Parashat Nitzavim opens emphatically with a moving description of the ceremony establishing the Israelites sacred covenant with God. While each one of us may personally accept our covenantal relationship with God at different times throughout our lives, the overarching bond, the quintessential relationship, is one that demands we stand amongst all members of our communities.
"You stand this day, all of you, before the Lord your God-your tribal heads, your elders and your officials, all the men of Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to water drawer-to enter into the covenant of the Lord your God..." (Deut. 29:9-10)
As we see from this verse, no member of society may miss this crucial moment. The Torah records every category of person relevant in any community-the leaders, the parents, the wealthy and poor, young and old, white collar and blue collar--everybody!
When we stand before God as a community, it ought to be just that. And yet, I am left with the question on the last two categories of people, woodchoppers and water-drawers: Why does the Torah specifically single out these two professions? Are they not already included in the general categories already enumerated?
Many traditional commentators argue that because every general and specific category of Israelite is mentioned in the verse, "woodchoppers and water drawers" must refer to foreign people living among the Israelites, forced into the role of menial laborers. As Jews, we have often been 'strangers' as well, which makes it hard not to read this verse and notice the contemporaries (often "aliens" in biblical terms) dwelling in our society who bear the onerous jobs citizens leave unwanted and unclaimed. These laborers stand with us before God. This short passage mandates that we insist upon the same dignity for others that we demand for ourselves.
Even so, while the "woodchoppers and water drawers" probably refers to foreigners living among the Israelites, this seemingly superfluous phrase invites additional interpretation. The earlier part of the same verse already mentions the "stranger within your camp", so this second reference becomes available to us for a more creative meaning! A major rule of rabbinic exegesis (from the school Rabbi Akiva) is that each and every word of the Torah contains multiple levels of meaning. Each item in a list teaches us something new, and if we look closely enough, it is bound to be inspirational.
What if we were to understand woodchoppers and water-drawers as two distinct paradigms (based on a similar teaching I heard in the name of Reb Shlomo Carlebach) for looking inward; as an attempt to better understand ourselves vis--vis our personal relationships, with others and with God, as we stand before the Holy One amidst our communities this coming Yamim Nora'im.
Woodcutters: I understand this term to be a metaphor for possible abuse in interpersonal relationships. How often do we see the person across from us, or beside us, as an object to cut down, prove wrong, or shape in the image we think they ought to be? This can happen within our families, synagogues and temples and places of business. Instead of chipping away at the edges to see what is truly beneath a person's exterior, we (often by accident) cut too much, creating scraps that are difficult to reassemble.
This pertains to our relationship with God as well. While our illustrious tradition certainly demands that we question (with passion!) God and other spiritual matters, do we sometimes go too far? Is it possible to dig so deep into that relationship and expect so much from that relationship, so that when no immediate gratification arrives, the relationship is tarnished?
Water Drawers: I understand this designation to be a metaphor for how we can see others as wells of inspiration, waiting for us to engage them, learn from them, be nourished and satiated by them, and to ultimately compliment one another. This suggests that our relationships go two ways. We give, and we receive (and the two are not always equal). There are limits, though. A well can dry up if one draws too much without replenishing it, offering something in return. But finding that balance is not so simple.
In just less than a week many of us will stand side-by-side the members of our families and communities (atem nitzavim ha-yom, You stand this day...) attempting to put the previous year into religious focus.
When were we woodchoppers? When were we water drawers? Most likely, many of us have been both. Our job, like God's during this time of year, is to find the inner strength, and the external help, to gently tilt ourselves to the latter.
G'mar Hatimah Tova!