The End That Isn’t
Matos-Masei 5785
Parshas Masei is the final parsha in Sefer Bamidbar. It marks the end of Bnei Yisrael’s journey through the midbar under the leadership of Moshe. Sefer Devarim which is the next sefer belongs to a different category. Devarim or Mishneh Torah, is a repetition, a reflection, and a retelling of what came before.1
In a certain way, then, Parshas Masei represents the closing of the Torah proper, before it shifts into Moshe’s personal voice. One might expect the final parsha of a sefer, or even of the Torah itself, to close on a high note. Perhaps it should conclude with a sweeping message about the destiny of Am Yisrael or a timeless idea, one that transcends any single moment in history.
Instead, Sefer Bamidbar ends with what seems like a narrow technicality.
The leaders of Shevet Menasheh raise a concern. In last week’s parsha, the daughters of Tzlofchad were granted their father’s portion of land. What happens if they marry outside their shevet and the land would unfairly transfer to another shevet? Would that not undermine the original tribal boundaries?
Moshe listens, agrees, and rules that the daughters should marry within their shevet, but only for that generation. This is how Sefer Bamidbar ends.
The question carries deep legal, social, and spiritual ramifications. Still, it feels limited in scope. The topic doesn’t appear to carry the weight or grandeur one might expect from the closing chapter of a foundational sefer.
The Mei HaShiloach is bothered by this. Why would the Torah conclude on such a seemingly minor note? Why end here?
He offers a subtle yet radical answer.
The Pasuk in Ekev tells us
כי לא על־הלחם לבדו יחיה האדם כי על־כל־מוצא פ ה' יחיה האדם
Not by bread alone does man live, rather by the entire expression of Hashem’s word does man live.
The Mei HaShiloach explains that bread represents the stable structure of Torah, which are the 613 mitzvos and apply equally in every generation. The second part, motza pi Hashem, the will of God as it emerges in time and context, through the needs and spiritual conditions of the moment. The essence of existence is what comes from the mouth of God, which is found in the essence of all things. That second part is what sustains us.
Torah is more than a system, it is a flow.
The Torah ends here, not despite the law being temporary, but because it is temporary.
It is teaching us that ratzon Hashem continues to unfold in real time. It doesn’t stop at Sinai. The conversation between heaven and earth continues, shaped by the questions we ask and the situations we face. Even laws that may expire in practice carry within them timeless principles.
Rav Moshe Dovid Vali adds another layer. The story of Bnei Menasheh refers to spiritual alignment in addition to the legal boundaries. Like their ancestor Yosef HaTzaddik, the shevet of Menasheh wanted to ensure that their earthly actions reflected their spiritual reality. In Eretz Yisrael, each shevet is given a specific portion of land. That land represents the shevet’s unique spiritual identity. It is the place through which their shefa flows, where the hashra’as haShechinah is custom-tailored to their shoresh.
If someone from another shevet marries into theirs and inherits land, the alignment is disrupted. The channels of blessing become confused and the boundaries of meaning begin to blur. Even zivugim are part of this map. If their intended matches are from other shevatim, the entire structure risks falling out of sync.
This is why Yovel is called Dror—a word that can be read as Dar Ohr, to dwell in your own light. In Yovel everyone went back to reset and live in their intended space, Yovel was the great realignment. The Bnei Menashe however realized that Yovel will never help them, as yovel only works on land transferred via monetary transaction, not land transferred by inheritance.
Moshe validates them and agrees that they are right, just as Yosef was right. In order to preserve this deeper spiritual architecture, the zivugim of the daughters of Tzlofchad are redirected to remain within their shevet. What might appear to be a technical restriction is actually a revelation of Divine orchestration. All of it, Moshe assures them, is in accordance with the higher plan of Hashem. Every soul will find its place and every piece of land will be aligned. Nothing will go haywire.
The Izhbitzer Rebbe takes this even further. He writes that the care and precision of Bnei Menasheh reflect something much deeper—our future portion in Olam Haba.
At first glance, it might seem overly exacting for the shevet to be so worried about losing a small part of their inheritance. However the Izhbitzer explains that Eretz Yisrael is more than just a homeland, it is actually a reflection of the World to Come. In this world, we are told to give generously, to stretch beyond ourselves, because our true boundaries are not yet revealed. While in the next world, every soul will sit under its own canopy. If someone tries to reach beyond their portion, even slightly, it will cause damage. The spiritual space of Olam Haba will be measured down to the finest point. Therefore, in the division of Eretz Yisrael, that same care must be taken. While at first glance the tribe of Yosef may have seemed petty, they were attuned to the exactness of eternity.
This is why the Torah ends here. The halachah may have been temporary but the principle it reveals is not. There is Torah for today. However, the Torah of today is not the Torah of yesterday.
That is the lesson of the end of a sefer. This isn’t a time to stop, rather we are being asked to listen more closely.
The Torah is ever-new, yet it is also eternal. So this constant renewal doesn’t mean we discard what came before.
Rav Moshe Dovid Vali explains that the final pasuk of the parsha—“Eleh hamitzvos”—signals something profound. These are the mitzvos. They are fixed and eternal, beyond substitution or exchange.
Through these very mitzvos, he writes, we bring about the tikkun of Yisrael—both in this world and in the upper realms, all the way to our shoresh. When we perform them, we awaken a flow of shefa and bracha that reshapes our lives and the world around us.
So yes, the Torah must speak to today. The same way bread follows the same recipe yet must be baked fresh each morning, the Torah too remains the same—while demanding fresh eyes, renewed attention, and a living connection, every single day.
As we finish Sefer Bamidbar, we say the traditional words: “Chazak Chazak V’nischazeik.”2
According to Rav Hirsch, these words are beyond a celebration of completion, as they are a call to strength. Torah learning demands energy, clarity, and courage. Every time we reach the end of a sefer, we are fortifying and strengthening ourselves to go further.
This is the deeper meaning of an “ending” in Torah. It is never final. It always leads somewhere new.
___
This brings us to Chodesh Av.
Av, too, carries the illusion of an ending. It holds the destruction of both Batei Mikdash. It carries the collapse of Jewish sovereignty, the shattering of national unity, and the beginning of galus. If any month feels like the end, it is this one.
Yet Av is not the end of the year, rather Elul is.
The sefarim note that the letters of the word “אב” can be read as an acronym for “Elul Ba.” Elul is coming.
This points to something essential. We are not yet at the year’s conclusion, however, we are approaching it. The shadows grow longer and the energy shifts. The soul begins to stir, but it is still not Elul.
This moment, late Bamidbar, early Av, sits on the edge. It is a false ending, similar to Parshas Masei. Which makes it exactly the right time to ask:
How do we live in a moment that feels like an ending, even when we know it is not?
What do we do with the tension between what is closing and what has not yet begun?
These aren’t only questions about the calendar. They are the questions of life.
Because Elul isn’t unique in that it hovers just out of reach. We are living in a time that feels like the end of something larger. History feels like it is contracting. Something ancient is unraveling, while something else is beginning to stir.
There is a gut feeling, quiet, intuitive, sometimes spoken aloud, that we may be living in Acharis HaYamim. The intention is a grounded and honest one, far from being dramatic or apocalyptic.
The world is unstable, with Israel on fire and alive all at once. The Jewish people are waking up. We are shifting, dividing, reuniting, aching, praying, and standing with a raw clarity not felt in generations.
It feels like Dror Yikra that we are returning to the source of our light.
The words of the Neviim suddenly feel current and real.
So we ask again:
Is something ending? Is something beginning?
Or as the Torah teaches at the end of Masei, are those the same?
As we begin to wind down the year, we must do so with intention. To borrow an awkward phrase from a U.S. Vice President: “We must think about what can be, rather than be burdened by what has been.”
Of course, the Torah wants us to remember the past.
As I once wrote: “The Torah doesn’t tell us to leave the past entirely behind and press a reset button. Rather, we must realize that our past decisions build us into our future selves. Regretting the past, in an unhealthy manner, dilutes its impact on our future.”
Teshuvah is about shaping the past into something holy. It is the realization that even the temporary moments, the choices that seemed small, the halachos that applied only once, carry within them a spark of something eternal.
That is why the Torah ends Sefer Bamidbar with a halachah intended for a single generation. It teaches us that ratzon Hashem is not only found in sweeping ideals but also in the details of time, place, and circumstance .It reminds us that Torah is neverending. It continues to be given, again and again, in every moment we choose to hear it.
The world is recreated each day and the Torah is renewed each day.3
The year itself winds down gradually, day by day.
While Elul is in the near distance, we can begin to prepare. It may not feel like the end of the year. Still, we can start to close with purpose. The Torah may feel familiar. Even so, we must ask what it demands of us now. This is the message of Parshas Masei. It is the call of Chodesh Av.
This awkward time in history might be requesting the same action. That we listen, learn, appreciate and move forward with the higher plan of Hashem in mind.
Let us mark the moment with strength and approach the close of the year the way we finish each sefer: not with finality, but with the courage to move forward.
Chazak Chazak V’nischazeik.
While there are those who argue that Sefer Devarim was not part of the original Torah—such as proponents of the documentary hypothesis—our mesorah is firm: it is Torah.
I would be remiss not to mention my friend Yair Reiner, who likes to say that Chazak is simply an acronym for Chazan U’Kahal, meaning that everyone should say the final pasuk together, just like we do at the end of a Megillah. Perhaps this minhag emerged as a heavenly source of chizuk in its own right
hamechadaish b’tuvu kol yom…
Very nice thoughts. Very deep. Enjoyed!