Seeing the Invisible

The Superpower Hidden in Plain Sight

Dedicated with love and gratitude to the memory of Ephraim ben Liat v'Shmuel הי"ד, Yosef Malachi ben Dina v'David הי"ד, Eliyahu Moshe Shlomo ben Sarah v'Shimon הי"ד, Yosef Chaim ben Rachel v'Eliyahu הי"ד, Netanel ben Revital v'Elad הי"ד, Yakir ben Chaya v'Yehoshua הי"ד, and Ron ben Sarah v'Kenny הי"ד. May their memories continue to be a blessing, and may their sacrifice never be forgotten.

Parshat Va'etchanan

Seeing Through the Dust

Last night, on the eve of Tisha B'Av, my family and I joined hundreds of others at the

Herodian, an ancient fortress-palace built by King Herod overlooking the Judean hills, to listen to the reading of Eicha.

The evening was warm, and a strong wind swept across the hillside, lifting clouds of dust into the air. At times, it was difficult to see through the haze. But as my eyes adjusted, another picture slowly came into focus.

Families filled the ancient stones. Babies rested in their mothers' arms. Fathers sat surrounded by their children. Groups of teenagers gathered together. Soldiers stood quietly among them. Almost everyone was barefoot or wearing simple non-leather shoes, the traditional sign of mourning.

Then the reading began.

The ba'al koreh held his young son—perhaps five years old—in his lap. Throughout the reading, the little boy leaned against his father, wrapped his arms around him, and rested his head on his chest. As the father chanted Yirmiyahu's words of destruction and exile, he gently stroked his son's cheek. Around us, people swayed to the haunting melody. There were tears—but there was also life.

As I looked around, I realized I was witnessing two completely different scenes at once.

One was a nation mourning the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash.

The other was a nation that had come home.

The very hill that had once witnessed devastation was now overflowing with Jewish families, children, soldiers, and hope. The words of exile echoed across a landscape alive with return.

Which of those scenes was I really seeing?

The answer depends less on what our eyes perceive than on whether we have learned how to see.

That, I believe, is one of the great questions of Parashat Va'etchanan.

Moshe's Final Vision

Parashat Va'etchanan is filled with the language of sight.

Moshe begs to enter the Land. God refuses his request, and Moshe will not cross the Jordan. God does, however, give him one final gift.

עֲלֵה רֹאשׁ הַפִּסְגָּה וְשָׂא עֵינֶיךָ יָמָּה וְצָפֹנָה וְתֵימָנָה וּמִזְרָחָה וּרְאֵה בְעֵינֶיךָ...

"Go up to the top of the summit. Lift your eyes westward, northward, southward and eastward, and see with your own eyes..."

If Moshe cannot enter the Land, why is it so important that he see it?

The question becomes even stronger as we continue reading the parasha.

רַק הִשָּׁמֶר לְךָ... פֶּן־תִּשְׁכַּח אֶת־הַדְּבָרִים אֲשֶׁר־רָאוּ עֵינֶיךָ

"Only beware... lest you forget the things your eyes have seen."

אַתָּה הָרְאֵתָ לָדַעַת

"You were shown in order to know."

Again and again, Moshe returns to sight.

Why?

Because inheriting the Land depends on learning how to see it, this becomes a lesson in sight.

The Eyes of a Shepherd

It is no coincidence that so many of the Torah's greatest leaders begin their lives as shepherds. Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov, Moshe, David.

Shepherding teaches a person to observe carefully. A shepherd spends long hours watching over the flock, learning to notice small but significant details—a sheep that has wandered, an animal beginning to limp, a subtle change in the weather, or signs of danger in the distance. It is a life that develops patience, attentiveness, and the habit of looking beyond the obvious. These are not only practical skills; they are the foundation of leadership. Before a person can guide others, he must first learn to see them.

Long before Moshe becomes the shepherd of a nation, he learns to shepherd with his eyes. That quiet education prepares him for the defining moment of his life. When he notices a bush burning without being consumed, he does not dismiss it or pass it by. Years of careful observation have taught him to pause, to look more closely, and to recognize that what appears ordinary may contain something extraordinary.

Seeing Without Assumption

Moshe notices a bush that burns without being consumed.

Many readers are drawn to the miracle itself, while the Torah draws our attention to Moshe's response.

אָסֻרָה נָּא וְאֶרְאֶה אֶת־הַמַּרְאֶה הַגָּדֹל הַזֶּה

"I will turn aside now and see this great sight."

Moshe does not rush to explain what he sees. He slows down, changes his perspective, and approaches with curiosity because he understands that there may be more before him than first meets the eye.

Only then does God speak.

God's first command is equally striking.

שַׁל נְעָלֶיךָ מֵעַל רַגְלֶיךָ כִּי הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר אַתָּה עוֹמֵד עָלָיו אַדְמַת־קֹדֶשׁ הוּא

"Remove your shoes from your feet, for the place upon which you stand is holy ground."

Before anything else, Moshe is asked to pause and recognize where he is. Before trying to interpret what he sees, he is reminded that the ground beneath him is holy.

The first lesson in seeing begins with observation and grows through humility, curiosity, and the willingness to suspend judgment long enough for deeper truth to emerge.

Seeing Without Insight

The Torah repeatedly warns us what happens when we stop too soon—when we allow our first impression to harden into certainty without pausing to question, reflect, or deepen our understanding.

Chava sees the fruit. It appears good, pleasing, and wise. Each perception holds some truth, but she does not pause to question it or weigh the command she received. Her vision is partial, and that gap leads to action without full awareness.

The spies see the Land. They observe its abundance and its strength. Their report is not false, but they interpret it through fear. They do not hold both challenge and promise together and instead conclude that the Land is unattainable. Their failure is not in seeing, but in stopping too soon.

The people at Baal Peor see the surrounding culture and its allure. They are drawn to what is immediate and attractive, without considering the deeper consequences. Desire overtakes discernment because first impressions define reality.

Again and again, the tragedy unfolds because people are satisfied with partial sight. They mistake what is immediate for what is ultimate, what is visible for what is true in its entirety.

The Torah teaches us that seeing is not a single moment but a process.

It calls upon us to linger, to question, to revisit what we think we understand, and to allow time and humility to refine our perception. Only when we resist the urge to conclude too quickly can our vision mature into something that approaches truth.

Seeing the Invisible

At Har Sinai, the Torah introduces an entirely different kind of vision.

וּתְמוּנָה אֵינְכֶם רֹאִים זוּלָתִי קוֹל

"You saw no form—only a voice."

The greatest revelation in history is described through what Israel did not see. God cannot be reduced to an image, holiness cannot be captured by the eye, and the deepest realities are perceived only when vision reaches beyond the visible.

The Torah returns to this idea later.

רְאֵה אָנֹכִי נֹתֵן לִפְנֵיכֶם...

"See, I place before you..."

What are we being asked to see?

Blessing.

Life.

Promise.

Future.

None of these can be grasped by physical eyesight. They are perceived with the mind, the heart, and the soul.

This is the sight that Rabbi Akiva possessed. When others saw foxes leaving the ruins of the Beit HaMikdash, Rabbi Akiva saw redemption already beginning because he understood that the prophecy of destruction unfolding before his eyes guaranteed that the prophecies of redemption would also be fulfilled.

The Highest Vision

Moshe's life ends where it began—with sight.

From the summit of the mountain, he looks upon the Land he will never enter.

Chazal (see Sifrei Devarim 357 and Midrash Tanchuma, Va'etchanan 6) teach that Moshe's final vision was illuminated by the Or HaGanuz, the hidden primordial light.

Whether understood literally or metaphorically, the message is profound.

Moshe sees mountains and valleys while simultaneously perceiving promise, covenant, history, future generations, and redemption unfolding before him—not merely as abstract ideas but as a unified vision illuminated by the Or HaGanuz, a light that reveals the inner essence of reality. Through this light, Moshe does not just observe the Land as it appears in the present moment; he perceives its full spiritual trajectory, seeing past, present, and future as one continuous unfolding of Divine purpose.

The spies and Moshe looked upon the same Land with the same physical eyes, yet each perceived an entirely different reality because their vision had been shaped by very different ways of seeing.

Learning to See Redemption

As I sat at the Herodian last night, listening to Eicha, I realized that I was witnessing two realities at once.

I saw mourning.

I saw Jews sitting barefoot on the ground, chanting words written in exile.

I also saw fathers embracing children, mothers holding babies, teenagers, soldiers, and hundreds of Jewish families gathered upon a mountain that had once witnessed destruction and now overflowed with vibrant Jewish life.

Both scenes were true.

The sorrow was real.

The redemption was real.

The difference lay not in the landscape, but in the eyes that beheld it.

This is why Tisha B'Av is immediately followed by Shabbat Nachamu.

The prophet Isaiah invites us to remember our pain while also learning to see beyond it.

נַחֲמוּ נַחֲמוּ עַמִּי יֹאמַר אֱלֹקֵיכֶם

"Comfort, comfort My people, says your God."

Comfort grows from learning to perceive God's Presence where no image appears, His covenant where others see only obstacles, and His redemption where it has only just begun.

May we merit cultivating the eyes that Moshe spent a lifetime developing—eyes of humility, curiosity, patience, faith, and hope.

May we merit to see one another as Moshe learned to see, recognizing the Divine image hidden beneath appearances, judging less quickly, listening more deeply, and standing barefoot before the holiness within every human being.

And through that redeemed vision, may we merit to bring the Geulah במהרה בימינו, Amen.