Parashat Nitzavim – Choosing Life, Standing Tall; Always

In Parashat Nitzavim, Moses addresses the gathered people to remind them that God’s covenant includes them and all generations to come: “All of you are standing today before the Lord your God: your leaders, your tribes, your elders, and your officers, all the men of Israel, your children, your women, and the foreigner residing among you” (Deuteronomy 29:9–11).

It is the image of an entire people, “nitzavim hayom” – standing today – before God. This is not about individual heroes or isolated efforts: it is the strength of the community, of a collective body that holds together even in moments of fragility, when history seems to waver. No one is left out; everyone shares the same destiny.

The Torah makes it even clearer: “I make this covenant, with its curses, not only with you but also with those who are standing here with us today before the Lord our God and with those who are not here with us today” (Deuteronomy 29:12). The decisions we make today ripple through the generations; our actions affect those who have yet to hear our name. Responsibility does not end at the individual level; it is a commitment that stretches across time.

God warns that there will be consequences if we imitate the idolatrous nations that inhabited the land of Canaan: “If you follow the ways of these nations, you will be destroyed” (Deuteronomy 29:15–28). Yet Moses assures: “God will not abandon you… and will set before you life and goodness, death and evil” (Deuteronomy 30:1–20). This call reminds us that there is always a choice: life and blessing are within reach for those who choose the path of good.

Today, we too are “nitzavim hayom.” Standing in the face of violence, hatred, and Judeophobia that flows across the world like molten lava. The pain of the kidnapped, the loss of soldiers, the indifference of those who could listen confronts us with questions and fears. And yet, we remain here: resisting, remembering, singing, celebrating our sacred times. We stand not from calm, but from a mixture of anguish and hope.

We must stand to support our communities, which are the lifeblood of the Jewish people—keeping us alive not only in body but alive in the transmission of our history, our traditions, and our ethical foundation that has sustained us and will continue to sustain us into the future.

The Parasha continues: “I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, so that you and your offspring may live” (Deuteronomy 30:19). Ibn Ezra (12th century) explains: “You have the ability to choose life. So that you may live. In body or in memory. And the purpose of life is to love.” Choosing life is both a spiritual act and an ethical stance: it means living in a way that leaves a lasting mark on those who follow us and making love the driving force behind everything.

Typically, the last Shabbat of the Hebrew month is called Shabbat Mevarchim, during which the new month is announced. However, this month is different.

Shabbat Nitzavim, the last Shabbat of the year, does not announce the arrival of the new month or the new year. In fact, even the shofar sounded throughout Elul falls silent on the eve of Rosh Hashanah.

This omission is striking.

The traditional explanation for these customs and omissions is that they “confuse the Satan,” so that he loses track of the Day of Divine Judgment (Iom HaDin) and cannot accuse Israel (Rosh Hashanah, end of the Tractate of Rosh Hashanah). Indeed, some say that the customs and restrictions of the holiest day of the Hebrew year serve the same purpose.

A profound midrash recounts that on Yom Kippur, Satan stands before God and asks to descend to the earth to trip up humanity. God, knowing what would happen, says: “You may try, if you wish, but you will not prevail over them…”

And indeed, Satan descends, but after some time returns to God, saying: “Just as the ministering angels, who have no physical needs, remain steadfast, so do the Israelites stand firm on Yom Kippur; just as the angels neither eat nor drink, so the Israelites neither eat nor drink on Yom Kippur; just as the angels dwell in peace, so the Israelites dwell in peace on Yom Kippur.”

Rami bar Yama says in the Talmud: ‘HaSaTaN’ in gematria equals 364. For 364 days, Satan has the right to trouble us; on Yom Kippur, he has no right to interfere (Ioma 20a).

Some questions arise from these traditions:

Why did our Sages believe Satan to be so naive and manipulable?

And, who is the true recipient of these customs…? What do we mean when we speak of Satan?

Resh Lakish teaches in the Babilonian Talmud in Baba Batra (16a) that Satan is the impulse toward evil that dwells in our own hearts. Satan is, in fact, the lack of discernment that prevents us from differentiating right from wrong.

All the acts and omissions practiced in the days preceding Rosh Hashanah are not intended to confuse a red-skinned creature with a venomous trident hovering around the divine throne. The recipient of these traditions is our own heart.

Naturally, Jews often rely too heavily on these powerful external agents provided by the tradition of Israel—the shofar, the prayers, the fast. This carries a risk: one can hear the shofar and remain unmoved. One can fast on Yom Kippur and leave the heart unaltered, with the same flaws as the previous year.

Then suddenly, on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, the shofar falls silent… and we hear only the beat of our own heart. There is no other sound, because the true protagonist of these days is the mortal heart called to judgment.

Prayer helps; fasting helps too. But the process of transformation must enter our hearts, where the impulse toward evil—Satan—dwells, whispering that wrong is right. This is why the shofar falls silent on the eve of Rosh Hashanah.

In these days, we will all stand before God, as the tradition reminds us: “BeRosh HaShaná kol baei ha-olam ovrim lefanav ki benei maron – On Rosh Hashanah, all humanity passes before Him.” Rich and poor, wise and unlearned, leaders and water carriers: all are equal before the Eternal. Rosh Hashanah levels the field, smoothing the differences humans create, and reminds us that the final judgment distinguishes neither appearance, wealth, nor position.

When the shofar falls silent on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, we hear only the beat of our hearts—the true protagonist of these days. Only there can we confront the question the Parasha poses: Have we chosen life? Have we loved enough in the year that is ending?

The Torah reminds us: “And the Lord your God will make you abound in all the work of your hands… if you return to the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul” (Deuteronomy 30:9–10). Returning to the path of life requires commitment, reflection, and action. It means consciously choosing our words, our decisions, our beliefs, and our deeds with love and integrity.

As we close this year and open the next, we can affirm together: “Nitzavim hayom – Standing today.” Standing before horrors, hatred, and injustice, but also before hope and the possibility of renewal. May these High Holy Days find us steadfast, attentive, and ready to choose life, goodness, love, and justice.

Ashivenu Adonai eleja venashuva, jadesh yameinu kekedem – Return us to You, O God, and we shall return; renew our days as of old.

May Rosh Hashanah find us like one large family, sharing fears and griefs, but also melodies and hopes. May that song accompany us and give us the strength to face difficult times with dignity, unity, and faith. May the year 5786 bring all of us a break, a new season of life chosen from our hearts, consolation, and hope.

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Gustavo Geier