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Parsha BO gives us the last plague, and we enter the parsha when God describes to Moses his plan to kill the first born of every Egyptian—from the “Slave girl who is behind the millstone” to “the first born of Pharaoh who sits behind the throne” to “the first born of the cattle.” This is a massive punishment which seems to tell us that no one—even the cattle—was completely innocent when it comes to the enslavement of our people.
And just before we encounter these instructions, God has told Moshe that this next (and last) plague is the one that will finally, without any question, lead Pharaoh to “drive you out from here one and all.” And so it does. But in preparing for that final departure, the people are told to “borrow” from the Egyptians silver and gold. Is “BORROW” the right word? I assume that we don’t want to believe that we forcibly took this Egyptian booty. Rashi tells us that the verb DE-BAR-NAH is really a “request,” not a demand. Were we entitled to this compensation for all those years of slavery? Was this payback? Some interpretations remind us that God promised Abraham not only that his descendants would populate the earth in great numbers, but also that they would have enormous wealth. So this could be the fulfillment of that prophecy. But even if that’s true, it doesn’t tell us whether the Egyptians gave us the silver and gold willingly or out of sheer terror or because they recognized the wrong that they had done to us. Our Eytz Hayyim below the line (Rabbi Kushner, Z”L) offers another thought: that the slaves could have stolen everything from their Egyptian masters during the PREVIOUS plague—during the plague of darkness. And because they didn’t, the Egyptian people grew to admire their moral virtue—what Rabbi Kushner calls their “moral greatness”--and so they gave them the silver and gold willingly as a recognition of the ethical character of the people. I don’t know about you, but I find it hard to believe that ANYONE in power gives it up that easily. And this passage also is almost exactly in line with an earlier passage in SH’MOT where God outlines for Moshe what is going to happen and what Moshe’s role in it will be. He tells Moses that, toward the end, the Egyptians will look favorably upon the Israelites and give them their gold and silver. You will not leave empty-handed, God says. That doesn’t sound like great wealth. It sounds more like a reasonable amount of resources to be able to start the next stage of the journey. But God also says something a little different in the earlier version: He tells MOSHE that the EGYPTIANS WILL BE STRIPPED. Another translation is that “YOU SHALL EMPTY OUT EGYPT.” Doesn’t that sound a little harsher? So it’s not just HOW they came to get the riches they got, but also exactly HOW MUCH they took (or “borrowed”). Over the years, various people—including an Egyptian law professor in the early 2000s—have tried to sue for reparations for precisely this episode. Allen Dershowitz, law professor and well-known author of a number of books (including Chutzpah) once called these suits NUISANCE suits. Incredibly silly, he said. And he also said that he’d love to see one go to court so that a judge could figure out exactly what was owed to the 600,000 Jews who slaved for hundreds of years without compensation. We know from our reading of Breishit that God gave Adam dominion over the animals. He is even given the power to name them, a clear sign that he is in control.
But on what is that control based? The Torah is noticeably silent on that question. Why are human beings dominant over the rest of the natural order? Some people have assumed that the answer is obvious. But it’s not really so clear when we dig a little more deeply. So many theologians, psychologists, and philosophers have tried to answer that question. For Aristotle, we are the rational animal. For others, we are tool makers. Marx argued that we are the only animals capable of productive labor. Many have claimed that human beings alone have a soul, and that means we are truly created in the image of God. Though all of these answers have some merit, I want to suggest a different possibility which emerges from a recent parsha. That Parsha, Vayigash, is one of the most beautiful of the Torah. Its seemingly straightforward narrative belies the many unanswered questions embedded there. It relates the climax of the story of Joseph and his brothers, a telling that moves from alienation, sibling rivalry and cruelty to care, compassion and reconciliation. We realize from the Parsha how much Joseph has yearned for a re-connection to his family, despite what his brothers have done to him. Midrash tells us that Joseph has remained faithful to the mitzvot for more than 22 years, observances that were his alone in Egypt. Perhaps he weeps for his loss of Jewish community beyond his immediate family. We also see him weep with Benjamin, his full brother from his beloved mother Rachel,-the only other fully innocent character in this narrative. He weeps for the mother he has lost and the brother he has found. We are told that Joseph’s sobs were so loud that the Egyptians could hear, and so the news reached Pharoah’s palace. Joseph the Tzaddik is moved to tears by his brother Judah’s pleas for the life of Benjamin and Judah’s offer to take Benjamin’s place in prison to avoid further heartache for their father Jacob. This story is an incredible story of forgiveness. Listen to the words of the Torah at the moment when Joseph reveals himself to his brothers: “Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come forward to me.” And when they came forward, he said, “I am your brother Joseph, he whom you sold into Egypt. Now do not be distressed or reproach yourselves because you sold me here, it was to save life that God sent me ahead of you. It is now two years that there has been famine in the land, and there are still five years to come in which there shall be no yield from tilling. God has sent me ahead of you to ensure your survival on earth, and to save your lives in an extraordinary deliverance. So, it was not you who sent me here, but God; and He has made me a father to Pharoah, lord of all his household, and ruler over the whole land of Egypt.” In Joseph’s words we seem to have found an answer to the question of why he forgives his brothers. It was God’s plan that depended on their selling him into slavery, a plan that includes his imprisonment and rise into Pharoah’s inner circle. He forgives them and lets them know that the difference now is not in him but rather in them. No longer jealous or angry, they feel shame and fear before him. They finally see their own sins and guilt and as a result of these insights, they are able to pass the tests Joseph had designed for them. Not only does Joseph forgive them, he refrains from referring to years of suffering or to what they have done to him. As we read these passages, we cannot help but be reminded of other stories of jealousy-between Rachel and Leah, between Jacob and Esau. These stories frame the story of Joseph and his brothers and at last provide us with a sense of peace and reconciliation after the noteworthy silence about these other rivalries. Why forgive? There are lots of good pragmatic reasons to forgive-to end a feud, for example. To think about how self-poisoning resentment becomes if one doesn’t forgive. But the primary reason to forgive, it seems to me, is to restore a lost relationship. Remember that it’s often those closest to us who have hurt us and need forgiveness. Think about someone you have finally forgiven or want to forgive. My guess is that it’s not some anonymous stranger who cut you off on the highway. Those little injuries evaporate quickly. Wrongs from those closest to us do not. So, forgiveness matters because the people closest to us-Joseph’s brothers, for example-matter. Who are we without them? What does that isolation cost us? In answer to our original question about what might separate us from the animals, perhaps the answer is forgiveness. This may be because forgiveness may run counter to all of our basic instincts for survival. There are no rules for forgiveness. Joseph forgives his brothers and goes far beyond forgiveness to restore them to life and health and property and standing. But he gains even more for himself through his act of forgiveness. Through his forgiveness he becomes whole again. So may it be for all of us. Amen. Torah Reading:
Isaac ben Judah Abarbanel (Portuguese Jewish statesman, philosopher, Bible commentator, and financier commonly referred to as "The Abarbanel" ) points out that one of the key words introduced to us in this week’s parsha from the very beginning is the word BAYIT, the house. A man went from the house, Bayit, of Levi, and marries a daughter of Levi. The two midwives received as a reward Batim, houses. The family of Yaakov descended to Egypt, each man and his house, Bayit. This concept of family is a consistent theme and reaches greater heights with the evolution of a nation. Each story in the narrative of Breishit depicts a younger son rising in prominence over his older sibling, usually with dismal results. The final narrative in Chumash Breishit is the one story of two brothers when the younger rises over the older and does not result in any form of hatred or jealousy, and that is with Ephraim and Menashe. In our story now, in the beginning, it is not an issue, and yet we see from the outset that Moshe, the younger son, rises to prominence over his older brother, Aharon. Yet their relationship, in fact their partnership in acting together with Moshe in the lead, demonstrates the true role model of a familial relationship that exudes love and care, and the result is Geulah, Redemption. This Aleph and Mem partnership of Aharon and Moshe can also be seen in other stages of Redemption with Esther and Mordechai in the Purim story, and ultimately in the final Redemption, Eliyahu the Prophet and the Melech HaMashiach – again Aleph and Mem. There is a test of leadership that several commentaries point out. It is just a series of verses that quickly narrate a demonstration of Moshe as a young adult who involved himself in three separate incidents. Moshe comes on the scene when an Egyptian taskmaster is beating a Jewish person. He intervenes and kills the Egyptian. In the second scene two Jews are fighting among themselves and Moshe intervenes. The third case is in Midian when Moshe comes upon the well and finds the shepherds contending with the daughters of Yitro. In each situation Moshe was an outsider. It is of interest, and quite noteworthy, that the three cases are Jew vs. non-Jew; a Jew vs. a Jew; and then non-Jew v. non-Jew. These are three totally different types of situations, and in each case, Moshe put himself in the middle. He involved himself in order to right any wrongs, and to create a sense of justice and morality. Covered in short sentences, the Torah depicts Moshe’s actions without fanfare. We should note that what Moshe was doing was demonstrating tremendous character development. We normally think that Hashem chooses the Prophet in the Sefer. In this case Moshe is chosen by Hashem once he has proven himself worthy of the position that he is given. Haftorah Shemot: The terms Yaakov and Yisrael are both used in the first verse of today's haftorah. "The coming generations will allow Yaakov to take root, it will blossom and flower as Yisrael." Yaakov represents the name of the Galut (exile) appearance of Israel. Only when Yaakov takes root, establishes himself to exist in strength, will he grow and develop. This development in Jewish history will be a struggle, in exile, and through much pain and trouble. If he succeeds in rooting himself in this "purifying" manner, he will blossom into Yisrael. Yisrael is the name of Israel when it is realizing its given name, when its entire existence is stamped with God's government. The Yaakov of the exile will become the Yisrael of the Promised Land. The divine blessing will come if Yaakov/Yisrael perseveres in Torah and good deeds. |
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