Va’etchanan
Deut. 3:23–7:11
By Jen Smith
In the second century C.E., long before the Marvel movies, superhero franchises, and even Star Wars, Greek philosopher, Homer, gave the world The Odyssey. The epic poem tells the story of Odysseus, a leader in the Trojan war who becomes a weary traveler struggling for years to return home. Along the way, Odysseus encounters monsters, temptations, storms, false paradises, and impossible choices. Along the way, each obstacle Odysseus encounters highlights an aspect of the same existential question: Who are you/we becoming?
After watching Christopher Nolan’s film adaptation, I couldn’t help but think of another archetypal journey.
As we begin the Deuteronomy, Moses sounds almost nostalgic as he recounts the forty years that have passed since the Israelites escaped Egypt. The generation that crossed the sea and witnessed the revelation at Mt. Sinai firsthand has nearly all died, and Moses reflects on their victories and failures, and rebellions and miracles, as though he is turning the pages through an old family photo album.
Like Odysseus, Moses survived impossible odds and led others through the danger of the wilderness. However, unlike Odysseus, Moses never gets to go home, and that difference changes everything.
Most hero stories end with a triumphant arrival. The proverbial dragon (or cyclops) is slain, the kingdom is restored, and the hero emerges forever changed. We imagine every journey should end with homecoming. Moses teaches us that sometimes the greater reward is helping others get there.
The opening of Va’etchanan is surprisingly vulnerable:
I pleaded with Adonai…(Deut. 3:23)
The Hebrew word, Va’etchanan, comes from the root word, Chanan – grace. In this moment, Moses isn’t demanding he be rewarded for decades of steadfast leadership, nor is he bargaining with God. Instead, he simply asks for one last gift: to cross over the threshold to see the good land to which the Divine has led them.
This feels like one of Moses’ most human moments. And God says no.
The pain that Moses experienced as a result must have felt overwhelming, and yet, Jewish tradition has never tried to soften this moment.
The Midrash imagines Moses offering countless arguments. The Zohar suggests that Moses’ soul longed for the Promised Land for its spiritual energy, much more than for the geography itself. It was, after all, the meeting place of heaven and earth, where the Divine Presence rests most intensely.
Still, God refuses. Why?
Our ancient mystical rabbis offer us an unexpected answer: The reason God is unmoved is because Moses’ work was never about arriving; it was about the transformation of the travelers. And that feels strangely familiar.
Most of us spend our lives imagining that fulfillment lies just beyond the next accomplishment.
When I finish school…
When I get married…
When the kids are grown…
When I retire…
When life finally settles down…
While there is no doubt that our culture celebrates reaching destinations, the Torah keeps asking about the journey.
The Baal Shem Tov taught that every physical journey reflects a more profound one hidden inside, and to be mindful that each place we visit contains hidden wisdom and sparks of Divine energy just waiting to be elevated.
Maybe that’s why the Israelites wandered so long: Not because God was lost, but because sparks of unharnessed holiness were scattered everywhere. Each stop in the wilderness became another opportunity for the Israelites to uncover another lesson, a new piece of themselves, and to gather the scattered Divine sparks. The wilderness wasn’t simply a road to the Promised Land, it was the ultimate classroom where they were molded and shaped into people capable of thriving.
Odysseus’ monsters were cyclopes and sirens, but in many ways, these nightmares are less terrifying than the monsters facing the Israelites: Fear, Temptation to return to Egypt solely for familiarity, and Doubt. Maybe our monsters haven’t changed all that much.
In Greek literature, home is a physical place. In Judaism, home is often a relationship. Abraham leaves home to discover God; Jacob leaves home to become Israel; the Israelites leave home to become a People. Yet, the Promised Land itself is never idealized simply for the real estate, but rather for the covenant it represents. Home is a place where justice, compassion, and holiness might flourish.
It’s been said before that home is wherever God’s presence is welcomed, and maybe this explains something beautiful about Moses.
Although he never physically enters Israel, he may already be home.
Throughout Deuteronomy, Moses speaks less like a disappointed traveler than a loving teacher. In this sense, his heart has already crossed the Jordan, while his body simply stays behind.
The Hasidic masters often describe the highest form of leadership as bitul – the quiet surrender of one’s own ego for the sake of something larger. Moses becomes the living embodiment of that idea, as he lets go of his ending so that Israel can have a beginning.
There is one final difference between Moses and Odysseus. Odysseus returns to reclaim his throne, while Moses climbs a mountain to give his position away. To me, this is one of the greatest acts of heroism in the entire Torah, because every generation eventually discovers that life is less about finishing our own story than it is about contributing to the next chapter. Parents, teachers, mentors, even communities all know this inherent truth: sometimes the greatest victories are those for which we never personally enjoy the reward.
Va’etchanan reminds us that not ever faithful life receives an obvious reward, some prayers remain unanswered, some dreams remain unrealized, and some promised lands are only appreciated from a distance. Yet, Judaism has never measured success solely by the tangible reward, instead measuring our impact by what we pass on to future generations.
Maybe that is why Moses’ story still moves us more than three thousand years later.
Odysseus finally reached his home in Ithica. And while Moses may not have arrived home, he helped an entire people discover who they were. One hero returned to the life he had left behind. The other built a future he would never live to see.
Throughout the Torah, Moses becomes something like Israel’s own Odysseus. He crossed seas, outwitted enemies, wandered deserts, buried friends, argued with God, and carried a nation that at times seemed determined to undo itself. Yet, unlike Odysseus, whose entire story culminates in finally stepping onto the shores of his homeland in Ithaca, Moses stands on Mt. Nebo knowing that his destination will always remain just beyond the horizon: a poignant reminder that sometimes, the true reward is only found by helping others. And maybe that is the most enduring journey of all.
Shabbat Shalom.