Devarim | First One Through

Every graduation marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

Parshat Devarim, read each year during the Nine Days before Tisha B’Av, opens at precisely such a moment. The Jewish people stand on the banks of the Jordan River. After forty years in the wilderness, they are finally ready to enter the Land of Israel. Moses is delivering his final address. One might expect him to unveil a military strategy, an economic vision, or a blueprint for nation-building.

Instead, he teaches history.

For three chapters, Moses reviews the defining moments of the previous forty years: the appointment of judges, the sin of the spies, the years of wandering, and the victories over Sihon and Og. This is not nostalgia but preparation. Before Israel can build its future, it must first understand its past.

*Moses sees the promised land from afar, 1902 by James Tissot (1836-1902)*

That lesson feels especially relevant for this year’s Jewish college graduates.

Like the Israelites, they are crossing into a new world. They are leaving the structured environment of school and entering workplaces, neighborhoods, and communities where they will make their own decisions and assume new responsibilities.

The past few years have given many Jewish students an education that extended far beyond the classroom. They witnessed campuses wrestle with antisemitism. They watched administrators make revealing choices. They saw professors, classmates, elected officials, employers, and civic leaders respond in different ways when Jewish students felt threatened or isolated.

Whether those responses inspired confidence or disappointment, they were lessons.

Moses understood that the moments just before entering a new chapter are precisely when history matters most. The question is not simply, What happened? It is, What have you learned that should shape the future you are about to build?

For today’s graduates, those lessons should inform more than career decisions. They should influence how they participate in civic and Jewish life.

Who has earned your trust through actions rather than slogans?
Which institutions proved resilient under pressure?
How will you respond if antisemitism appears in your workplace?
What kind of community do you want to help build?

Graduation should also mark the beginning of Jewish adulthood. That means becoming more than an occasional participant. Join a synagogue by becoming a dues-paying member. Vote in local, state, and national elections. Volunteer and mentor younger students. Strengthen the institutions that strengthened you, and build the ones you wished had existed.

The Jewish calendar reinforces this idea. Before we reach the season of renewal – before Elul, Rosh Hashanah, and Yom Kippur – we pause for the Nine Days and Tisha B’Av. Before looking ahead, we look back. Before rebuilding, we reflect.

That is exactly what Moses was doing on the edge of the Jordan.

Every generation has its own Jordan River.

Before crossing into tomorrow, Moses offers one final piece of advice: study yesterday. Not to dwell on it, but to be equipped by it. History is not simply something to remember. It is something to carry forward as you begin writing the next chapter of your own story – and of the Jewish people.

In Parshat Devarim, Moses begins his final speech to the Israelites. He does not begin with the Creation of the world or the stories of the Jewish patriarchs and matriarchs. The Book of Genesis — with its grand universal themes and personal family journeys — is set aside. Instead, Moses focuses on the collective journey he himself witnessed: the liberation from Egypt, the giving of the Ten Commandments, the rebellions and reckonings in the wilderness. It is as though this is where the Jewish people’s national story truly begins.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks observed that Deuteronomy is not just a repetition of laws — it is Moses’ personal testimony, his urgent effort to pass on memory, meaning, and mission. As the Israelites stand poised to enter the Land, Moses knows he will not go with them. What he offers instead is the one thing only he can give: the lived truth of experience.

This resonates today more than ever. We are witnessing the passing of another generation of eyewitnesses: the survivors of the Holocaust and the founders of the modern State of Israel. Like Moses, they saw the journey with their own eyes — from slavery and destruction to sovereignty and rebuilding. They walked from Auschwitz to Jerusalem. They built a state out of the ashes, defended it in war, and gave it the infrastructure of a living, breathing nation.

Their stories — of suffering and survival, of faith and fortitude — are not just history lessons. They are testaments. And they come with a charge: to remember, to be vigilant, to defend our people and our land, and to carry forward the values of Torah and the reality of Jewish nationhood.

Just as Moses recounted the past to prepare the people for the future, so too must we internalize the legacy of those who came before us. Their firsthand accounts are not simply about what was, but about what must be. A people grounded in memory is a people prepared for destiny.

If we listen to their voices — and not merely archive them — we gain strength to resist the deniers, the revisionists, and the haters. We reaffirm that we are not just a people with a past, but a people with a purpose — a covenantal mission that stretches from Sinai to today.