In the midst of Moses' sermon about the future history of the Israelites, he sounds a dire warning: "When you will have children and your children will have children, and you will dwell in the Land for too long (v'noshantem, literally—you will "become old") and you will sin…." This fascinating prediction in the midst of Moses speech is also the first verse of the Torah reading of Tisha B'Av. This is based on the gematria, the numerical value of the word "v'noshantem" being equal to the number of years the first Temple existed. This seems to suggest that the destruction of the Temple was inevitable.

One could accept this clever gematria as proof of the Torah's ability to predict the future and explain the calamitous events of history. But there is much to be gained from analyzing the linguistic psychology of the word v'noshantem itself. Its root word is "yashan", meaning aged or old, but not in the being who is either old, or wise, or both. Yashan refers to an object that has been kept in one place for a while and whose character has changed as a result of this. Best examples of this are "kemach yashan" and "yayin yashan", aged flour from the previous Jewish year or wine that has been aged. Yashan is a neutral word—the aging process can be beneficial or negative. Wine properly aged gains in value, but if it is improperly aged, it becomes far less valuable vinegar.

Knowing this, we are in a position to understand Moses' point. He is concerned that after the Israelites have been in the Land of Israel for a considerable length of time, they will begin to age negatively. They will, as human nature dictates, begin to feel secure in their land. Indeed, the Torah promises that they will dwell securely in the land on a number of occasions.

This security is certainly a blessing, but it must not lead to complacency, which according to the Hebrew, is simply "negative aging". Once again, we find ourselves amidst one of the marvelous dialectics that drive our religion: we are to feel secure, but not so secure that we become complacent. Where is the balance?

This is precisely the question that Judaism seeks to answer through the mitzvoth. Their very nature reflects the power of the paradigm in Judaism. They are to be done with "intentionality" rather than rote performance. But we all know this is very difficult in practice. Familiarity may not always breed contempt, but it certainly is a fine handmaiden to complacency. This is even more true after a frontier land is settled. After a couple of generations, stories of conquest become the tales of old men and women so shriveled with age that their audience cannot even imagine how they once stood proud and straight, let alone fought in a war.

After 500 years, conquest is a distant memory and the holy land of Israel becomes mundane—too much like any other land.

It is impossible not to become complacent and comfortable. Indeed, it is a welcome feeling and has occurred far too infrequently in Jewish history. And that's the rub—we can never feel too comfortable. And that's why this parasha is read on this Shabbat, the first of the shiva hanechmta, the Seven Shabbatot of Consolation that lead up to Rosh Hashana. We are being invited to begin to examine ourselves, thus warding off complacency, and to steer our lives towards the "golden middle way " of the Rambam.