It is the height of irony that the keri’at ha-Torah of Parshat Ha’azinu, read this year on the Shabbat right after Yom Kippur, seems to deny or challenge the very efficacy of the act of teshuvah which has been so central in the last days and weeks. Here we are, having just completed the drama of Rosh Hashanah and the intensity of Yom Kippur, having just attempted to engage in a genuine sincere introspective quest for personal salvation and atonement, and it would appear that we are told that teshuvah, in fact, is virtually impossible and makes no real difference. And, for all people, it seems to have made no real difference for Moshe Rabbeinu.
At the end of the keri’ah, Ha-Kadosh Barukh Hu informs Moshe that he will be denied his life-long dream of leading the Benei Yisrael into Eretz Yisrael because he hit the rock in search of water instead of speaking to it (Deut. 32:51, Num. 20:7-13). But what happened to the power of teshuvah? Surely Moshe must have regretted what he did and resolved never to do it again. Were the gates of teshuvah closed to this greatest of all Jews? The question is compounded by the fact that this was not the first time Moshe was commanded to draw water from a well. At that time, one generation and close to forty years earlier, shortly after the Benei Yisrael left Mitzrayim, Hashem told him to take his rod and smite the rock (Ex. 17:6)! Should not the fact that Moshe was first explicitly commanded to hit the rock significantly mitigate the nature of his sin here close to forty years later?
The answer lies in the difference of the nature and character of these two generations, the one for whom Hashem told Moshe to hit the rock and the one for whom Hashem told Moshe to speak to the rock. The first was a generation that personally and directly experienced the awesomeness, might and power of God through the many explicit and dramatic miracles He performed for them, first in Egypt and then during and after Yetzi’at Mitzrayim. Those miracles were awesome and powerful, and when that generation needed water, Hashem’s miracle needed to be of the same order of magnitude. And, as a result, Hashem told Moshe to hit the rock. This was the kind of act they could understand; this was the kind of God to whom they were accustomed.
Contrast this generation to the next one for whom Hashem preformed miracles of an entirely different order. This time there was no thunder and lightening, no dramatic choreography and pyrotechnics, but rather man falling gently from Heaven and ananei kavod quietly surrounding them for protection. This generation was accustomed to more subdued, subtle and quiet miracles and a more subdued, subtle and quiet God. And so, when this generation needed water, it was absolutely essential that Moshe speak to the rock. This was a generation that would not understand a rock-hitting God; it could respond only to a rock-speaking God.
From this perspective, Hashem’s denial of Moshe’s fervent wish to lead the Benei Yisrael into the Promised Land should not be understood simply as a punishment, and Moshe’s inability to change the decree should not be understood as reflecting the lack of the power of teshuvah. Rather, when Moshe hit the rock this time as well, Hashem realized that he would be an inappropriate leader for this new generation. (As hard as it is to say something critical about Moshe, it is clear that he did something wrong that warranted this kind of reaction from Hashem.) Someone else would be needed who would better understand their way and their needs.
The essence of the teachings of Judaism needs to be constant from one generation to the next. But the idiom, style, manner, approach and mode of communication of that essence must, however, change from one generation to the next. What was effective in the Middle Ages is not necessarily effective in modern times; what worked in Eastern Europe will not necessarily work in America.
May we appreciate the message as well as the medium of Judaism, and may we all be blessed with a happy, healthy and peaceful new year.