Parshat Vayeilech/Shabbat Tshuvah
Deuteronomy 31:1–30

By Torah Blogger, Jen Smith

This week’s Torah portion, Vayeilech, begins with two simple words: Vayeilech Moshe “And Moses went.” Now, I don’t know about you, but when I hear that, I smile. Moses is 120 years old. Where exactly is he going? At that age, I’d be happy if he just went from the recliner to the fridge without throwing out his back. But the Torah is making a point: Moses is still moving forward. Even at the end, he is journeying. Maybe not with his feet, but with his spirit. Vayeilech reminds us that to live – to truly live – is to keep moving, even when the destination is uncertain.

Moses tells the people: “I am now one hundred and twenty years old; I can no longer go out and come in” (Deut. 31:2). But still, he goes. The mystical commentators teach that this movement is spiritual rather than physical. Moses is journeying into the unknown, into faith, into trust that God and the people will go on without him.

And here we are, in the Ten Days of Teshuvah, walking our own journey. We may feel weary, overwhelmed, or unsure where we are going spiritually, but the point is to go. To move. To take a step forward in repentance, reflection, and renewal.

Pirkei Avot gives us a roadmap: “Make for yourself a teacher, acquire for yourself a friend, and judge every person favorably.” (Avot 1:6).

A teacher – because none of us can make this journey alone.
A friend – because teshuvah is heavy work, and we need companionship.
Judging favorably – because on Yom Kippur we pray for God to do the same for us.

Moses, at the end of his life, embodies all three: the great teacher, the faithful friend, and the one who pleads for God’s mercy on Israel.

Now, here’s where I want to step out a little. I recently binge-watched the Apple TV series Invasion. On the surface, it’s about aliens. But at its heart, it’s about what it means to be human when confronted with something incomprehensibly larger than ourselves.

That, too, is Moses’ story. Standing on the edge of the Jordan, facing the mystery of death and the immensity of God’s promise, Moses confronts something he cannot fully grasp. And so do we, every Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when we speak of God’s vastness, of life and death, of being inscribed in the Book.

Kabbalah calls God the Ein Sof – the Infinite. Science fiction calls it the Singularity. Both raise the same questions: Are we as important as we believe? Or do we have to believe we are important to become so?

The Torah’s answer is fascinating. God tells Moses: “Chazak v’ematz” – be strong and courageous. Not because Moses already feels it, but because believing it creates it. Jewish mysticism insists: our importance isn’t guaranteed by the cosmos. It’s forged in relationship – with God, with one another, with the choices we make.

The Zohar teaches that even the smallest step of teshuvah – a whispered prayer, an apology, a turning of the heart – reverberates in heaven. Just like in Invasion, where one family’s fragile choices ripple against the backdrop of the universe, our tiny acts here on earth shake the gates of heaven.

Of course, teshuvah sometimes feels like joining the gym on January 2nd: everyone shows up at once, serious for a week, and by February it’s a ghost town (full disclosure, I know this as the person who drives their kid to the gym, not someone who enters as well 😊). But the High Holy Days aren’t about resolutions that fade. They’re about revolutions of the heart – about moving, even if we stumble, even if we’re not sure what’s next.

So here is the charge of Vayeilech, of Rosh Hashanah, of Yom Kippur, and even of Invasion: step forward. Moses kept moving at 120. We, too, must keep moving into teshuvah, into forgiveness, into relationship, into the mystery of God.

Because the greatest journeys are not the ones we make with our feet. They’re the ones we take with our hearts. And when we walk (even slowly or with uncertainty) the Shechinah, the Divine Presence, walks beside us.

Shabbat Shalom, Shana Tovah, and G’mar Chatimah Tovah.