It always happens around now.
I’ll be walking outside sometime in August, and it all clicks—a combination of low-angle sunlight, an odd leaf on the ground, a sudden chill on an otherwise hot day—and it feels like fall for a second. There’s a heavy musk of pre-emptive nostalgia, and I go there: to football, to apples, to first days, and more. All five senses start twitching.
This week, that began. I slept with the windows open and wore pants in the evening, had three fantasy football drafts, started thinking about early-season Bruins games, and, of course, continued to prepare for the High Holy Days at work. It’s about that time; I can see it.
And that’s a good thing, for on Shabbat we will read Re’eh, which opens with Moses’ instruction to the Israelites to “see” what is before them. There is a lot to see—blessings and curses, certainly, but also the inevitable consequences of the choices they would make within the covenant, both then and now. For Moses, looking across at the Promised Land he would never enter, the reflection on his own choices and missteps must have been painful. His hope to keep the Israelites from drifting away from God may have felt futile, but he nevertheless delivered the wake-up call.
At this season, we go through that same reflective process—after all, Elul arrives this week. Moses gazed at the Land of Israel, knowing he would not enter it; we open the Book of Life and pray that we will be inscribed within it. There is a lot on the line, and we had better open our eyes.
The Torah’s command to see with our eyes carries an implicit invitation to also see with our hearts and minds, and to recognize the choices before us and the truths hidden beneath the surface. Living with awareness means noticing both the obvious and the subtle; as summer turns toward fall, we are reminded to turn inward as well.
More than 3,000 years ago, Moses implored the people to see blessings and curses. Today, the seasons urge us to notice both joy and fragility.
As we move from introspection toward atonement, our ability to see remains clouded by the ongoing reality of the hostages still in captivity. Even as we prepare to savor the beauty of this transitional time, their absence looms. We go about our days seeking joy and comfort, yet around every corner lies the darkness of a people in mourning, still not whole. To see clearly means not turning away from that truth.
But Re’eh insists on both sides: the blessing and the curse. To see the world as we are meant to requires us to hold onto blessings while acknowledging pain. Our sight is not only visual, but also spiritual and aspirational. Just as the first changing leaf signals not an end but the beginning of another season, so too must we believe that the end of this ongoing tragedy is not too far away, perhaps just out of sight.
The command to see clearly is evergreen. Today, more than ever, we are challenged to behold the darkness and yet also see beyond it—beyond the despair, the tunnels, the hunger, the war, the headlines, and the hatred. That is not easy. But this week, we are dared to try.
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