Never again has there arisen a prophet in Yisrael like Moshe ... as evidenced by all the signs and wonders that Hashem sent him to perform. (34:10,11)
Rambam (Hilchos Teshuvah 5:2) writes: “One should not think that Hashem predetermines and decides who/whether one should be a tzadik or rasha. Every person has the opportunity/capacity for becoming a tzadik like Moshe Rabbeinu or a rasha like Yaravam ben Nevat.” Obviously, Rambam’s statement has generated much commentary considering the above pasuk, “Never again has there arisen a prophet like Moshe.” According to Rambam, the lowliest, simplest Jew has within him the ability to rise to Moshe Rabbeinu’s status. In a well-known homily, Horav Elchanan Wasserman, zl, renders what has become the accepted resolution to Rambam’s statement. He explains that indeed in tzidkus, righteousness, and nevuah, level of prophesy, no one has achieved Moshe’s status. It is just beyond human ability. Moshe’s distinction -- from his miraculous birth to his survival, to the time he spent in the Heavenly sphere and his “face to face” with Hashem – is beyond imagination. On the other hand, Moshe is referred to as the consummate eved Hashem, servant of the Almighty. In that context, he self-abnegated himself; he had no selfhood; he was kulo devoted to Hashem. True, he achieved levels beyond our reach. This does not mean that we are not empowered to make every attempt to achieve on our level, with our G-d-given abilities, the highest level of avodah, service to Hashem. This is what Rambam is teaching us: Hashem judges us not by how we climb compared to others, but by how far we have come from our starting point, what rung of the ladder we have reached, and how sincere our climb has been. Reaching the heights achieved by Moshe is a dream, but everyone can take a step forward. That is a reality. Hashem does not ask or demand of us to be someone that we are not. He asks us to become ourselves – fully and truthfully.
Perhaps we can explore another solution to reconcile the Rambam with the pasuk. The Rambam appears to underscore the fact that Moshe was a tzadik. Indeed, Moshe achieved an unsurpassed level of spirituality – far beyond tzadik. I think Rambam focuses on tzadik by design. Furthermore, when the Torah records Moshe’s achievements, it emphasizes, asher shalcho Hashem, “that Hashem sent him.” Moshe was undoubtedly the consummate eved Hashem. He was the paradigm of humility who viewed himself as an eved who submitted himself totally to Hashem. Moshe was also an ambassador, a shliach, who, as an emissary, falls under the halachic maxim, Shlucho shel adam k’moso, “One’s shliach, agent, is like himself” (he represents the meshaleiach, one who sent him). Unlike the eved -- who has no legal will, as anything the eved acquires belongs to the master -- the shliach maintains full identity and dignity, empowered to act on behalf of the sender.
When we serve Hashem, we are not divested of our personhood; instead, we represent the King of Kings in this world. Everything we do, say and think should carry with it the dignity and ratzon, will, of Hashem. When a royal emissary acts indecorously, it reflects poorly on the individual who sent him. The same concept applies to the way we behave. Are we acting with integrity? Are our ethics acceptable? Are we appropriately representing Hashem? This does not negate our also being avodim, servants, of Hashem. Moshe Rabbeinu taught us to serve Hashem with utmost humility, but to never lose sight of our identity. We represent Hashem.
Every Yid is a shliach, ambassador, of Hashem. As His representatives, we must always ask ourselves: “Are we doing what Hashem wants? Does our behavior engender kavod Shomayim? As avodim, we do not have our own ratzon; as shluchim, Hashem’s ratzon is our ratzon. Every Jew is empowered to be a tzadik like Moshe. The word tzadik is derived from tzedek, just, accepted standards for what is right and appropriate. Moshe never forgot that he represented Hashem; neither should we.
When one serves as an emissary, he is empowered to execute his mission, regardless of the hurdles and challenges that he encounters, because he represents the authority and purpose of the one who sent him. His strength is drawn from the individual who sent him. This is especially true of a Jew, who, as a shliach of Hashem, is tasked with bringing light, truth and sanctity into every facet of life. It is all about priorities in life. When one realizes what his mission is, it becomes priority number one. The following story, related by Rabbi Yitzchak Hisiger, underscores this idea.
In Sivan, 1941, the city of Vilna fell to the Germans. At this time, Horav Yisroel Zev Gustman, zl, his rebbetzin and daughter were living there. [The word “living” is perhaps a euphemism, since they suffered immeasurably. Indeed, they were the beneficiaries of countless miracles during their stay in Vilna and during the rest of the war.] The Gustmans escaped and, for a while, were hidden in a pit belonging to a kindly non-Jewish farmer. When it was no longer safe even there, they fled to the forest and joined a group of partisans. This is how they were able to exist for the next few years. They had run out of food and now subsisted on grass. The Rosh Yeshivah realized that they must leave the forest before they died of starvation. Unsure whether the Nazis were still in Vilna, they took their chances. Who knows? Perhaps they would experience another miracle.
The Rav and his family were desperate, so they knocked on the door of the first house. When the woman of the house saw who stood at her door, she immediately slammed the door in their faces. She was not allowing a Jew to cross her threshold. The owners of the next two homes responded in a like manner. It was the owner of the fourth house who opened his door to them. [We can only begin to imagine the incredible merit that person had for playing such a crucial role in saving such a brilliant Rosh Yeshivah and his family.] When Rav Gustman looked inside the house, he was astonished to see an Aron Kodesh, siddurim and other sifrei kodesh. Apparently, since the shul was housed in a nondescript house with no mezuzah on the door, the Nazis had no reason to believe that Jews were its residents. He was about to turn around and leave in search of food, when his Rebbetzin blocked the door.
She firmly asserted, “For two years, we were on the run. You did not have a sefer from which to learn. Here you have a house filled with sefarim. Sit down and learn for an hour. We can wait one more hour to search for food!”
This tzadekes had her priorities straight. [Not that the Rosh Yeshivah did not. He probably felt that sustaining his wife and daughter took precedence over his learning. Indeed, both Rav Gustman and his Rebbetzin had their priorities in order.] What mattered most to her was her husband’s Torah study. This eishes chayil personified the true Jewish woman of valor. She was on a mission to glorify Hashem, and no greater avenue exists than Torah learning. Food would have to wait. It was not part of their mission. Is it any wonder that Rav Gustman once commented that his yeshivah, his talmidim and whatever he merited to accomplish in Torah, were in the z’chus of this extraordinary woman?
