There is so much in Deuteronomy that is upsetting. The refrain of alternating curses and blessings can be exhausting. The blessings are almost too perfect, just as the curses are too awful to consider.

But there is one passage that I love, one that speaks to me on a soul-level.

It is this, from chapter 30:

“For this commandment which I command you this day, is not hidden from you, nor is it far off.

It is not in heaven, that you should say, Who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring it to us, that we may hear it, and do it?

Nor is it beyond the sea, that you should say, Who shall go over the sea for us, and bring it to us, that we may hear it, and do it?

But the word is very near to you, in your mouth, and in your heart, that you may do it.

See, I have set before you this day life and good, and death and evil;

In that I command you this day to love the Lord your God, to walk in his ways, and to keep God’s commandments and statutes and judgements.”

There is a story in the Talmud about Satan searching for the Torah after God has given it to humanity. God tells him it is on the earth, so Satan goes looking for it. He searches and searches, but cannot find it.

Why not?

Because we humans have it.

We have had it all along. In our hearts. In our mouths. In our souls. It belongs to us, a gift from a God we may — or may not — believe in. But who believes in us.

The Torah is our invitation to be in relationship with the Divine. To struggle and argue, to turn it over and over again.

Our task is to wrestle with God and Torah until we can say, “I have tried, and I will continue to try, although I know that ultimately I will fail because I am merely human.”

That is what Deuteronomy is aiming for: the impossibility of understanding God and the task of continuing to reach out. No wonder it is so convoluted, so unsure of how to move us in the right direction. It offers bribes and then punishments and then more bribes. One moment it is nudging us; the next, shoving us with all its might.

And here we are, mere moments before the Days of Awe, when we are expected to challenge ourselves to do teshuvah, to turn — not back to who we were, but forward to who we want to be.

It’s a lot. No wonder many Jews are confounded by the demands of Torah and the High Holidays.

I am.

My way out of the confusion has been to remember two things: I am fully human, and I am made in the Divine image.

Limited and inspired.

Hoping to rise.