering of the land of Canaan in light of the current political situation in Israel, the Middle East, and around the world. But, we are also in the spirit of the ancient rabbis when we say: when one strand in Torah goes against another, we need to interpret until we find a meaning that holds ourselves to the highest ideal of what is human and what is right. Especially at this time of year, in the weeks leading up to the High Holy Days—a time meant for intense introspection and making right—it is time for taking these passages and applying them, not to other peoples out there in the world, but as a tool to hold ourselves to our own highest standard. What would it look like to take passages like the ones that say, “destroy those you perceive as enemies,” and read them not as something to do to others, in violence, but as work we need to do inside ourselves, with compassion and love? We are the wanderers and strugglers whose job it is, not to erase other peoples, but to wipe out indifference and hatred from our own hearts. In this same passage in this week’s Torah portion, Moses goes on to say to the Israelites, who are afraid of the perceived giants they are supposed to conquer, “Do not stand in dread of them, for your God the Eternal One is b’kirbecha בקרבך) “Deut. 7:21). That word, בקרבך is usually translated, “in your midst,” as in, “Don’t worry about conquering the giants, because God is with your group, on your side.” But, that same word בקרבך can also mean “inside you”— “in your guts,” “in your kischkes.” What if, for today, we read this passage as: When there are things you want to conquer inside yourself, the parts of yourself that it’s time to overcome, don’t be afraid, because God— whatever holy spark you want to mean by that word “God”—is in you. A divine integrity—the ability to be a Comforter and a Healer and a Rock and a Creator—all those holy qualities that we smoosh together and call “Adonai”—those are deep inside you, in your belly, in your heart, just waiting to be relied on and called on, to help each of us defeat the giants of fear and indifference and mistrust that seem to spring up so easily. In Moses’s speech, he repeats over and over again the words shamor (guard), zachor (remember), shema (listen, obey). This is our job these weeks: it is on us to guard and keep and remember to nourish the compassion that is in us—our compassion for ourselves and for others—that are the true heart of Torah. When we do, we can have glimpses of that true promised land: that land of streams and springs and fountains, where there is bounty and compassion (Eikev, Deut. 8:7)—in the comforting words of the prophet Isaiah, where the wilderness is transformed into Eden, with gladness and joy, thanksgiving and the sound of music (Haftarah Eikev, Is. 51:3).