This week’s parsha is a climactic finale for the list of blessings and curses that accompany obedience and disobedience. The main point of this short parsha is a charge from Moses to observe the commandments in this Torah he is presenting to us so that we will be rewarded with life and blessing. And the text is explicit that it means this exact Torah you are currently reading: haTorah hazot. The plain meaning, the peshat, is straightforward: do what you’ve been commanded.

But there is a substantial theological and intellectual problem many of us have with this simple message, and it’s related to our knowledge of how the Torah was created. Jewish tradition holds that the Torah was given to Moses at Sinai, but many scholars, including eminent rabbis of the Talmudic period and the Middle Ages, noticed oddities in the text that pointed away from Mosaic authorship. It was Spinoza who blew the lid off the worst kept secret about the Bible by openly arguing in his Theological Political Treatise that it was not the word of God, but rather the sacred literature of the Israelite people compiled and edited from many sources by a later editor. This basic insight grew into the field of Higher Criticism and ultimately led to the documentary hypothesis of Julius Wellhausen, which became the basis for the consensus view about biblical origins today. The documentary hypothesis holds that there were at least four source texts for the Torah, which themselves may have been heavily edited forms of various folk traditions, history, and legend.

To put the issue bluntly, it is difficult for many of us to accept the doctrine that this Torah we have today, haTorah hazot, came directly from God at Sinai.

In addition to this issue, we also have many passages in the Torah that we find morally repugnant or problematic. Things like slavery, genocide, and patriarchy. Obviously, there are also many exemplary precepts in the Torah that even now we struggle to live up to. But the moral ambiguity of different passages of the Torah presents us with a dilemma. How are we to determine which mitzvot to follow and which we should disregard? After all, isn’t the Torah supposed to be a guide for making moral decisions, for how to live?

Obviously, the resolution of the dilemma lies in a thoughtful engagement with the text and an attempt to interpret it in an allegorical, didactic, or mystical way. This is what the Talmudic Rabbis did, and as a result, Judaism has an amazingly robust tradition of interpretation. But that tradition is grounded in the assumption that the Torah is the literal word of God given at Sinai. This basic assumption can often lead to interpretations that are themselves morally offensive to us. For example, the Orthodox women who are incapable of getting a divorce because of Orthodox interpretations of Jewish marriage laws.

So then, how should we understand this insistence to obey the Torah given to us by God? Even if we don’t believe in the literal verbatim revelation, we must affirm some form of revelation, some type of Torah from God. Without the encounter with God that leads to covenant and mitzvah, what is left of Judaism?

This insight undergirds Martin Buber’s theology: Judaism is an encounter and relationship with God – the Eternal Thou. And when you pay close attention to our parsha, you can see the Torah support Buber’s point: “choose life…love Hashem your God, listen to his voice, and cleave to him, for he is your life and the length of your days” (Deut. 30:19-20).

Those of you familiar with Buber probably know, however, that he took this idea of a divine relationship to an extreme by denying the validity of halakha entirely. He believed that prescribed activity inhibited a true encounter with God, and only a true encounter was capable of leading to commandment. Therefore, in Buber’s thought, each person has their own commandments that come from their personal encounter with God. Obviously not the sort of idea communities can be built on.

Buber’s friend Franz Rosenzweig disagreed with his rejection of halakha while agreeing that the divine encounter was the motivation and event underlying all of Judaism. However, he thought that halakha was helpful in leading a person to an encounter with God, not a hindrance. Mitzvot were the means by which someone approached God. I tend to agree with Rosenzweig on this point.

Is it possible for us to simultaneously say that the Torah is entirely interior, based on a personal relationship with God, and that we should maintain a system of observance based on a conception of the Torah we reject? The answer is both yes and no. Yes, in the sense that communal practices have their own emotional and spiritual value that often transcend the stated beliefs of a community. Even if a practice was created for one reason, many people continue it for wildly different reasons, and therefore its origins are inessential. The answer is also no, in the sense that any belief that Torah is something that comes from a relationship with God must be open to change, especially in matters of conscience.

A relational Torah grounded in our hearts (Deut. 30:14), requires an openness to the idea that following God’s lead, walking in God’s ways, and listening to God’s voice as it says in 30:16&20 will lead to changes in how Judaism is practiced and understood. This is the ever-present tension between “tradition and change,” which is the motto of the Conservative Movement.

There are other biblical texts that point to this interior Torah, the Torah of the Heart. First is the story of Elijah’s encounter with God at Horeb (a.k.a. Sinai). When Elijah flees to the mountain of God he meets God, but not in the fire and wind and smoke like the first Sinai revelation. Rather, God was in the thin, whispering voice (I Kings 19:12). This is something I have always understood to be the voice of conscience and the inner sense of God’s Presence. When Elijah needed guidance and comfort he turned directly to God, and just as God wasn’t found in the fire, earthquake, and storm, neither was God found in a Torah scroll. God was manifest as a still, small voice in his heart.

Next is Jeremiah’s vision of the new covenant that will be established when all Jews return to Israel. Jeremiah describes the new covenant as one written on the heart, with no need of teachers or interpreters because everyone will have a direct relationship with God (Jer. 31:30-33). No more confusion, debate, or difficult questions because we will have direct access to God’s voice in our hearts. But we’re not living in the Messianic Era, and we’re not great prophets like Elijah. We need guidance because every person isn’t going to have such an intense encounter with God. So, what guidance should we take from this parsha?

I believe the answer is in the most famous two words of these verses: choose life. In this passage life is equated with the blessings that were listed in the previous parsha: fertility, prosperity, peace, strength, and so on. In addition, life is equated with God and clinging to God. In the absence of mystical encounters with God, we are commanded to do that which promotes life, happiness, human dignity, and peace. By choosing righteousness in this way, we remain true to the tradition that continues to guide and inform us as we engage with the text; and we open ourselves to an encounter with God, while also cleaving to God, the Source of all goodness.

I think it is important to pause and also add another theological element to this discussion: the doctrine of b’tzelem Elohim, each person is made in the image of God. And because of this we are commanded to love one another and treat others as we would be treated. If we love God, we must also love the image of God and choose to act in ways that uphold the life and dignity of the divine image bearers. To love God, walk in God’s ways, and listen to God’s voice necessarily must lead to righteousness because it would be impossible to do any of those things while disrespecting God’s image.

What then is this Torah of Life we are choosing that is already in our mouths and hearts? I believe it is the constant dialogue with the Holy One that we engage in through our scriptures and mitzvot, through prayer and meditation and the attempt to respond wholeheartedly to God’s commanding Presence in our midst. As Buber taught, it is also in the relationships between us, our ability to recognize the sacred in each person and act accordingly. It is not simply a text, or a law code, or an easily remembered cliché about being a good person. It is the ever-growing relationship between God and the individual and the whole people of Israel, “with whoever is here…and with whoever is not here with us today,” (Deut. 29:14) past, present, and future.