We Are Closer Than You Think

Ever since I watched Rabbi Dov Huff teach a new song to our eighth graders at our weekly kumsitz several years ago, there is a phrase in Parshat Netzavim, and on our lips this time of year, that I have loved:

כִּי קָרוֹב אֵלֶיךָ הַדָּבָר מְאֹד, בְּפִיךָ וּבִלְבָבְךָ לַעֲשֹׂתוֹ

For the matter is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to do it.

Moshe is telling the Jewish people that Torah, meaning, growth, and a relationship with G-d are not impossibly distant. לא בשמים היא, they are not somewhere up in heaven. ולא מעבר לים היא, they are not waiting for us on the other side of the sea. They are, in fact, already close.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks z”l pointed out that we often have exactly the opposite instinct. We imagine that real spirituality must be found somewhere else, someplace more exotic, more dramatic, or more extraordinary than in our own lives. But as Rabbi Sacks wrote, “the beauty of Jewish spirituality is precisely that in Judaism, G-d is close.” G-d is found in prayer, in Torah study, around a Shabbat table and in a bowl of matza ball soup, in the relationships and rituals that are already part of our lives. We do not necessarily need to travel farther. We sometimes need to learn to notice what is already nearby.

That idea always brings me back to an experience I had many years ago when I was learning in yeshiva in Israel. One Shabbat, we traveled to Bnei Brak and had the privilege of spending time with the Kaliver Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Taub z”l. He had survived Auschwitz, and as a twin had suffered terribly at the hands of Josef Mengele. Yet what I remember most vividly about him was his enormous, radiant, face-splitting smile.

At some point that Shabbat, Rabbi Taub shared something with us about the way he davened. He told us that every time he said the word אַתָּה, “You,” in tefillah, he leaned forward just a little bit. I have remembered that gesture ever since.

Think about how often we say that word in prayer. Baruch Atah Hashem. Atah gibor. Atah kadosh. Atah chonen. Again and again, we speak to the Creator of the universe simply as Atah – You.

Many languages have different forms of the word “you,” one to be used in familial and familiar situations, and another that is a more reverent and formal version. Judaism certainly has majestic language for G-d: King, Creator, Master of the Universe. But sitting alongside all of that grandeur is this astonishingly personal word. You.

The Kaliver Rebbe wanted to feel that closeness physically. Each time he said Atah, he moved himself just a little closer.

Perhaps that is one way of understanding כי קרוב אליך הדבר מאד.

There is another beautiful teaching connected to these words. Tanna Devei Eliyahu tells us of a man who claimed that he could not learn Torah because Heaven had not given him the necessary intelligence. Eliyahu challenged him: If he possessed enough intelligence to master the complicated work of weaving nets and catching fish, how could he claim that he lacked the intelligence for Torah, particularly when the Torah itself says in our parsha, “כי קרוב אליך הדבר מאד”?

Rav Simcha Bunim of Peshischa draws a remarkable lesson from this story. There is already hidden within every person שכל ובינה, intelligence and understanding. Our task is להוציאו לפועל – to bring that potential into actuality.That feels like an especially powerful idea with which to begin a new school year.

Beginnings naturally make us look ahead. We wonder what will be different this year, what new opportunities will come our way, who we might become. And sometimes that can lead us to imagine that what we need is still somewhere out there.

A different talent.
A different teacher.
A different friend.
A different opportunity.
A different version of ourselves.

But the Torah offers a different message: כי קרוב אליך הדבר מאד. So much of what we need in order to grow is already close.

It is in the abilities we may not yet have fully uncovered. It is in the people sitting beside us. It is in the teacher who sees something in us that we have not yet seen in ourselves. It is in the text open on the desk, the tefillah we decide to give a chance, the question we decide to ask, the kindness we choose to offer, the responsibility we decide to take.

And it is in our relationship with Hashem – not only as a distant king, but as Atah. You. Close enough that perhaps, every once in a while, we should lean forward just a little.

As we begin this new year, and this new school year, my bracha for all of us is that we discover more of what is already close: The capacities within us, the people around us, the Torah before us, and the presence of Hashem in our lives.

כִּי קָרוֹב אֵלֶיךָ הַדָּבָר מְאֹד.