The Final Lesson of the Torah: How to Rise Above Resentment

“Does Comrade Kapolsky live here?” asks the KGB officer, pounding on the closed door.

“No!” comes an irritated reply from inside the locked apartment.

Half an hour later, the officer returns and pounds on the door again.

“Does Comrade Kapolsky live here?”

“No!” the resident shouts once more.

“Are you sure?” the officer insists. According to his information, this is the right apartment.

“I’m sure!”

“What is your name, sir?” the officer asks through the door.

“Kapolsky.”

“Then why are you lying?” the officer snaps. “You said Kapolsky doesn’t live here.”

“Really?” Kapolsky grumbles from behind the door. “You call this living?”

Our Torah portion opens with the words: “And this is the blessing with which Moshe, the man of Hashem, blessed the Children of Israel before his death.”

The holy Or HaChaim, Rabbeinu Chaim ben Attar, raises a striking question.

Moshe spent time in Heaven without food, drink, or sleep. Not once, but three times, for forty days each.

He brought the Torah down to the Jewish people. In his merit, manna descended for them in the desert. Extraordinary miracles occurred through him. Yet only now, at the very end of his life, does the Torah describe him as “a man of Hashem”?

And there is another question: Why does the verse emphasize that this blessing was given “before his death”?

The People Who Had Opposed His Father

A charity administrator once received new lists from the Rebbe and was stunned. The names of several people who had regularly received financial assistance, including some who had been given particularly large sums, had disappeared.

His surprise did not escape the notice of Rabbi Aharon of Belz, of blessed memory, who had assumed his father Rabbi Yissachar Dov’s position only days earlier.

“Among the poor people whom my father supported,” Rabbi Aharon explained, “were Jews who were among his fiercest opponents. When they needed help, my father gave them substantial sums. Not only did he refuse to bear a grudge against them, he deliberately increased their weekly allowance beyond what he gave others in similar circumstances, in order to work on his character.

“But unlike my father, who wanted to work on his character in this way, I am first and foremost obligated to honor my father. Therefore, I cannot give my own money to those who caused my father pain and harmed his honor.”

The story gives us a glimpse of just how difficult it can be to rise above personal hurt. And that brings us back to Moshe.

Moshe Had Every Reason to Feel Hurt

The explanation of the holy Or HaChaim is as demanding as it is powerful.

At the end of the previous Torah portion, Haazinu, Hashem tells Moshe: “For from afar you will see the land, but you will not enter the land that I am giving to the Children of Israel.”

Moshe would not enter the Land of Israel because of what happened at the waters of strife.

For forty years, Moshe had devoted himself to the Children of Israel in the desert. Now they stood on the threshold of entering the Land, while Moshe’s lifelong dream of entering it, experiencing its holiness, and fulfilling the mitzvot that depend upon the Land would remain unfulfilled.

The Children of Israel would enter.

Moshe, who had given his life for them, would remain behind.

The Or HaChaim explains that even if Moshe, the humblest of all people, certainly did not hate them, one might still have expected some trace of resentment to remain deep within his heart. Some tiny feeling of hurt. A small lump in his throat.

After all, feelings can become especially intense at the moment of parting. Imagine devoting yourself to someone for years, only to be deeply hurt by them just before saying goodbye.

But Moshe showed no resentment.

Instead, at the very end of his life, he gave the Jewish people extraordinary blessings with a full heart: “And this is the blessing with which Moshe blessed them.”

If, “before his death,” at the very moment of parting, Moshe could bless them so wholeheartedly, then the description takes on its full meaning.

He truly was “a man of Hashem.”

The Lesson at the Finish Line

We have reached the finish line.

For an entire year, we have studied the weekly Torah portion each Shabbat. We have learned, grown, been inspired, and dug deeper. And sometimes, perhaps, we glossed over something difficult and told ourselves, “Next year, we’ll try to understand that complicated point in Rashi.”

Then, as we reach the end of the Torah, we are given one final lesson to engrave on our hearts.

Forty days in Heaven, bringing down the Torah, the manna falling, and the sea splitting were all extraordinary.

But the Torah leaves us with another measure of greatness.

True spiritual growth is not found only in “ascending to Heaven” or bringing extraordinary Torah into the world. It is also found in transforming the human being within us: rising above resentment, personal calculations, wounded pride, and that stubborn lump in the throat.

It means taking the ordinary, physical human being and elevating him toward something higher.

That is what it means to truly live.