Parashat Ree: Beyond Blessing and Curse - Choosing with Eyes Wide Open

This week we turn to Parashat Re’eh, the fourth portion of the book of Devarim, still echoing with Moses’ parting words. At its core, a timeless call resounds: the invitation to choose. “See, this day I set before you blessing and curse: the blessing, if you obey the commandments of the Lord your God which I command you this day; and the curse, if you do not obey, and turn aside from the way that I command you, and go after other gods you have not known.” (Deuteronomy 11:26–28). 

From ancient times we have understood that what makes us human is precisely this threefold gift and responsibility: the ability, the duty, and the obligation to choose. We lift our eyes and see that, always before us, lies the possibility of deciding which path to take. And we know, from the very beginning, that every choice carries its consequence. As Pirkei Avot puts it so clearly: “Hakol tzafui vehareshut netuná”—all is foreseen, and yet the freedom to choose is granted.

If we were to reframe this biblical passage in today’s language, we might say: “Look—right in front of you, on your phone screen, in the endless scroll of social media you consume as if it were the whole of reality, appear narratives of blessing and narratives of curse. Some lift up coexistence, mutual respect, hope, and beauty; while others feed hatred, irrationality, exclusion, intolerance, and division.”

Blessing reveals itself when we choose the path that the Torah has pointed to since our very beginnings as a people: caring for those on the margins—the widow, the orphan, the stranger; showing our children what it means to live for the common good rather than for selfish gain; pursuing both social and legal justice. That path leaves behind traces of blessing—good examples, constructive conversations, and an open outlook that makes room for possibility and for hope.

But if we choose instead to shut ourselves in, trapped in fanaticism or sealed off in small echo chambers with no windows to the outside world; if we allow modern “gods”—opinion leaders with polarizing agendas, governments, or closed circles of influence—to pull us by the nose and rob us of the autonomy to think for ourselves, then what results is a curse. A curse that becomes a constant “mal-decir”, a speaking-ill that fills our lives, our homes, and our world with darkness, slamming doors against any glimmer of hope.

Both roads lie before us. No one else can walk them for us. Our freedom lies precisely in how we choose to see, to listen, and to interpret the reality unfolding before our eyes. Re’eh, Sh’ma, B’chor.

And if I could sit down with Moses today, I would dare to suggest this: do not reduce the world of choices to stark opposites—blessing or curse, good or evil, us or them. Such binary thinking leaves no room for the shades in between. Our age demands that we embrace complexity—in every sphere, from the most personal to the most global.

We need a vision that builds bridges, not trenches; that seeks not to choose sides but to connect what has been torn apart. A vision ready to hold uncertainty, contradictions, and diversity as gifts that enrich both life and thought. It is time to stop seeing ourselves as irreconcilable cultures or as hostile, invasive nations. It is time to replace revenge with proposals, sterile conflict with new—even if imperfect—alternatives. To turn minefields into fields of planting, and fear into fresh air that restores calm and vitality.

Each day, at every moment, we stand before the chance to look, to listen, and to choose. Re’eh. Sh’ma. B’chor. Not as a one-time decision carved in stone, but as a daily practice—today, here, and now. And the wonder of it is this: when we choose wrongly, there is always the possibility of choosing again, of turning back, of lachazor bit’shuvah—returning in repentance to that inner self that once sought simply, and innocently, to embrace life without hatred. In that return, the world around us is lifted as well.

This Shabbat also ushers in a special time: Rosh Chodesh Elul, the beginning of the “forty-day challenge.” From Elul until Yom Kippur stretches a season of reflection and transformation. Hasidic teaching reminds us that forty days are enough to form a new habit or to reshape a trait of character. These weeks are an invitation to a workshop of the soul: to choose one small gesture, one modest yet positive change, and to sustain it with consistency until Yom Kippur, so that it becomes part of our very way of living.

Within this portion we find 55 mitzvot, commandments that shape communal life: social justice, care for the vulnerable, the centrality of shared experience.

The word simchah—joy—appears six times, always connected with giving and with community. The Torah teaches that genuine joy does not arise from satisfying only our own needs, but from offering ourselves to others.

Meanwhile, the plight of the hostages in Gaza worsens day by day, and the decisions taken around a seemingly endless war multiply the pain. Too many of our leaders appear to have forgotten the lessons of Moses in Parashat Re’eh: they neither see, nor listen, nor negotiate. Their decrees—so often driven by ego—pierce us with sorrow.

In these recurring crises, often born of reckless or destructive actions, we must keep pedaling forward with resolve, convinced that we live in a world of constant change, a world to which we can add blessing if we dare to see and to listen with ethics, beyond our own narrow interests.

See, Re’eh, before you today stand those who suffer. On all sides, across the globe, pain is the only victor. There are no winners, no true victories. Do not choose suffering—it is not why you were born. Choose life: your own, and everyone’s.

May this month of Elul find us with the strength to choose well, to repair what is broken, and to keep our eyes, our ears, and our hands open to act from wherever we are—even if our leaders will not.

Shabbat Shalom and Chodesh Tov. May we enter Elul with depth, reflection, commitment, and the healing rest of Shabbat.

Rabbi Gustavo Geier