Bo

Exodus 10:1−13:16

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Peter S. Knobel; Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org

Learning and Acting on the Lessons of the Exodus

In this portion the plagues come to a devastating end. The final plague is the death of the first males born of humans and animals: only the Israelites are spared.

Moses said: "Thus says the Eternal: Toward midnight I will go forth among the Egyptians, and every [male] first-born in the land of Egypt shall die, from the first-born of Pharaoh who sits on his throne to the first-born of the slave girl who is behind the millstones; and all the first-born of the cattle." (Exodus 11:4-5)

The plague of the death of the firstborn is deeply disturbing. The loss of human and animal life appears to be extremely cruel. At the time, it seems to have been the necessary condition for the liberation of our ancestors from Egyptian slavery. The stark irony is that the liberation of human beings from slavery almost never comes without the loss of life. Rarely are oppressors willing to relinquish their power peacefully. They seem hell-bent on inflicting death and devastation not only on those they oppress, but also on the whole population under their control. In this portion we can envision God as having warned Pharaoh and his courtiers nine times with increasingly severe consequences. But it is only after God destroys all the firstborn males that Pharaoh gets the message.

Some understand God's action in this story as the equivalent of military action. When faced with an oppressive regime that is slaughtering its own population, do the nations of the world choose to intervene militarily? The question of military intervention is complex. As Jews, we are constantly angered and perplexed by the failure of the world to prevent the Shoah. We often ask, why didn't President Roosevelt bomb the rail lines to Auschwitz? How many times since the Shoah has the world failed to respond to genocide? When are we humans willing to say, as God says at the beginning of the Book of Exodus, "I have marked well the plight of My people in Egypt and have heeded their outcry because of their taskmasters; yes I am mindful of their sufferings. I have come down to rescue them . . ." (Exodus 3:7-8)? Let us remember it only took God four hundred years!

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Va-eira

Exodus 6:2−9:35

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Peter S. Knobel; Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org

God Does Not Act Alone

Parashat Va-eira is an epic and escalating battle between God and Pharaoh. God having decided to finally rescue the Israelites from cruel servitude sends the reluctant Moses and his spokesman Aaron to confront Pharaoh with a demand that he allow the Israelites to journey out into the desert to worship God. Moses not only has to convince Pharaoh to accede to what would be a seemingly foolhardy request, but also to convince the Israelites that their servitude is coming to an end.

The clash of wills between God and Pharaoh, who was considered a god by Egyptians, plays itself out in Pharaoh's unwillingness to the let the Israelites leave. Ten times in the text we learn that God intends to harden Pharaoh's heart (Exodus 4:21; 7:3; 9:12; 10:1, 20, 27; 11:10; 14:4, 8, 17) depriving him of the ability to assent to God's demand to free his Israelite slaves and ten times Pharaoh demonstrates his own stubbornness (7:13, 14, 22; 8:11, 15, 28; 9:7, 34, 35; 13:15) by refusing to let the Israelites depart in spite of the suffering it is causing the Egyptians. The question seems to be, who will prevail? Will it be the God who demands liberation for his people and sets in motion the idea that all human beings – the citizen and the stranger both – should be treated with respect and dignity? Or will it be the xenophobic god-king Pharaoh for whom the stranger is detestable?

Often the tyrant is willing to allow his or her own people to suffer rather than submit to reason. To extinguish what Pharaoh saw as a rebellion he increased the oppression of the Hebrews. In response to plagues of increasing severity he refused to change course. In the next portion we read the story of the climactic plague of the death of the firstborn, which will finally convince Pharaoh to relent.

The Israelites witness this clash of wills time and again, perhaps believing that God's desire to free them will prevail over Pharaoh's desire to maintain the status quo only to have their hopes dashed. They share in the fear and frustration that Moses and Aaron must have experienced. Why is all this frustration and suffering necessary? The usual answer is that it is to demonstrate God's omnipotence to both the Israelites and the Egyptians.

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Sh'mot

Exodus 1:1−6:1

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Peter S. Knobel; Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org

Who Is This God? “Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh”

The Book of Exodus (Sh'mot) tells two key narratives of Jewish sacred history: the Exodus from Egypt and the gift of Torah. When they are joined to the Creation narrative of Genesis, the three stories constitute the basic theology of Judaism, which is enshrined in the blessings before and after the Sh'ma prayer.

The opening parashah of the book, also called, Sh'mot (Names), presents us with many conundrums. Why has it taken God more than four hundred years to respond to the pain of His enslaved people? Why doesn't God simply go down to Egypt and rescue them without the help of Moses? Why does God harden Pharaoh's heart, preventing him from being morally responsible for keeping the people enslaved? Who is this God who when asked to identify Himself or Herself says, "Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh" (Exodus 3:14)?

It has always struck me as strange that God does not act alone: God works through human beings. In pondering this phenomenon I came to realize that God does not intervene in any direct way in human affairs. God's role is as a source of inspiration and encouragement to us humans to create a world of justice, compassion, freedom, and peace. Only if we are so moved by the harsh realities of human suffering and are committed to relieving that suffering can we hear the call. God says "I have marked well the plight of My people in Egypt and have heeded their outcry because of their taskmasters. . . . I will send you . . . to free My people . . . " (Exodus 3:7, 10). When a person responds, "Here I am (Hineini)," as Moses does, God has the means to act in history (Exodus 3:4).

The choice of Moses is interesting. Moses himself had been rescued from death as an infant. He was raised in Pharaoh's palace as the son of Pharaoh's daughter and knew well the halls of absolute power and despotism, but resisted their attractions, identifying instead with his people of origin, the Israelite slaves. (Entire books have been written on the character of Moses alone!)

When Moses sees an Egyptian taskmaster abusing a Hebrew slave, his response to oppression is to rise up in anger and kill (deliberately or by accident) the taskmaster. Then, when the deed becomes known, Moses flees to Midian to save his own life. His first act in Midian is to defend Zipporah and her sisters from the shepherds who try to prevent them from watering their father's flock. Moses's sense of justice is not limited to filial connections but extends to the stranger as well.1

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Va-y'chi

Genesis 47:28–50:26

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Charles A. Kroloff; Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org
According to Jewish tradition, on the eve of Shabbat and holidays, before reciting kiddush, parents bless their children.

You can find these blessings in Mishkan T'filah, the siddur (prayer book) of the Reform Movement. There you will see that sons are blessed with these words: "May God inspire you to live like Ephraim and Manasseh."1 Rashi teaches that the blessing for boys is based on Genesis 48:20 in this week's parashah, when Jacob blesses his grandsons, the sons of Joseph.

There is no equivalent blessing for daughters in the Five Books of Torah. But there is a blessing in the Book of Ruth (4:11) that comes close: "May God make the woman who is coming into your house [Ruth] like Rachel and Leah, both of whom built up the House of Israel." And so in many Jewish homes today, one or both parents offer this blessing found in Mishkan T'filah2 to their daughters: "May God inspire you to live like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah."

I remember the first time that I witnessed this ceremony. When we were graduate students in Israel, my wife Terry and I were invited to Shabbat dinner at the home of dear friends in Tel Aviv. I was spellbound as the father placed his hands on the heads of his children and spoke those blessings. At that moment, I felt a profound connection to my Jewish past and future, and to my family. I promised myself in that dining room in Tel Aviv that if we were fortunate enough to have our own children, I would offer those blessings to our offspring.

Beyond my own family, the most powerful moment that I have experienced with these blessings was in 1983 when Terry and I sat in the Moscow apartment of Itzik Kogan, one of the leaders of the refusenik movement in the Former Soviet Union. We had flown to there to bring support to refuseniks: the women, men, and children who were demanding the right to emigrate to Israel in order to lead full Jewish lives. Itzik placed his hands upon the heads of his children and offered roughly the same blessing as Jacob had pronounced. As he did so, this father was saying, in effect: "We will make whatever sacrifices we must in order to live freely as Jews. We are determined that our children will live proudly in the Jewish State."

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Vayigash

Genesis 44:18−47:27

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Charles A. Kroloff; Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org

Does God Have a Plan for You?

After receiving bad news or experiencing a tragic event, people will sometimes respond with the words, "It's God's will." There's even a Yiddish phrase that captures the idea, "It's bashert," meaning it was meant to be.

What is your reaction to such a response? Are you comfortable with it? Or does it fall on unreceptive ears? Is it in keeping with your philosophy of life or does it rub you the wrong way?

In this week's parashah, Vayigash, Joseph reassures his brothers that they should not feel guilty about the way they treated him. They had good reason to be frightened and harbor guilt. After all, they had tossed Joseph into a pit and sold him to passing merchants who led the lad into servitude in Egypt.

But Joseph tells his brothers not to fear, because ". . . it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you. There have already been two years of famine in the land, and (there remain) five more years without plowing or harvesting. So God sent me ahead of you to assure your survival in the land, and to keep you alive for a great deliverance" (Genesis 45:5-7).

If Joseph had spoken Yiddish, he might have said that it was bashert. Of course he couldn't use those words because Yiddish developed more than two millennia later than the time Joseph lived.

Bashert suggests a fatalism that doesn't quite fit in with the lives we live today. Most of us believe in free will. We believe that we actually have choices and are responsible for the choices that we make. Most of our actions seem to be under our control. If a student works hard and writes a fine paper, she expects to be rewarded with a good grade. If that paper were bashert--destined to be written in just those words--no matter what she did, any grade or reward would be meaningless. Maimonides taught that free will is a fundamental belief in Judaism.1 (A Maimonides Reader, Isadore Twersky, ed., Behrman House, New York, 1972, pp. 77-78).

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