The End? Making Meaning from the Final Verses of the Torah

"The Torah is about ."
"The story of the Torah is ."
"The meaning of the Torah is ."
In one sentence, what is the message of the Torah? If you had to fill in the blank, what would you say?

Ronald R. Garet, “Meaning and Ending”, in Yale Law Journal 96:8 (1987)
(with thanks to Rabbi Gordon Tucker for introducing me to this text)
“The ending of a story completes not only the story, but its meaning. For narrative, the cruelty of the ending – the fact that the ending sets a term to the story, brings it to a close – is redeemed by the breath of life that the ending breathes into the story’s meaning. The ending makes the meaning possible, and the meaning in turn makes the ending no ending at all, but instead a beginning.”

Thinking about Garet's statement that the ending of a story completes its meaning, and having read the concluding verses of the Torah, now how would you fill in the blank?
"The Torah is about ."
"The story of the Torah is ."
"The meaning of the Torah is ."

Rabbi Julia Watts Belser, "Loving Our Own Bones," p. 107-110 (Bolding is my own)
In the last chapter of the book of Deuteronomy, right before Moses dies, God tells him to climb the mountain, to look out upon the land. Deuteronomy 34:1-4 lingers over the land, allowing the listener to hear the contours and cadences of the hills, the heights and the valleys. ... [Quoting Deut. 34:1-4]
God's last words to Moses name the limit of his life. It seems a cruel choice, an unnecessary repetition. Why speak again this painful fact? In this final, intimate moment, just before the prophet passes into death, why turn again to disappointment?
Might it be to make repair?
Each of the earlier passages that speak of Moses's inability to cross bind that fact with cause and consequence. The reasons differ. Sometimes it is Moses's failure, sometimes the people's sin. But the theme of divine anger runs through each of these accounts. Only in the last is it absent. Only in the last is there no reason given, no blame to be assigned, no lesson to be drawn. Here, in this final moment, it is simple, elemental truth. This one body cannot ford the river. It will not cross into the land it sees.
When we let go of asking why, then we can ask a different question. What is it like for Moses? Once the knowledge is absorbed, once he has acknowledged grief and disappointment, what does he know? What does he feel?
It is a question that I ask myself, when I have come to face that impasse.
From a country road that winds out high above the rocks, I take in the northeast coast of Scotland, the waters of the Cromarty Firth lapping against the beach below. Cool summer wind edges through my coat, riffling my half-bound hair. The gulls cry overhead, a braid of wonder and of wind. Far below, a couple walks across the place where land meets sea, a place my wheels will never roll. Watching them, I almost feel the water lap around my toes, the grit of sand against my feet. But I do not, not in the flesh.
How do I allow for hunger, for the hard, sharp truth of want?
This isn't only a truth disabled people know. It is a deeply human story, part and parcel of what it means to be alive. All of us come up against the limits of the possible, the compass of what our bodies or our minds will allow. But acknowledging this question runs against the grain. The culture I was raised in leaves no space for unfulfilled desire. I learned to celebrate the act of overcoming limits, to trust that barriers could always be surmounted. We do not speak of dreams that cannot be achieved. Even now, I hear the voice inside my head, relentless in its cheer: You never know It could still happen. Don't give up. And when I did encounter limits, when I did give up on dreams? The story I was taught to tell is that it doesn't matter. Dismiss the want. Deny its meaning. Deflect the rawness of the loss. It isn't important. I don't want it anyway. Or better still, try to find a silver lining. Spin a tidy tale that makes denial part of some great good.
None of that feels right to me. None of that feels true.
I want to linger with the fact of want, to dwell there without flinching. To hold this feeling gently, to give it space to breathe. To leave it open, unresolved. To witness this as truth that matters, and to resist the lure of consolation, the platitudes that try to paper over loss. This is part of who I am, one of the truths that shapes my life. I am a creature who cannot always enter the places of my longing.
...
This is the wisdom that Moses offers, a wisdom that is in my own life intimately tied with the experience of disability. Moses takes one final climb before he dies, and he looks out at the land. He looks out knowing that he will not enter. I like to think that knowledge shaped his gaze, that it changed what he could see and how. I do not mean he looked with grief or with a kind of weary resignation. To understand this thing, we must let go of the assumption that it is a kind of loss, a species of regret. I mean instead a different kind of presence, a kind of being with the distance.

Rabbi Shai Held, "The Beginning and Ending of Torah"
https://www.hadar.org/torah-tefillah/resources/beginning-and-end-torah
Strikingly, say the Talmudic Sages, the Torah begins and ends in precisely the same way; this crucial fact, I would suggest, teaches us what Torah is really about and what it is ultimately for.
...
At some deep level, then, what Torah is about is “walking in God’s ways,” which the Sages understand to mean living a life of lovingkindness.² “Walking in God’s ways” is a two-pronged obligation: We are obligated to cultivate certain character traits, like compassion and mercy (Midrash Sifrei, Eikev 49) and to engage in concrete acts of kindness, like clothing the naked, visiting the sick, comforting the mourners, and burying the dead (BT, Sotah 14a).^3
...
Implicit in this remarkable statement is a spiritual litmus test: If we study Torah and it does not make us kinder and more able to be present in the face of sorrow and loss, then it is not Torah that we have learned. Perhaps it is Jewish culture, or academic Jewish studies; but it is not Torah. Torah leads to love, the midrash implies, or it is not Torah at all...