This Shabbat, Shabbat Nitzavim, is the final Shabbat of the year. Just before we move into a new year, the Torah pauses us and places us within one of its formative moments: “You stand this day, all of you, before the ETERNAL your God” (Deuteronomy 29:9).
Rashi interprets this as: “This teaches that Moses gathered them before the Holy One, Blessed be He, on the day of his death, to bring them into the covenant.” There is deep significance in the word that opens this moment: nitzavim. It means more than simply standing; it means presenting oneself, taking one’s stand.
To be present, to take responsibility, to face reality rather than turn our gaze away from it.
The word Nitzav also evokes verticality - to stand upright, to rise. We can even hear a Zoharic interpretation of the word Lakum, “to rise,” echoing the word Kiyum, “existence” or “continuance”: “Rise, stand firm in your existence.”
And perhaps within nitzavim we can hear the resonance of another biblical word: “Hineni” - “Here I am.”
Abraham hears God’s call and answers, “Hineni.” Moses hears the divine voice from the burning bush and answers, “Hineni.” Samuel hears the call and answers, “Hineni.” Rashi interprets Abraham’s response: “‘Here I am’—this is the response of the righteous; it is an expression of humility and an expression of readiness.” (Genesis 22:1)
“Hineni,” then, is not merely “I am here,” but a willingness to answer a call. I am here. I hear. I am ready to take part.
But Parashat Nitzavim is not speaking to one individual. It emphasizes: “All of you.” Your heads, your elders, your children, your women, and also “the stranger who is within your camp.” Hizkuni interprets this as: “the important and the unimportant.” Everyone stands within the covenant.
It seems to me that there is a profound principle here that also touches on the very foundation of human rights. A society is measured not only by how it protects those at its center, but also by how it treats those at its margins. A person who is not part of the majority, who lacks power, whose story is different from ours, is not outside the covenant. They are already there, within the “all of you.”
And the covenant is not limited even to those who are present at that moment: “You stand this day, all of you, before the ETERNAL your God: your tribal heads, your elders, and your officials—the entire body of Israel…I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before the ETERNAL our God and with those who are not with us here this day.” (Deuteronomy 29:9–14)
The covenant creates responsibility among people, between generations, and perhaps also toward those who are not part of our own group.
Toward the end of the Torah portion, we encounter a choice: “I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life—if you and your offspring would live” (Deuteronomy 30:19).
The Torah does not leave choice as an abstract concept. It asks us to choose life, and immediately adds: “so that you and your offspring may live.”
In a year in which the sanctity of life has taken on such a tangible and painful meaning, this verse compels us to ask what it means to choose life. Does it mean only my life and the lives of those close to me? Or does choosing life require me to recognize the value of every human life, simply because it is human life?
Perhaps this is the standing to which the parashah calls us. Not merely to stand before reality, but to ask what kind of world we seek to create within it. A world in which rights, freedom, dignity, and security are not privileges reserved for those who belong to the “right” group, but values that we seek to uphold for all of us.
As a new year begins, the covenant is also a choice: Who are we when we stand? To whom do we say “Hineni”? And what kind of life do we choose to protect and make possible - for ourselves and for others?
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rabbi Mira Regev is Director of the Content Department of the Israeli movement for progressive Judaism. She teaches Zohar and Kabbalah and holds a degree in mindfulness-based somatic psychotherapy (Hakomi). She maintains a private practice at her home.
Rashi interprets this as: “This teaches that Moses gathered them before the Holy One, Blessed be He, on the day of his death, to bring them into the covenant.” There is deep significance in the word that opens this moment: nitzavim. It means more than simply standing; it means presenting oneself, taking one’s stand.
To be present, to take responsibility, to face reality rather than turn our gaze away from it.
The word Nitzav also evokes verticality - to stand upright, to rise. We can even hear a Zoharic interpretation of the word Lakum, “to rise,” echoing the word Kiyum, “existence” or “continuance”: “Rise, stand firm in your existence.”
And perhaps within nitzavim we can hear the resonance of another biblical word: “Hineni” - “Here I am.”
Abraham hears God’s call and answers, “Hineni.” Moses hears the divine voice from the burning bush and answers, “Hineni.” Samuel hears the call and answers, “Hineni.” Rashi interprets Abraham’s response: “‘Here I am’—this is the response of the righteous; it is an expression of humility and an expression of readiness.” (Genesis 22:1)
“Hineni,” then, is not merely “I am here,” but a willingness to answer a call. I am here. I hear. I am ready to take part.
But Parashat Nitzavim is not speaking to one individual. It emphasizes: “All of you.” Your heads, your elders, your children, your women, and also “the stranger who is within your camp.” Hizkuni interprets this as: “the important and the unimportant.” Everyone stands within the covenant.
It seems to me that there is a profound principle here that also touches on the very foundation of human rights. A society is measured not only by how it protects those at its center, but also by how it treats those at its margins. A person who is not part of the majority, who lacks power, whose story is different from ours, is not outside the covenant. They are already there, within the “all of you.”
And the covenant is not limited even to those who are present at that moment: “You stand this day, all of you, before the ETERNAL your God: your tribal heads, your elders, and your officials—the entire body of Israel…I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before the ETERNAL our God and with those who are not with us here this day.” (Deuteronomy 29:9–14)
The covenant creates responsibility among people, between generations, and perhaps also toward those who are not part of our own group.
Toward the end of the Torah portion, we encounter a choice: “I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life—if you and your offspring would live” (Deuteronomy 30:19).
The Torah does not leave choice as an abstract concept. It asks us to choose life, and immediately adds: “so that you and your offspring may live.”
In a year in which the sanctity of life has taken on such a tangible and painful meaning, this verse compels us to ask what it means to choose life. Does it mean only my life and the lives of those close to me? Or does choosing life require me to recognize the value of every human life, simply because it is human life?
Perhaps this is the standing to which the parashah calls us. Not merely to stand before reality, but to ask what kind of world we seek to create within it. A world in which rights, freedom, dignity, and security are not privileges reserved for those who belong to the “right” group, but values that we seek to uphold for all of us.
As a new year begins, the covenant is also a choice: Who are we when we stand? To whom do we say “Hineni”? And what kind of life do we choose to protect and make possible - for ourselves and for others?
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rabbi Mira Regev is Director of the Content Department of the Israeli movement for progressive Judaism. She teaches Zohar and Kabbalah and holds a degree in mindfulness-based somatic psychotherapy (Hakomi). She maintains a private practice at her home.