Jewish Journeys

D'var Torah for Nitzavim-Vayeilekh: Choose Life... But Also Maybe Dessert 

Shalom everyone,

This week, in the double parasha of Nitzavim-Vayeilekh, Moses is coming to the end of his life. He knows that before he dies, and before B’nai Israel crosses over the Jordan, he must renew the covenant between the People and God. They had been wandering around lost in the desert for 40 years.

So picture this…Moses is standing before the Israelites to deliver his final TED Talk. He’s got his headset with his little microphone. Ideas that change everything, right? It’s dramatic, it’s emotional, and, frankly, it’s got more ultimatums than your average reality TV episode.

And the message? וּבָֽחַרְתָּ֙ בַּֽחַיִּ֔ים  Choose life. Simple. But bold. Slightly vague.

Moses presents the Israelites with a cosmic menu:

• Door Number One: Follow God, keep the mitzvot− and receive prosperity, fertility, and abundant blessings.
• Door Number Two: Worship idols, disobey commandments− and you will receive...destruction, exile, famine, and spiritual doom.

Hmmm, let me think. On paper, this seems like the easiest multiple-choice question in history. And yet, as Professor Mical Raucher of Rutgers University notes, Moses is still totally stressing out, they’re going to choose door number two. He gives the warning again. And again. And again. Why? Because Moses knows his people. He’s led them for 40 years. He’s seen what happens. You can’t even leave them unsupervised for 20 minutes. Golden calf, right?

But here’s the twist, the mic-drop moment: God doesn’t force the decision. Yet, God had been giving commandments all this time. Instead, we get this iconic line:

"I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life." (Deut. 30:19) הַחַיִּ֤ים וְהַמָּ֙וֶת֙ נָתַ֣תִּי לְפָנֶ֔יךָ הַבְּרָכָ֖ה וְהַקְּלָלָ֑ה 

And suddenly, this isn’t just about ancient Israelites anymore. It’s about us. You, me, your cousin Larry, and that one guy who always takes an extra bagel at kiddush.

Remember the game you’d play as a kid; or at least I did. If you could have a super power, what would it be? Invisibility? X-ray vision, the ability to fly? Well, here’s a super power for you. Rachel Rosenthal, a brilliant Jewish educator and clever writer from JTS, puts it like this: What if you could actually choose your future? Not guess it. Not just hope for it. Choose it.

That’s a wild idea. Ideas that change everything. It’s also a little terrifying. Most of us can’t even choose a Netflix show without spiraling into existential crisis. And now God’s asking us to choose life?

But the Torah isn't talking about choosing between literal life and literal death (though it’s probably a good idea to keep wearing your seatbelt, just in case). It’s about the kind of life you want to live. A life of meaning, of Tikkun Olan, mitzvot, of community. A life of showing up for one another. A life of partnership—with God, with our people, and with our better selves.

But wait! Here’s where it gets really juicy: This moment isn’t unique. Every generation, every day, every moment—we face that same choice. The Israelites were on the edge of the Jordan; we’re on the edge of…well, maybe it’s not a river. A big decision. A moral dilemma. An election. The direction of our nation. Or maybe it's just whether or not to continue doom scrolling after 9pm.

Every time, this question comes: Who do you want to be?

This brings us to a surprising historical twist, which feels oddly modern: the 15th-century Sephardic Rabbi Isaac Arama asked a radical question, one that hadn’t been asked for centuries: Why be Jewish?

Until then, being Jewish wasn’t a question. It was like being born with curly hair. It just…was. But during the Spanish Inquisition, Jews were forced to make an actual, life-or-death choice: convert, flee, or be executed. It was brutal. But it also revealed something profound: being Jewish is not just a matter of fate. You could choose not to be Jewish anymore. We all have a choice.

And that’s true today, too. In an age where people can walk away from tradition, or reimagine it entirely, choosing to be Jewish—to learn, to wrestle, to gather, to celebrate Shabbat even when you’d rather nap—that is radical. And beautiful. And honestly, occasionally exhausting.

But here's the heart of it: Choosing a life that matters. It’s not always glamorous. It might involve schlepping to temple, arguing over the thermostat in shul, or trying to remember which tune to use for lighting candles. But it also means community, sacred purpose, and the eternal hope that we can be better tomorrow than we are today.

Choosing to make your life matter in this lifetime, is what drew me to Judaism. I’d been raised in a tradition that was much more focused on what happens after you die. Not in making things better in this life. But I rebelled. As a young hippie in 1968 I was concerned about civil rights, social justice, the War in Vietnam, freedom of speech, government corruption; oh, and expanding consciousness, of course. But I became roommates with a young woman my age from Berkeley. We were attending a summer high school theater workshop. She told me about this place she and her hippie friends would go every Friday night in San Francisco called the House of Love and Prayer, where they’d light candles, drink wine, and everyone would stand around in a circle singing “Peace to You.” I didn’t even know that was Jewish, then. I just wanted to be like her. The summer of ’69, I hitchhiked to Berkeley and we participated in a Sit-In for free speech and assembly at People’s Park. That was when I first got hooked. It would take a couple more years to find the path to door number one. But I never looked back.

So as we head into the High Holiday season, ask yourself:

• What does it mean for you to choose life, a life of meaning?
• What mitzvot call to you?
• What kind of legacy are you building for those who come after you?

As Moses knew, and as we must remember: we are always at the crossroads. The path is ours to take. May we all have the courage to choose blessing, choose growth, choose one another—and yes, choose life. Let us all be Jews by choice. And maybe—just maybe—choose the chocolate mousse cake at Oneg too.

Shabbat shalom.