That’s a tiny glimpse into what Moses must have felt.
Imagine this: after leading the Israelites for forty long years through the wilderness, after all the trials, the tribulations, the miracles… he wasn't going to be allowed to enter the Promised Land. Can you even fathom that level of disappointment?
The Torah tells us that Moses wasn’t allowed to enter because he struck the rock to bring forth water when God had commanded him only to speak to it (Numbers 20:1-13). Whatever the reason, the great leader, the man who spoke face-to-face with God, was devastated.
And the Legends of the Jews, that amazing collection of rabbinic stories compiled by Louis Ginzberg, gives us a powerful, almost theatrical depiction of Moses' grief. We read that he tore his clothes, covered his head in dust – the ultimate signs of mourning – and retreated to his tent, weeping. "Woe to my feet that may not enter the land of Israel," he lamented, "woe to my hands that may not pluck of its fruits! Woe to my palate that may not taste the fruits of the land that flows with milk and honey!"
It's raw. It's human. It’s a window into the heart of a leader facing his own mortality and the limits of his power.
But the story doesn't end there. There's this fascinating little scene that follows, and it speaks volumes about leadership, humility, and accepting God's will.
Moses, knowing his time was near, prepared to hand over the reins to Joshua. He wrote the Shem HaMeforash – the Ineffable Name of God – on a scroll, along with a song, and went to deliver them to Joshua in his tent.
And here's where it gets… well, strange.
Ginzberg tells us that when Moses arrived, Joshua was seated, and Moses remained standing before him, bowed, but Joshua didn't even notice him! Why? Because, according to the Legends, God orchestrated this whole situation.
The reason behind this awkward encounter goes deep into Moses' earlier prayers. He had pleaded with God to let him live, even if it meant living as an ordinary citizen. God, in a way, granted his wish. He said, "If thou hast no objection to subordinating thyself to Joshua, then mayest thou live." So, in essence, Moses was humbling himself, fulfilling his agreement with God.
Imagine Moses, the great lawgiver, standing respectfully before his successor, unnoticed. It's a powerful image of a leader accepting his fate, acknowledging the next generation, and ultimately, submitting to a higher power.
It makes you wonder, doesn't it? About leadership, about legacy, about the bittersweet beauty of letting go. What does it truly mean to serve? And what does it mean to accept when our own dreams aren't meant to be?