“The Lord our God spoke to us at Horeb, saying, ‘You have stayed long enough at this mountain. Resume your journey . . . See, I have set the land before you; go in and take possession of the land that the Lord swore to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give to them and to their descendants after them.’

In the book of Deuteronomy memory intrudes on the present in strange but significant ways. This is especially apparent when Moses tells the Israelites that God spoke “to us at Horeb.” This is puzzling language indeed since the Israelites that Moses addresses in Deuteronomy are not the same Israelites who arrived at the foot of Sinai in Exodus 19.

As chronicled in the book of Numbers, the generation that witnessed the exodus from Egypt died in the wilderness and were prohibited from inheriting Canaan. The Israelites addressed in Deuteronomy were their descendants. Historically, they are Israelites from a different generation. Theologically, they are one and the same. 

But in recollecting the past (“The Lord our God spoke at Horeb”), Moses is not simply offering a lesson in history. In Deuteronomy, memory overflows into mandate: “go in and take possession of the land”. How Israel remembers its own past shapes how it will act and fare in the future. Israel’s wellbeing is contingent upon its memory and its obedience.

This is why Deuteronomy places such a high value on telling its own story to future generations:

“But take care and watch yourselves closely, so as neither to forget the things that your eyes have seen nor to let them slip from your mind all the days of your life; make them known to your children and your children’s children” (Deut 4:9)

In ancient Israel, it was the responsibility of older generation to make sure that future generations never forget where they came from.

The call to “remember” is one of Deuteronomy’s most repeated refrains.  

“Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day” (5:13).

“Just remember what the Lord your God did to Pharaoh and to all Egypt, the great trials that your eyes saw, the signs and wonders, the mighty hand and the outstretched arm by which the Lord your God brought you out. The Lord your God will do the same to all the peoples of whom you are afraid” (7:18-19) 

“Remember the long way that the Lord your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, in order to humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commandments” (8:2)

“Remember; do not forget how you provoked the Lord your God to wrath in the wilderness; you have been rebellious against the Lord from the day you came out of the land of Egypt until you came to this place” (9:7)

“When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left; it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow. Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt; therefore I am commanding you to do this.” (24:21)

“You shall not deprive a resident alien or an orphan of justice; you shall not take a widow’s garment in pledge. Remember that you were a slave in Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you from there; therefore I command you to do this. When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to get it; it shall be left for the alien, the orphan, and the widow, so that the Lord your God may bless you in all your undertakings” (24:17-19)

These texts bear witness to an important insight: remembering the past (or forgetting to do so) profoundly affects the present and the future.

The linkage between memory and wellbeing is nowhere more apparent than in Deuteronomy 27. Moses and the elders of Israel charge the people to keep God’s commandments and further instruct them to inscribe the words of the law on stone and build an altar to "the god of your ancestors” (27:3), after they enter Canaan. Immediately following this discourse is a list of curses and blessings (Deut 27:11-28:68).

These two chapters literarily link memorial and mandate.

These handmade, concrete markers are not just there as externalized repositories of memory. They are meant to remind the Israelites of their covenantal relationship to the God of Israel in a way that shapes and action and ensures the wellbeing of the entire community.

Taken altogether, these texts on memory contain five important lessons for how communities of faith should think about the past.

When we forget our own experiences of precarity and vulnerability, we may be less likely to extend help to those in similar circumstances. Remembering hardship nourishes our empathy. 

When we forget our own history of shortcomings, we may walk into the future without recognizing our profound capacity to damage it. This is an especially important lesson in an age of nostalgia, where there is a powerful temptation to recall and cherish a burnished version of the past. Remembering our failures gives us humility. 

When we forget how difficult circumstances were overcome in the past, we might fail to recognize hope for overcoming them in the future. So much of what Deuteronomy does is to recall God’s powerful acts in the past, and especially during the exodus, urging Israel to take courage that help will also be present for them in the future. Recalling challenges that have been overcome in the past fuels hope in future adversity. 

Neglecting our past may cause us to forget why we engage in vital traditions of rest, remembrance, and liberation. Deuteronomy 5:13 highlights this by pointing to the freedom from slavery as the rationale for keeping the Sabbath. Memory kindles purpose.

When we forget the sweetness of liberation, we might fail to fight for others’ freedom. Memory enlarges our generosity.