Parshat Nitzavim – Standing Side by SideThe Covenant of Secure Parenting

“Atem Nitzavim Hayom Kulchem” – All of You, Standing Together

The parsha opens with striking words: “אַתֶּם נִצָּבִים הַיּוֹם כֻּלְּכֶם” – “You are standing today, all of you” (Devarim 29:9). Leaders and judges, woodchoppers and water-drawers, men, women, and children — no one was left out. The Torah does not settle for a general phrase like “all of you.” Instead, it carefully lists every stratum of the nation, from the highest officials to the simplest workers. The message is clear: the covenant is not whole unless every person is present. Klal Yisrael cannot stand before Hashem as fragments; it is only kulchem — the entirety — that gives the people their strength.

The Sfas Emes observes that this verse follows immediately after the long, terrifying curses of Ki Tavo. One might expect the nation to collapse under such words. Yet the Torah proclaims the opposite: atem nitzavim — you are still standing. Their ability to endure came from kulchem, the power of unity. When the Jewish people stood together, their shared covenant sustained them even through fear and hardship.

The Baal Shem Tov adds another layer. Nitzavim does not mean merely “standing,” but standing with firmness, rootedness, and dignity before Hashem. Even when life shakes around us, there is a way of being steady and unwavering. That strength does not come from individual resilience alone but from the awareness that we stand in covenant — not isolated, but together, and before Hashem.

The Ramban offers yet another nuance. He notes that hayom — “today” — hints to the day of judgment, when every soul stands before Hashem. What was Israel’s defense in that moment? Not perfection, but presence. Not flawlessness, but unity. When they came as one body, every person included, that very togetherness became their merit.

Read together, these voices reveal a profound truth: the essence of covenant is not that we stand as flawless individuals, but that we stand as a whole. Each person — strong or weak, leader or laborer — contributes something essential. And when all are present, the people discover a strength greater than any one of them alone. To stand nitzavim is to stand firm, not because we are unshaken, but because we are united.

If Nitzavim begins by showing us the power of standing together, it then reminds us of a different truth: that not everything can be seen or known. Some things belong only to Hashem…

“HaNistarot LaHashem” – Trusting What’s Hidden

Later in the parsha we read: “הַנִּסְתָּרֹת לַה' אֱלֹקֵינוּ, וְהַנִּגְלֹת לָנוּ וּלְבָנֵינוּ עַד עוֹלָם” – “The hidden things belong to Hashem our God, but the revealed things are for us and for our children, forever” (29:28).

The Or HaChaim explains that the “hidden things” are the depths of the human heart, known only to Hashem. A person may conceal their true feelings or struggles from others, but never from the One who sees within. Even the closest friend, teacher, or parent cannot fully enter another’s most private chambers. The verse affirms that some dimensions of the soul lie beyond human access, reserved for Hashem alone.

The Mei HaShiloach adds a note of hope: what is hidden is not lost. Inner goodness that seems buried or dormant will, in time, rise to the surface. The soul’s deepest truths cannot be extinguished. They belong to Hashem, and in the right moment, they will emerge.

The Chiddushei HaRim offers another angle: this pasuk calls us to humility in judgment. We cannot hold ourselves responsible for what is concealed, nor can we condemn others for what lies beyond our sight. Our task is ha-niglot — what is revealed. What stands before us in action, word, or presence is where human responsibility begins and ends.

Other commentators, such as Rashi, echo this point. The verse warns us not to take ownership of the hidden. Only Hashem can weigh what lies unseen. We are accountable only for what can be known and acted upon.

Read together, these voices sketch a profound truth: human beings are not all-knowing, and covenantal life does not demand omniscience. Our role is not to master the hidden but to be faithful with the revealed — to honor what can be seen, to act responsibly with what lies in plain sight, and to entrust the mysteries of the heart to Hashem, who alone carries them fully.

And if some things are hidden, others are within reach. The Torah’s next words remind us that closeness is not distant or unattainable, but already near — “Lo BaShamayim Hi.”

“Lo BaShamayim Hi” – Nearness, Not Perfection

The Torah continues: “כִּי הַמִּצְוָה הַזֹּאת… לֹא בַשָּׁמַיִם הִוא… כִּי קָרוֹב אֵלֶיךָ הַדָּבָר מְאֹד, בְּפִיךָ וּבִלְבָבְךָ לַעֲשֹׂתוֹ” – “For this commandment… it is not in the heavens… but very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to do it” (30:11–14).

Rashi, citing the Gemara (Bava Metzia 59b), recalls the famous story of the bat kol — the heavenly voice that attempted to decide a halachic dispute. Rabbi Yehoshua stood and declared: “Lo ba-shamayim hi!” Torah is not in heaven; it is entrusted to us. This was a radical affirmation: holiness does not demand angelic perfection, but human beings taking responsibility here on earth.

The Kotzker Rebbe sharpened this point. The verse teaches us to stop searching for Hashem in distant, abstract realms. “Lo ba-shamayim hi” — the Divine word and presence are found here, in the immediacy of life. Not in unreachable heights, but in simple, honest action. For the Kotzker, truth and connection are not about soaring visions but about integrity in the small and real.

The Sfas Emes reads “karov eilecha” — “it is near to you” — as a reminder that every Jew already carries within themselves a nekudah penimit (an inner point of holiness). We do not need to climb to heaven to discover connection; it is already planted in the heart. The task is not to invent closeness but to uncover what is already there.

The Ramban emphasizes that the verse is not only about Torah’s accessibility but also about the way Hashem structured His covenant: attainable, not overwhelming. The mitzvot were given in human language, suited to human capacity, not in the language of angels.

The Me’or Einayim (Chernobyler Rebbe) adds yet another dimension. “Lo ba-shamayim hi” also means we should not wait for some distant revelation to inspire us. The closeness of Hashem is already present in this world, in this very moment, if only we open ourselves to notice it.

All these teachings point us toward a single truth: Divine closeness is not remote, abstract, or unattainable. It is near — in our mouths, in our hearts, and in our daily choices. We do not need to scale the heavens to encounter Hashem; we need only to turn inward with honesty and live faithfully in the present. His presence is already here, waiting to be recognized.

And if closeness is already within reach, the next question is what we will do with it. That is why the parsha concludes with its great charge: “Uvacharta Bachayim” — choose life.

“Uvacharta Bachayim” – Choosing Life

Finally, Moshe declares: “הַעִדֹתִי בָכֶם הַיּוֹם אֶת הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֶת הָאָרֶץ, הַחַיִּים וְהַמָּוֶת נָתַתִּי לְפָנֶיךָ… וּבָחַרְתָּ בַּחַיִּים” – “I call heaven and earth today to witness… I have set before you life and death… and you shall choose life” (30:19).

The Ramban explains that “choose life” is not simply about physical survival. It is about choosing a way of living that sustains blessing for ourselves and for our children — a path of Torah and mitzvot that endures across generations. Life is not a single choice made once, but a posture renewed daily in both large and small decisions.

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov teaches that choosing life also means choosing joy. Joy itself is life-giving; it strengthens the heart and opens the soul to Hashem. To surrender to despair is a kind of spiritual death, but to kindle even a small spark of joy — through a niggun, a smile, or a moment of gratitude — is to breathe life back into the soul.

The Sfas Emes adds that “uvacharta bachayim” means cleaving to chiyus — the Divine vitality that flows through all things. True life is not measured by external success, but by our ability to connect to that living spark within Torah, within prayer, and within each encounter with another Jew.

The Netziv emphasizes that Moshe’s charge is relational: to choose life is to choose connection — with Torah, with Hashem, and with others — even when distance or division may feel easier.

And the Zohar expands this to the cosmic level. Every act of choosing vitality, joy, or faith sends ripples outward, drawing life and blessing into the world.

The message that emerges is unmistakable: life is not guaranteed by circumstance but created by choice. To “choose life” is to cultivate joy where despair could take root, to cling to Divine vitality when numbness threatens, and to embrace connection where isolation beckons. It is the daily decision to say yes to relationship, yes to hope, and yes to the spark of eternity that Hashem has planted within us.

And just as these verses call us to choose life in covenant with Hashem, they also serve as a guide to how we choose life in our covenant with our children — a theme we now bring into focus.

Parenting Lens – Standing Side by Side

When we bring these teachings into the heart of parenting, a clear theme emerges: they are all about security — the steady assurance a child feels when they know they belong, are protected, and will not be abandoned, even in struggle.

Atem Nitzavim reminds us that a child’s deepest sense of safety comes from unconditional belonging. Just as the covenant could not stand unless every person was included, so too no child should ever feel outside the circle of family. Even when they resist closeness or test boundaries, our presence must quietly affirm: “You are part of our all. You still belong.” That kind of belonging steadies them when life feels unstable and keeps them from feeling cast adrift when they push limits.

HaNistarot calls us to humility. There will always be parts of our child’s inner world that remain hidden, belonging only to Hashem. When we stop demanding access to what is concealed, we create a climate of trust — one where our child does not feel constantly probed or judged. Instead, we pay attention to what is revealed: the slump of their shoulders after school, the one-word answer at dinner, or the silence that still carries meaning. By honoring these small disclosures and entrusting the rest to Hashem, we communicate: “Even if I don’t know everything, what you share matters, and you are safe with me.” Security means they can be partly hidden, and still fully held.

Lo BaShamayim Hi shows that safety is built not through dramatic gestures or lofty breakthroughs, but through steady, everyday presence. A patient look across the room, a brief conversation in the car, or a quiet reassurance before bed — these ordinary moments whisper safety. They tell our children: “You don’t have to climb mountains to reach me. I am here.” What matters most is not perfection but reliability — knowing there is someone to return to, again and again.

Uvacharta Bachayim reminds us that parenting is filled with crossroads. When your teen slams the door, rolls their eyes, or shuts you out, you face a choice: to react with anger or despair, or to choose life — to keep the bond alive. Choosing life might mean softening your tone instead of raising it, sitting quietly on the couch beside them instead of lecturing, or even sharing a laugh when tension could have widened the gap. Every such decision reinforces safety, telling your child: “This relationship is still alive. You still matter. You are not alone.”

Together, these pesukim sketch a covenant of parenting: to stand beside our children as nitzavim, to honor what is revealed while entrusting the hidden to Hashem, to cultivate closeness in the small gestures of daily presence, and to choose life in relationship again and again. This is what it means to build secure attachment: not through perfection, but through covenantal love, steady presence, and the enduring promise that they belong.

Hashem’s Model – “ולקחתי”

Among the four expressions of redemption, Hashem promises: “וְלָקַחְתִּי אֶתְכֶם לִי לְעָם” – “I will take you to Myself as a people” (Shemot 6:7). The earlier phrases — והוצאתי, והצלתי, וגאלתי — describe liberation: removing burdens, saving from oppression, and redeeming from slavery. But ולקחתי is different. It does not speak of escape from danger, but of covenant, nearness, and belonging. It is the language of embrace. Without ולקחתי, redemption would have ended in escape but not in relationship.

The Midrash (Shemot Rabbah 6:4) teaches that ולקחתי marks the moment of marriage between Hashem and Am Yisrael — the point at which redemption becomes complete. Freedom alone is not enough; only when it leads to covenantal relationship does it become geulah. The Sfas Emes echoes this: the deepest redemption is not simply freedom from what enslaves us, but closeness to Hashem. Geulah culminates in the words: “You are Mine, bound to Me forever.”

This covenant is also the deepest form of security. To know that we are not just freed but claimed, not just rescued but embraced, gives the soul its anchor. Hashem’s ולקחתי is the promise that we are not adrift in the world but held in an unbreakable bond.

That divine model becomes the blueprint for parenting. A child’s greatest sense of security does not come from parents fixing every problem or removing every struggle. Their anchor comes from a covenant of love that says: “You are mine. I will not let go.” Just as Hashem promises ולקחתי — to draw us near even when we falter — so too, parenting at its core is not about control or constant solutions, but about loyalty, presence, and belonging that cannot be broken.

For a struggling teen, this message is life itself. Beneath resistance, beneath silence, beneath even defiance, lies a simple yearning: Am I still wanted? Do I still belong? When our stance echoes Hashem’s ולקחתי, we answer with covenantal security: “Yes. You are mine. You are safe with me. And I will not let go.”

Closing Message

Nitzavim teaches that before we can walk forward (Vayelech), we must first learn to stand — to stand in covenant, in belonging, and in presence. At its core, this is about security: the steady reassurance that we are not alone, that we remain anchored in relationship no matter what storms surround us.

Atem Nitzavim reminds us that even after hardship, we can still stand side by side, and that unity itself becomes our strength. HaNistarot humbles us with the reminder that the hidden belongs to Hashem; our task is to be faithful to what is revealed. Lo BaShamayim Hi reassures us that closeness is not distant or unattainable but discovered in the smallest gestures of presence. And Uvacharta Bachayim teaches that security is not a static state but something we build through daily choices — each time we choose patience, hope, and relationship, we lay another brick in the fortress of belonging our children can lean on.

This is the covenant of parenting: to create a home where our children know they are held, even when they falter. It is not built on solving every problem, but on presence — on choosing to stand beside them, to entrust the hidden to Hashem, and to anchor them in the unshakable truth: You are mine. You are safe with me. You belong. When we live this way, we mirror Hashem’s promise of ולקחתי — “I will take you” — the divine embrace that secures us forever with the words: “You are Mine. And I will not let go.”

And yet, Nitzavim is only the beginning. Standing is the first step.

Next week, in Vayelech, we will explore what it means not only to stand side by side, but to walk forward together — secure in covenant, steady in presence, and ready to journey on.

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!!!

Yaakov Lazar