It’s a timeless human experience, and it’s something the ancient rabbis wrestled with too.
In the book of Sifrei Devarim, a collection of early rabbinic legal interpretations on the book of Deuteronomy, we find a fascinating verse: "And your foes will dissimulate to you" (Deuteronomy 33:29). It's a promise – and a warning. What does it mean?
The rabbis in Sifrei Devarim 357 see this as describing a specific historical reality. When Israel was prospering, the Babylonians, instead of openly challenging them, "dissimulated," meaning they pretended to be friendly, like brothers. They acted one way, while thinking another. Sound familiar?
The text draws parallels to other biblical stories. Remember when Esav met Jacob after years of estrangement? Esav says, "My brother, let there be yours what is yours" (Genesis 33:9). It sounds generous, brotherly even. But was it genuine? The rabbis ask us to consider the possibility of hidden motives.
And what about Chiram, the King of Tyre, and Solomon? Chiram says, "What are these cities that you have given me, my brother?" (1 Kings 9:13). Again, the language is familial, but the tone… it’s dripping with veiled criticism. Are these genuine expressions of brotherhood, or veiled expressions of something else entirely? The rabbis of the Sifrei suggest the latter. It’s a reminder that sometimes, those who seem closest to us might harbor hidden resentments or ulterior motives.
The text then shifts to the phrase "and you will tread on their high places." The rabbis connect this to Joshua 10:24, where Joshua commands his officers to put their feet on the necks of defeated kings. It's a powerful image of victory and dominance. But what's the connection? Perhaps it's a reminder that despite the dissimulation of enemies, ultimate triumph is possible.
Finally, Sifrei Devarim touches on the very beginning of the end of Moses's life: "And Moses went up from the plains of Moav" (Deuteronomy 34:1). The rabbis emphasize that this was an ascent – a going up– for him, not a descent. Even as Moses approaches his death, the text frames it as an elevation, a spiritual achievement. He’s not just dying; he’s ascending.
What can we take away from all this? Maybe it’s this: Be aware of those who flatter you excessively, especially when you're successful. Not everyone who smiles is a friend. At the same time, remember that even in the face of adversity, there is always the possibility of rising above, of ascending to a higher plane. It’s a complex message, one that reminds us to be both vigilant and hopeful, discerning and resilient. Because life, as the rabbis knew well, is rarely as simple as it seems.