Devarim

One of the things that struck me while reading Parashat Devarim was how often words and phrases return. Moses isn’t simply retelling Israel’s history. He seems to retell it through repeated language, allowing earlier words to gather new meaning each time they appear.

The book opens with אלה הדברים—“These are the words.” That feels almost like an invitation to pay attention to the words themselves. And as the chapter unfolds, the root דבר appears everywhere. Moses speaks God’s words, the people say about appointing judges: טוב הדבר אשר דברת, Moses says any דבר that is too difficult for the judges should be brought to him, and instructs the people about כל הדברים אשר תעשון (all the things that you should do), the people ask the spies to bring back a word about the land and Moses says about sending out the spies “וייטב בעיני הדבר, the spies return with their report, Mose says: ודבר הזה אינכם מאמינם בה׳ (and despite this matter, you do not have faith in Hashem), and eventually God hears the sound of their words (וישמע ה’ את קול דבריכם) and vows that they will not enter the land.

Running alongside all of this speaking is another repeated idea: hearing. Moses tells the judges,

שמע בין אחיכם

“Hear between your brothers.”

If a matter is too difficult,

והדבר אשר יקשה מכם תקרבון אלי ואשמענו

“Bring it near to me, and I will hear it.”

Israel, too, is meant to hear God’s word. But the hearing slowly unravels. Moses recalls,

ואדבר אליכם ולא שמעתם

“I spoke to you, but you did not listen.” (Deut. 1:43)

God hears Israel’s complaints:

וישמע ה’ את קול דבריכם

“The LORD heard the sound of your words.” (1:34)

Yet after Israel’s failed attempt to enter the land, they cry before God and

ולא שמע ה’ בקולכם ולא האזין אליכם

“The LORD did not hear your voice or give ear to you.” (1:45).

But the theme of hearing does not end with Israel. It reaches the nations as well. At the end of Parashat Devarim, as the new generation finally begins its approach to the land, God declares:

היום הזה אחל תת פחדך ויראתך על־פני העמים תחת כל־השמים אשר ישמעון שמעך ורגזו וחלו מפניך.

“This day I begin to put the dread and fear of you upon all the peoples under heaven, who shall hear your report, and they shall tremble and quake because of you.” (Deut. 2:25)

The language recalls Moses’ prayer after the sin of the spies:

והמתה את־העם הזה כאיש אחד ואמרו הגוים אשר־שמעו את־שמעך לאמר…

“If You kill this people as one man, then the nations who have heard Your fame will say…” (Num. 14:15)

The repeated phrase שמעך is especially striking because its referent changes. In Numbers, the “you” is God: the nations have heard of God’s power and reputation. Moses pleads that Israel’s destruction would cause the nations to misunderstand God’s faithfulness. In Deuteronomy, however, the “you” is Israel. The nations now hear of Israel and tremble. Israel has become the bearer of God’s reputation in the world. What the nations hear about Israel is, ultimately, testimony to the God who brought Israel out of Egypt and into the land.

The movement is almost paradoxical. Israel is the people who repeatedly fail to hear—ולא שמעתם—yet they become the people whom the nations hear about—ישמעון שמעך. The root שמע traces this reversal through the opening chapters of Deuteronomy. Judges are commanded to hear fairly. Moses hears difficult cases. Israel refuses to hear God. God hears Israel’s complaints but later refuses to hear their cries. And finally, the nations hear of Israel’s God-given victories. Hearing becomes the thread that binds together and eventually allows God’s name to be made known through Israel among the nations.

One repetition that particularly caught my attention is the verb תקרבון (“you shall bring near” / “you came near”). At first it seems incidental, but the more I followed it through the Torah, the more meaningful it became.

Moses first instructs the judges:

והדבר אשר יקשה מכם תקרבון אלי ואשמענו

“Any matter that is too difficult for you, you shall bring near to me, and I will hear it.” (Deut. 1:17)

Here, drawing near is an act of humility. When a matter is too difficult, it is brought to Moses so that it may be judged rightly.

Only a few verses later, however, Moses says:

ותקרבון אלי כלכם ותאמרו נשלחה אנשים לפנינו…

“Then all of you came near to me and said, ‘Let us send men before us…’” (Deut. 1:22)

The repetition immediately invites comparison. Once again, the people draw near to Moses. But this time they do not bring a difficult matter seeking God’s judgment. Instead, they bring their own solution. Moses even admits,

וייטב בעיני הדבר

“The matter seemed good in my eyes.”

Yet that very proposal becomes the beginning of Israel’s greatest wilderness failure.

Reading this passage brought to mind several earlier uses of קרב in Numbers.

When the daughters of Zelophehad seek justice, the Torah says:

ותקרבנה בנות צלפחד…

“The daughters of Zelophehad drew near…” (Num. 27:1)

They come before Moses, Eleazar, the leaders, and the entire congregation because they genuinely do not know what the law requires. Moses responds not by deciding himself, but by bringing their case before God:

ויקרב משה את משפטן לפני ה’.

“Moses brought their case before the LORD.” (Num. 27:5)

Here, drawing near leads to revelation. Their approach becomes the occasion for new Torah.

The same pattern appears after some Israelites become impure before Passover:

ויקרבו לפני משה ולפני אהרן ביום ההוא.

“They came near before Moses and before Aaron on that day.” (Num. 9:6)

Unable to participate in the korban Pesach, they ask what should be done. Moses does not answer immediately but waits for God’s instruction, and their question becomes the basis for Pesach Sheni.

Later, the leaders of the tribe of Manasseh also approach concerning the daughters of Zelophehad’s inheritance:

ויקרבו ראשי האבות…

“The heads of the fathers’ houses drew near…” (Num. 36:1)

Again, an unresolved question is brought forward, and God provides instruction.

These passages create a recognizable pattern. People draw near because they recognize the limits of their own understanding. Their approach is an act of trust that difficult matters belong before God.

Against that background, the repetition in Deuteronomy becomes especially striking. The first תקרבון fits this pattern perfectly: difficult matters should be brought near so they may be heard and judged. The second ותקרבון, however, subtly departs from it. The people approach Moses not because they lack an answer, but because they already have one. Rather than asking, “What does God require?” they ask permission for a plan that appears wise in their own eyes.

That contrast is deepened by the hearing motif that runs through the chapter. The first תקרבון in Devarim ends,

ואשמענו

“and I will hear it.”

The second eventually leads to Moses’ lament:

ואדבר אליכם ולא שמעתם

“I spoke to you, but you did not listen.” (Deut. 1:43)

The movement from drawing near to hearing remains the same, but its outcome is reversed. In Numbers, those who draw near receive God’s instruction. In Deuteronomy, those who draw near ultimately refuse to hear it.

Perhaps that is Moses’ deeper point. Nearness itself is not enough. What matters is the posture with which one approaches. The daughters of Zelophehad, those seeking to keep the Passover, and the leaders of Manasseh all come near because they desire God’s judgment. Israel comes near at Kadesh already convinced of its own solution. The same verb marks both approaches, but only one leads to faithful listening.

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I was also surprised by how often the language of good (טוב) appears.

The people affirm Moses’ plan for appointing judges:

טוב הדבר אשר דברת לעשות

“The thing you have spoken is good.” (Deut. 1:14)

Moses accepts the people’s plan to send out the spies saying

וייטב בעיני הדבר

״The matter was good in my eyes.”

Later, after the spies return, Moses describes them acknowledging:

טובה הארץ אשר ה’ אלהינו נתן לנו

“The land that the LORD our God is giving us is good.” (Deut. 1:25)

The problem is never the quality of the land. Even the spies testify to its goodness. Moses intentionally omits the frightening details emphasized in Numbers and reminds Israel only of what everyone agreed upon: the land is good.

God says about the first generation:

אם יראה איש באנשים האלה הדור הרע הזה את הארץ הטובה

“Not one of these men, this evil generation, shall see the good land…” (Deut. 1:35)

The contrast is almost poetic. The evil generation (הדור הרע) will not inherit the good land (הארץ הטובה). Moses juxtaposes רע and טובה within the same sentence. The generation that recognizes the land’s goodness nevertheless rejects it, and so it is excluded from the very good it confessed.

Then Moses says something unexpected about the children:

וטפכם… ובניכם אשר לא ידעו היום טוב ורע המה יבאו שמה

“Your little ones… your children, who today do not know good and evil—they shall enter there.” (Deut. 1:39)

The irony is remarkable. The adults know that the land is good. They even say so. Yet they refuse to enter it. The children, who “do not yet know good and evil,” are the ones who inherit the good land.

Perhaps Moses is suggesting that covenant faithfulness depends on something deeper than simply recognizing what is good. The first generation possesses the right information. They correctly identify the goodness of God’s gift, yet fear overwhelms trust. Their knowledge never becomes obedience.

The children, by contrast, are described as not yet knowing “good and evil,” yet they will become the generation that actually receives the good land. Their inheritance rests not on superior knowledge but on their willingness to follow where God leads.

Seen this way, the repeated language of טוב forms a subtle thread through the chapter. Good counsel establishes Israel’s judges. A good land is promised by God, affirmed by the spies, and desired by Moses himself. Yet the first generation forfeits that good land, while children who “do not know good and evil” inherit it instead. Deuteronomy seems to suggest that knowing the good is not the same thing as embracing it. Through the second generation, the confession “the land is good” becomes the courage to enter.

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After how Parashat Masei traced Israelite’s movements, it was interesting to see how Parashat Devarim narrated by Moses traced movement.

At Horeb, God tells Israel:

רב לכם שבת בהר הזה

“You have stayed at this mountain long enough.” (Deut. 1:6)

Then comes the command:

פני וסעו לכם ובאו הר האמיר

“Turn and journey and come to the hill country of the Amorites.” (1:7)

Israel is meant to leave Sinai behind and begin moving toward the land.

The spies’ journey deliberately echoes that command. Moses says:

ויפנו ויעלו ההרה ובאו עד נחל אשכל

“They turned and went up into the hill country and they came to the Wadi of Eshcol.” (1:24)

Their movements mirror Israel’s own commission: they turn, they ascend, and they enter the land. In a sense, they become the first Israelites to carry out the journey God had commanded the nation to make.

But instead of leading Israel forward, they return with words that send Israel backward.

After Israel refuses to enter the land, almost the same command is heard again:

פנו לכם וסעו המדברה

“Turn and journey into the wilderness.” (1:40)

The words are nearly identical to God’s original command. Only the destination has changed. The first command pointed toward promise; the second points back toward wandering. Israel’s refusal has not merely delayed the journey—it has reversed its direction.

Moses later narrates simply:

ונפן ונסע המדברה

“So we turned and journeyed into the wilderness.” (1:40)

The command has become history. What should have been a brief movement into the land becomes decades of wandering.

That reversal also explains another striking repetition.

At Horeb God had said:

רב לכם שבת בהר הזה

“You have stayed at this mountain long enough.”

Later He says again:

רב לכם סב את ההר הזה

“You have gone around this mountain long enough.” (2:3)

The second רב לכם exists only because Israel ignored the first. Had they obeyed God’s initial command to depart Horeb and enter the land, there would have been no need for decades of circling and another declaration that “enough” was enough. Between those two divine statements lies the tragedy of the spies.

Yet chapter 2 also begins to hint that Israel’s story is moving forward again.

Instead of repeatedly reading:

ונפן ונסע

“We turned and journeyed,”

Moses eventually writes:

ונפן ונעל

“We turned and went up.” (2:24)

The change is subtle but significant. For years Israel simply journeys through the wilderness. Now they begin ascending once more. The language quietly recalls God’s original command to go up toward the land. The direction that had been lost is finally being recovered.

Even the geography seems to reinforce this renewed movement. The spies had reached:

נחל אשכל

“the Wadi of Eshcol.” (1:24)

Later, as the new generation advances, they are twice commanded to cross a נחל. First:

קומו וסעו ועברו את נחל ארנון

“Rise, journey, and cross the Wadi Arnon.” (2:24)

And again:

ועתה קומו ועברו לכם את נחל זרד

“Now rise and cross the Wadi Zered.” (2:13)

Unlike the previous generation, which reached a wadi only to retreat, the new generation crosses them. The repeated crossings become signs that Israel is no longer merely approaching the land but actually advancing toward it.

I also found myself wondering about נחל אשכל. Here נחל simply means a wadi or valley, yet the root נחל is associated with inheritance (נחלה). While these are distinct meanings, Deuteronomy is full of literary echoes and wordplay, making it difficult not to hear a resonance. At the very place where the spies encounter the goodness of the land, they stand in a נחל—a word that sounds so close to the inheritance they are unwilling to receive. Whether or not this is an intentional play on words, it feels fitting that the generation that refused its inheritance turns back from a place whose very name may subtly evoke it.

Taken together, these repeated verbs tell the story of Deuteronomy. Israel is told to turn and journey, but instead the spies turn and ascend alone. Israel then turns and journeys into the wilderness, circling mountains until God once again says, “Enough.” Finally, a new generation begins to turn and go up, crossing the wadis that mark real progress toward the land. The repeated language allows Moses to retell Israel’s history not simply as a sequence of events, but as a story of movement interrupted, redirected, and, at last, restored.

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The repeated phrase רב לכם also stood out to me. Although it appears in different contexts, each occurrence asks what is “enough” and who gets to decide.

God first says:

רב לכם שבת בהר הזה

“You have stayed at this mountain long enough.” (Deut. 1:6)

Later He says again:

רב לכם סב את ההר הזה

“You have gone around this mountain long enough.” (Deut. 2:3)

In both cases, רב לכם marks a transition. God declares that one stage has reached its proper limit. Israel must not remain where it is simply because it is familiar.

The phrase immediately recalls Korah’s rebellion, where Korah tells Moses and Aaron:

רב לכם כי כל העדה כלם קדשים…

“You have gone too far! For all the congregation are holy…” (Num. 16:3)

Moses responds with the very same words:

רב לכם בני לוי

“You have gone too far, sons of Levi.” (Num. 16:7)

There, רב לכם becomes a struggle over authority. Both Korah and Moses claim the authority to declare what is “too much” or “far enough.” The identical words are spoken by opposing sides, leaving God to reveal whose judgment is true.

In Deuteronomy, however, there is no argument. It is God Himself who says רב לכם. The phrase no longer belongs to human beings defining boundaries for one another. God alone determines when Israel has remained long enough or wandered long enough.

Then, only a chapter later, Moses tells Reuben and Gad:

ידעתי כי מקנה רב לכם

“I know that you have much livestock.” (Deut. 3:19)

The phrase appears once more, but with a different nuance. This time רב לכם does not describe time but abundance. Yet it raises a similar question: will what you have in abundance prevent you from moving forward?

The answer is no. Immediately afterward Moses commands them:

ואתם תעברו חלוצים לפני אחיכם…

“You shall cross over as warriors before your brothers…”

Their רב לכם is acknowledged, but it is not permitted to determine the journey. They leave their abundant livestock behind and continue with Israel.

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One of my favorite connections involved the root נשא.

Earlier Moses confesses,

לא אוכל לבדי שאת אתכם

“I cannot bear you by myself.” (Deut. 1:9)

The burden of leading Israel is simply too great for one human being.

Yet only a little later, as Moses recounts the wilderness journey, he reminds the people:

כאשר ישא איש את בנו

“As a man carries his son.” (Deut. 1:31)

The same root appears in both places, but its subject has changed. Moses cannot carry Israel. God has been carrying Israel all along.

The image becomes even richer only two verses later. God is not merely carrying His people; He is also walking ahead of them,

ההלך לפניכם בדרך לתור לכם מקום

“who went before you on the way to scout out a place for you.” (Deut. 1:33)

That verb immediately recalls the spies. Israel insisted on sending men לתור the land, but Moses quietly reminds them that God had already been scouting out the way before they ever proposed sending spies. Their fear rested on the assumption that the future was unknown, yet God had already gone ahead of them.

Chapter two develops the same theme by returning to the spies’ greatest fear.

The spies described the inhabitants of the land as

עם גדול ורם… וגם בני ענקים

“a great and tall people… and also the Anakim.” (Deut. 1:28)

At the time, the Anakim seemed to prove that the land could not be conquered.

But then Moses repeatedly brings them back into the story. Describing the earlier inhabitants of Moab and Ammon, he says:

עם גדול ורב ורם כענקים

“a people great, numerous, and tall like the Anakim.” (Deut. 2:10–11, cf. 2:20–21)

The giants have not disappeared. Instead, their meaning has changed. They are no longer evidence that Israel cannot enter the land. They have become evidence that God has already driven out such peoples on behalf of others. The very thing that once inspired fear now becomes an argument for trust.

That same lesson appears in Moses’ description of Israel’s route through Edom, Moab, and Ammon.

Again and again God says:

לא אתן לך… כי… נתתי ירשה

“I will not give it to you… for I have given it as an inheritance…” (Deut. 2)

Israel must not seize these lands. They must buy their food and water because those territories already belong to the peoples to whom God has given them.

This repetition reshapes the way Israel views the world. The nations do not simply possess land because they happened to conquer it. God Himself has allotted inheritances—even to Edom, Moab, and Ammon. If God faithfully preserves the inheritance He promised to Lot’s descendants and to Esau, how much more can Israel trust Him to give the inheritance He promised to Abraham’s descendants?

Only after Israel has learned to respect the boundaries God established for others does He finally say:

קומו סעו ועברו את נחל ארנון… ראה נתתי בידך

“Rise, journey, cross the Wadi Arnon… See, I have given into your hand…” (Deut. 2:24)

The inheritance comes not through anxious grasping but through receiving what God has already prepared.

Even the movement of the narrative reflects this change. Years of simply wandering eventually become ascent. Israel begins crossing wadis instead of retreating from them. God has been carrying them, scouting ahead of them, preparing the land before them, and even demonstrating through other nations that He is able to give an inheritance. The obstacles that once seemed overwhelming are quietly reinterpreted as evidence of God’s faithfulness.

Reading these chapters this way made me appreciate Devarim differently.

Moses is not simply reminding Israel what happened. He is inviting them to hear their history again through repeated words and images. Speaking and hearing. Good and evil. Turning and journeying. Bearing and being carried. Giants who once inspired terror becoming signs of God’s power. Spies who scout the land, and God who has already been scouting ahead of them. Lands that belong to others because God has already given them, until at last Israel arrives at the land God has prepared for them as well.

The words keep returning, but each time they return they have been transformed by everything that has happened in between.

That seems fitting for a book that begins, “אלה הדברים”—“These are the words.” In Deuteronomy, the words themselves become part of the story. They do not merely recount Israel’s history; they reinterpret it, teaching a new generation to recognize God’s faithfulness hidden within the repetitions of the past.