Parshas Devarim begins the fifth and final book of the Torah. Thirty-seven days before his passing, Moshe (Moses) gathers the Jewish people and begins reviewing their forty-year journey through the desert.
He reminds them of the extraordinary moments they experienced, the commandments they received, the challenges they confronted, and the mistakes they made. He is preparing a new generation to cross the Jordan River, enter the Land of Israel, and begin a new chapter without him as their leader.
The Torah opens:
אֵלֶּה הַדְּבָרִים אֲשֶׁר דִּבֶּר מֹשֶׁה אֶל כָּל יִשְׂרָאֵל
“These are the words that Moshe spoke to all Israel.”
- Devarim 1:1
The verse continues with what appears to be a list of locations: the wilderness, the plain, opposite the Sea of Reeds, Paran, Tofel, Lavan, Chatzeiros, and Di Zahav.
But according to our Sages, these were not simply geographic markers. Each name quietly referenced a different mistake the Jewish people had made during their journey.
Moshe was delivering rebuke, but he did not initially name their failures explicitly. He referred to them indirectly, preserving the dignity of the people standing before him.
There are moments when something must be said.
A child is making a damaging choice. An employee is repeatedly falling short. A colleague’s conduct is affecting the entire team. A friend is heading in a direction that may eventually hurt them.
Remaining silent is not always kindness.
Sometimes silence allows a problem to grow until the consequences become much more painful. Leadership requires the courage to address what others would rather avoid.
But there is an enormous difference between correcting someone and crushing them.
Correction says:
“This behavior is not worthy of you.”
Humiliation says:
“This behavior defines you.”
Correction addresses the mistake.
Humiliation attacks the person.
Correction creates a path forward.
Humiliation leaves someone trapped in embarrassment, resentment, or despair.
It is possible to say something factually accurate and still deliver it in a deeply destructive way. Truth alone does not guarantee that our words are constructive. We must also ask why we are speaking, how we are speaking, and what we hope will happen after the conversation ends.
Moshe had witnessed many of the nation’s failures firsthand. Yet the Torah emphasizes that he delivered this extended message shortly before his passing.
Rashi explains that Moshe followed the example of Yaakov (Jacob), who also waited until the end of his life to offer certain words of correction. Among the reasons was that the recipient should not continually encounter the person who had rebuked them and feel ongoing embarrassment.
This does not necessarily mean that every difficult conversation should be postponed. Dangerous conduct sometimes requires immediate intervention.
But it teaches us that timing matters.
Before correcting someone, we should ask:
Is this the right moment?
Am I calm enough to speak constructively?
Is the other person emotionally capable of hearing me?
Am I speaking privately, or am I exposing them unnecessarily?
Will my words produce change, or merely release my own frustration?
A true leader does not speak simply because something needs to be said. A true leader considers what will give those words the greatest possibility of being heard.
Our Sages teach that it was specifically Moshe, the person who loved and defended the Jewish people, who was chosen to rebuke them.
Moshe had repeatedly placed himself between the people and Divine judgment. After the sin of the Golden Calf, he pleaded for their forgiveness. At their lowest moments, he continued to advocate for them.
His correction, therefore, did not come from rejection.
It came from investment.
He was not distancing himself from the people. He was preparing them for their future.
This distinction can often be felt, even when it is never stated aloud. People recognize the difference between someone who is confronting them because they care and someone who is confronting them because they are irritated, disappointed, or eager to establish superiority.
Rabbi Mordechai Eliyahu, the former Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, related that the Lubavitcher Rebbe once learned of a plan to personally humiliate an Israeli prime minister. According to Rabbi Eliyahu’s account, the Rebbe made every effort to stop it, insisting that while the leader’s actions could and should be challenged, the individual himself should not be publicly humiliated.
As Rabbi Eliyahu summarized the lesson, “It takes special strength to rebuke and love at the same time.”
The Rebbe demonstrated that it is possible to disagree strongly while still protecting another person’s dignity. It requires the strength to hold truth and love at the same time.
That is the test of constructive criticism:
Can I oppose what you did without turning against who you are?
Can I acknowledge a failure while still seeing your value?
Can I be honest about the past while remaining hopeful about your future?
Moshe was not reopening old wounds for the sake of revisiting history.
The Jewish people were standing at the threshold of the Promised Land. They were preparing to move from a miraculous existence in the desert into a world of responsibility, building communities, establishing leadership, cultivating the land, defending their nation, and creating a society guided by Divine values.
Before they could move forward, they needed to understand what had held them back.
Moshe reviewed their mistakes because he believed they were capable of learning from them.
That is what separates constructive correction from condemnation.
Condemnation keeps a person chained to yesterday.
Constructive correction uses yesterday to build a better tomorrow.
When we speak to another person about something they did wrong, the conversation should not end with the failure. It should help them identify the next step.
What can be repaired?
What must change?
What support do they need?
What responsibility must they accept?
How can trust be rebuilt?
The goal is not merely that someone should feel sorry. The goal is for them to become stronger, wiser, and better prepared for what comes next.
Parshas Devarim is always read near Tisha B’Av, on a Shabbos known as Shabbos Chazon, the Shabbos of Vision.
Tisha B’Av, literally the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av, a solemn day on the Jewish calendar. It commemorates the destruction of both Holy Temples in Jerusalem, as well as other painful tragedies throughout Jewish history. It is a day devoted to fasting, mourning, prayer, reflection, and a renewed longing for a world of peace, healing, and redemption.
This year, Tisha B’Av begins at sundown on Wednesday evening, July 22, and concludes after nightfall on Thursday, July 23. Exact beginning and ending times vary by location.
During the fast, healthy adults abstain from eating and drinking. The traditional observances also include not wearing leather footwear, bathing for pleasure, applying creams or ointments for enjoyment, or engaging in marital intimacy. Until midday, people traditionally sit on a low chair or stool as an expression of mourning. Torah study is generally limited to subjects connected with mourning, destruction, and repentance.
On Wednesday night, the Book of Eichah (Lamentations) is read in the synagogue. On Thursday morning, special elegies known as Kinot are recited. Work is technically permitted, but when possible, it is minimized so that the day's focus can remain on mourning, reflection, and spiritual repair.
Anyone who is ill, pregnant, nursing, taking medication, elderly, or unsure whether fasting is medically appropriate should consult both a competent rabbi and a medical professional in advance.
The name Shabbos Chazon comes from the opening words of the Haftarah, “The vision of Yeshayahu.” But the great Chassidic master Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev revealed an additional meaning: on this Shabbos, every Jewish soul is shown a spiritual vision of the future Beis HaMikdash.
We may not consciously see that vision. Yet its purpose is to awaken us, to help us recognize what can be built from the ruins and what our world can still become. The Rebbe emphasized that this vision is not given merely to comfort us, but to inspire practical change that brings redemption closer.
This adds another dimension to Moshe’s message.
Before correcting someone, we must have a vision of them that extends beyond their current failure.
A parent must see more than a child’s poor decision.
A supervisor must see more than an employee’s disappointing performance.
A teacher must see more than a student’s lack of effort.
A friend must see more than another person’s weakest moment.
If all we see is the mistake, our words will communicate frustration.
When we can also see the person’s potential, our words can communicate faith.
The most transformative message is not:
“Look at how badly you failed.”
It is:
“You are capable of more than this, and I refuse to give up on the person I know you can become.”
It is easy to read this portion and think about how other people should accept correction.
But Devarim also asks us to examine how we receive it.
Do we immediately become defensive?
Do we focus on the speaker’s imperfect delivery so that we can avoid considering the message?
Do we explain away every mistake?
Do we regard admitting fault as weakness?
Growth requires enough humility to ask whether something valuable may be hidden within words that are uncomfortable to hear.
Not every criticism is correct. Not every critic is sincere. But even poorly delivered feedback may contain a truth worth considering.
Strength is not pretending that we never fail.
Strength is being secure enough to acknowledge failure without believing it defines us.
The people who influence us most are not always those who make us feel comfortable.
Sometimes they are the people who care enough to tell us what we need to hear, but who do so without stripping away our dignity.
Moshe teaches us that genuine leadership requires both courage and compassion:
The courage to confront what is wrong.
The compassion to protect the person while confronting it.
The wisdom to choose the right time.
The humility to speak without superiority.
And the vision to see not only what someone has done, but who they may yet become.
This week, before offering criticism, pause and ask:
Am I trying to prove that I am right, or help another person become better?
And when someone offers us correction, perhaps we can pause before defending ourselves and ask:
Is there something here that can help me grow?
The strongest leaders do not avoid difficult truths.
They deliver those truths with love, preserve the dignity of the person standing before them, and leave them with something more powerful than shame:
A path forward.
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