As the Song begins, Moses uses the metaphor of water. "May my discourse come down as the rain, / My speech distill as the dew, / Like showers on the young growth, / Like droplets on the grass. Perhaps these are metaphors for Moses own tears of despair as he fills his own Tear Vase. (How many vases did Moses fill before he died?) [1] He then turns to a Rock as God metaphor ("The Rock!—His deeds are perfect") so as to establish both the omnipresence (how many rocks do you think there were in the near east 5,000 years ago?) and the image of God as strength.

Moses then recounts for his listeners all that Adonai had done for them: "Remember the days of old..." "He found him a desert region... engirded him, watched over him, / Guarded him as the pupil of His eye..." "fed him honey from the crag...curd of kine and milk of flocks; / With the best of lambs and rams..."

But then, history turns to harangue—of the harshest kind: "So Jeshuran grew fat and kicked..." "They... Vexed him with abominations. / ... sacrificed to demons... Gods they had never known..." "...neglected the Rock that begot [them]..." Then Moses quotes Adonai, "...I will hide My countenance from them, / And see how they fare in the end. / For they are a treacherous breed..." Adonai speaks with anger and in ever-threatening tones: "The sword shall deal death without, / As shall terror within, / To youth and maiden alike...." Adonai is painted as protector of the good and just and smiter of evil and unjust.

Is Moses really angry? Maybe. After all, he's come all this way and will not be allowed to enter the Promised Land. And as he looks around him, he sees the source of his torture and cannot help but think that he has been served a gross injustice. It's human nature to thrash out at others for their ineptitude. It's equally human to thrash out at others for one's own ineptitude.

But there's another explanation. Something deeper. It has more to do with love, tough love. Moses is on the verge of death and knows it. As any responsible parent must do in dying (perhaps prematurely), he must get his affairs in order. In this context, it's girding his "children" Israel for life without him. He is balancing Din with Rachamim by reminding the Israelites of their responsibilities and their purpose and instilling them with reverence. "For this is not a trifling thing for you: it is your very life; through it you shall long endure the land which you are to occupy upon crossing the Jordan." The Israelites are about to inherit the house, the cars and the tax bills. Better get ready for that monumental responsibility. But don't forget who you are and why you're here.

Why doesn't Moses protest his not being able to enter the Promised Land? Hasn't he earned it? Hasn't he "worked hard enough?" Maybe. But to focus on this issue misses the entire point. There are two reasons why Moses does not protest and why it doesn't matter that he not be permitted to enter the Promised Land: 1) Because God made his convenant with Abraham that the Hebrews would settle in eretz Y'Israel and 2) because God gave Moses a better gift, something that any of us would love to have: complete knowledge before death that his goal would be fulfilled and that the Israelites, his children, would enter the Promised Land.

Think of it. What would we give to know, on our death beds, that our children would be successful doctors or lawyers, happily married for their entire lives and die at ripe old ages? What would we give to know that the seeds of ideas we planted years ago would rise to fruition? Did God tell Martin Luther King before he died on April 4th, 1968 that Civil Rights legislation would pass both houses of Congress? That today, although not perfect, Afro-Americans would enjoy greater success than had ever been seen in this country in over 200 years?

What will you say on your death bed? Imagine your children and grandchildren and perhaps close friends circling your bed in the hospital or in your bedroom and you have but hours to live. You look back on your life one more time (as you have so many times before but now it's for keeps). You think about what you have accomplished. But equally important you consider the weighty words you are about to utter to those closest to you. Now, let's change the context. Let's say that you are dying from a gaping wound in your stomach after having led your weary and frightened family for a week through the fetid waters of New Orleans. The levee had broken and you took control and led them away from certain death. Now you, succumbing to a wound too deep to cure, need to get your affairs in order. Your family and friends have relied on you to lead them to this point. What will you tell them? They must live! They must forge ahead! In this context, would you invite them to wallow in their sorrow? Balance "rachamim" with "dim"? [2] Tough love.

As we rapidly approach Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement for Jews everywhere, we must ask ourselves, what will be our legacy? Have we atoned? Have we led a virtuous life? Have we lived with the appropriate balance of "din" and "rachamin"? What will be our Songs? How will we gird our loved ones to go on and lead good and productive lives? How will we imbue them with the will to do good, to set high goals and achieve them? The "Song of Moses" yells at us 5000 years later.

[1] Reference to Alan Berg's Erev Rosh Hashanah sermon, 10/3/2005
[2] Reference to Karen Citrin's Rosh Hashanah sermon, 10/4/2005