Do not think that when I die, the Torah dies with me.

“It is not in the heavens that you should say, ‘Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?” Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, “Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?” (Deuteronomy, chapter 30)

I can’t read these words as anything but a coded goodbye.

Do not long for me. Do not think that when I die Torah dies with me.

Do not do what your parents did when I left them for so short a time—do not assume you need another me to ascend to heaven as I did, to bring down the Torah once more. I went, and I returned, and it is yours now. I will be gone, but the Torah will remain.

And do not be afraid to cross the water without me. Do not think that you are leaving the Torah here with me on this side of the Jordan. I have given you, in this speech, all I have left to tell you. You will cross the water, and I will stay here—but the Torah goes with you.

It is in your hearts and in your mouths. And it is that promise that will make it possible—with tears, and sadness, and pain, but with strength and confidence as well—to say goodbye.