Parshat Devarim opens with a powerful act of sacred storytelling. Moses gathers the next generation—the children of those who left Egypt—and begins to retell the story of their people’s journey through the wilderness. But this isn’t just a historical review. Moses offers new details, reflections, and insights not mentioned in earlier books of the Torah. He reshapes the story to speak to those who now stand on the edge of entering the Promised Land.
Why does Moses do this?
Because as we change, so do our stories.
Our tradition teaches that memory is not passive. To remember is to act. To tell the old tales anew is to draw a thread between generations—linking our present to our past, and our future to their faith. When we recount the journeys of those who came before us—their struggles, their triumphs, their mistakes—we do more than preserve history. We find ourselves within it. We deepen our understanding of where we come from and who we are becoming.
The Jewish people are preservationists of the highest order. We are conservationists of spirit and story. Every time we gather in synagogue to read the Torah, we do what Moses did: we bring our ancestors back into the room. We hear their voices. We reflect in the pools of their experience. And we come away wiser, more rooted, more prepared to face our own paths.
This week, as Parshat Devarim is read on Shabbat Hazon, we prepare to gather again on Saturday night for Tisha B’Av, the fast of the Ninth of Av. It is our national day of mourning, marking the destruction of the First and Second Temples and so many other tragedies in Jewish history.
And yet, we do not gather in despair.
We sit on the floor. We dim the lights. We chant Eicha. We recount horror, exile, and loss. But like Moses in Devarim, we retell these stories not to live in the pain, but to learn from it. We name our grief not to be swallowed by it, but to honor what was lost and to renew our commitment to what must be rebuilt.
Our retelling becomes our fortification.
In the echoes of destruction, we also hear the stirrings of rebirth. For thousands of years, we have told and retold these stories, and through them, we have nurtured the Jewish spirit of resilience. Out of the ashes of the Temple rose Torah. Out of dispersion rose community. Out of mourning rose meaning.
To sit together on Tisha B’Av night is to declare that memory leads to mission. That loss can lead to life. That even when the walls fall, the words remain—and they guide us.
As the Psalmist says:
לִמְנוֹת יָמֵינוּ כֵּן הוֹדַע וְנָבִא לְבַב חָכְמָה
“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12)
May our listening to the Torah’s retellings, and our participation in the recounting of destruction on Tisha B’Av, deepen our wisdom, renew our resolve, and strengthen our people for the journey still ahead.
Shabbat Shalom; may this Tisha B’Av bring meaning, memory, and rebuilding after too much destruction in our world.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Bolton