Parashat HaShuvah - Beshalach - "Tu Bishvat and Our Songs of Freedom." Exodus 13:17-17:16, Haftarah, Judges 4:4-5:31

A number of years ago in the backyard of my home in New York I planted a plum tree, pear tree and apple tree.  When we purchased the trees the people at the nursery told us that it would be at least three years before those trees would bear fruit.  Unfortunately we moved out of that house about 18 months after the trees were planted and never got to enjoy their produce.  So on this day of Tu Bishvat, a celebration of trees and what they mean to our planet, I realized that trees and freedom (a subject of this week's parasha) have a lot to do with each other in the sense that they both take time to grow. How is this so? 

Once the Jews and the others who joined them left Egypt they would once again be faced with this reality, “could Pharaoh try to take us back into his evil treatment as slaves again,” unspoken words they may have wondered, but dare not utter. Freedom comes with a price. Just look at the daily Israeli news at the rising numbers of young IDF men and women who have given their lives in order for the nation to live in freedom, safe from terror and hate. Freedom is never free; there is always an associated cost. Israel’s freedom from slavery also was not free either. But freedom is something that also takes time to grow and mature, just like trees, meaning that we come to learn that freedom is a mindset and just not a right. Still in the end, for those now free slaves, they begin their travels knowing that the price of their freedom may be losing it once again. 

We read in this week's sedra, parashat Beshalach, while being pursued by the Egyptians from behind and facing the Sea of Reeds before them, they say to Moses, “Was it for want of graves in Egypt that you brought us to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, taking us out of Egypt?” (Ex. 14:11). In response, according to one Midrash (Mekhilta DeRabbi Shimon Ben Yochai 14:11), they respond, “We would be sorry for our slavery in Egypt, our death in the desert is harder for us than our slavery,” meaning it would be better to labor and die as slaves in Egypt then to die as free people in the wilderness. The Talmud (Arakhin 15a) reacts to the graves in Egypt differently.  Talmud tells about Israel’s two lessons from the sea, “one [was] when the Jews descended into the sea, and one when they ascended from the sea.”  Upon their descent they learned to not let their fear control them, upon their accent they began to learn that they were truly free.

Rabbi Arthur Green compares Israel's descent and ascent into and from the sea to a child who does not want to take the medicine from a parent, to that same child who gets better, only to understand why their parent made them take the medicine in the first place.  Likewise after leaving Egypt the only way the Jews could see the hand of God that led them to freedom was by completing the journey through the sea. Let’s not read that the wrong way. This is not some arbitrary test that God is putting the people through to measure their faithfulness and allegiance to this God who took them out of Egypt, but a change of world view. The healing from the medicine taught the child that the parents gave the medicine for a good reason, but the child had to be healed first to see that. In the same way, it was not until Israel crossed the sea that they realized on the other side that they were free.

Understanding their freedom (as opposed to just being free) as they stood at the seashore, they sang “Shirat HaYam“ or the Song of the Sea that was a joyous celebration of their newfound freedom. Yet being free and understanding they were free were not the same, and once they recognized that they would truly be free. W. Gunther Plaut (Modern Jewish Commentary on Torah) wrote that Israel's freedom was not just to celebrate the virtue of being free but was “the foundation of [their] spiritual life.” In other words Israel’s “right” of freedom was about others, just not themselves, and that is the part they would need to grow to understand. 

In the book of Judges (Jud. 17:6) we read that they each did what “was right in their own eyes,” but that is not a “right” of freedom according to Torah. In Torah what is “right” begins with loving our fellow person like ourselves, how we treat parents, raising our children in the ways of our traditions and values, visiting and caring for the sick, attending funerals and going to the house of Shiva, celebrating with those who are due honor, making our spiritual lives of prayer and learning just as important as taking care of our physical health, being there for those in need, going the extra step for the sake of others, caring for our larger Jewish community family and just not our own as if we live in a vacuum.  Our right of freedom, just like a tree, grows and matures in its support and tikkun for those around us, which is the idea of “right” in Torah. That is the song of freedom we sing, just like they sang when they crossed the sea.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky     

Parashat HaShuvah - Bo - "Hope is a Verb." Exodus 10:1-13:16, Haftarah, Jeremiah 46:13-28

This sedra, parashat Bo, celebrates the almost complete freedom of the slaves after many, many, many years of being held in captivity under the wicked hand of Pharaoh. During our Passover Seder(s) we read a prayer called the Vehi Sheamda, which says, “And it is [the Torah] that has stood by our ancestors and for us. For not only one [enemy] has risen up against us to destroy us, but in every generation they rise up to destroy us. But the Holy Blessed One delivers us from their hands.”  This is unfortunately a prayer of truth; as Jews we have enemies, but as a way of life Judaism is a faith of hope that will always believe in better possibilities for tomorrow.  As Jews we know there will always be “pharaohs” in our world, whether it be Hamas, Hezbollah or the Houthis. Yet we will not allow for a culture that is okay with hate. We will not sit quietly as others see October 7th as if it was a normal event or an isolated occurrence. 

Every Friday night, on Erev Shabbat, we recite the Kiddush that in part says “zecher litziat Mitzrayim,” recalling when God took the Jews out of Egypt.  Jewish parlance views “Egypt” as our week that is full of responsibilities and obligations, whereas the Shabbat is a day that we can be free from those things that rule over us during the week.  But the Shabbat is also a reminder of the hope that a day will come where we will be completely free, and even if not in our lifetime, we hope for the day when freedom is the norm; the idea of hope is laced throughout Jewish prayer.  Regarding hope, Cantor Cheryl Wunch writes, "Hope is an intangible, somewhat undefinable, esoteric concept. It's a word that we all use, and yet likely means something different to each of us. We are told not to lose hope, not to get our hopes up, and that all we can do is hope. Hope is not a feeling, nor is it an action. Hope is just a thought, and most times, a fleeting one.”  Cantor Wunch tells us that hope will become “fleeting,” to which I will add happens when our hope is only measured by a narrow set of expectations. But when we realize that hope is learned, nuanced and experienced, we also see that it (hope) has the ability to become sustainable.   

Both in Va’era last week and Bo this week we find that Moses needed hope. Moses was a fugitive, always looking over his shoulder when he met the divine at a bush, only to be asked to be THE advocate for Israel's freedom. Moses also struggled with being slow in speech and questioned whether the people or Pharaoh would even listen to him. In the end Moses made the decision that despite all those things he elected to stand upon his Jewish sense of duty and obligation, not to mention his trust in God who he encountered, making them the foundation of his sense of hope.  In turn Moses then asked Israel to do the same by putting their trust in God although life had brought them to despair. This was accomplished through the story of the wonders Israel experienced, what we call the ten plagues. The final plague also begins our first taste of communal ritualized religion as we recall the Exodus yearly, to include the plagues during the Passover season.  What we shall see is the Lamb was tied into Israel's hope as they journey into the future. 

Jewish freedom began by eating the Paschal Lamb and putting its blood on the door-post and lintel of the homes (in Torah “blood” is a sign of purity because it represents life).  They also ate with the lamb the maror, bitter herb (12:7-8), as well as the bread that did not rise, matzot (12:29). But the Passover was only one night, and for the next seven days they only ate matzot, what we call Chag HaMatzot, the festival of unleavened bread (13:6-7). Finally we learn that to partake in the Passover both Jew and the Egyptian had to be circumcised (12:44). In the Talmud (Pesachim 70b), regarding the Paschal lamb in particular, “the Merciful One says: “And you shall slaughter the Paschal offering,” the lamb sacrificed was important enough to stand on its own.  Here we further recall that the lamb sacrificed was distinct from the rest of the offerings (see Ex. 12:5).  Why? It was personal. The Paschal lamb was the only sacrifice that was slaughtered by the Israelites as opposed to the priests. The offering of the lamb became a personal act to identify with its meaning.  What for? The lamb “shall be to you one of remembrance,” the day to recall a deliverance from slavery.  How come? Because the lamb reinforced the idea of hope (the meaning), which is why “On the first day you shall celebrate a sacred occasion” (Lev. 23:7). What they celebrated is the hope that there would only be better tomorrows and no one would ever be forced to be slaves again.  We celebrate the same thing even if slavery may mean something else to us.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks - of Blessed memory - writes that “Judaism is a religion of details, but we miss the point if we do not sometimes step back and see the larger picture.''  The details of the Paschal Lamb, the maror and the matzot are just details, but the bigger picture is “hope.”  The lamb is replaced by its lessons. Moses was Israel's partner in hope just as we are partners for others who have lost hope along the way. The same hope that Moses had for Israel's release from captivity, and the same hope that after 116 days of captivity (as of Shabbat) the hostages will come home from Gaza, is the same hope that needs to journey with us each and everyday.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky 

Parashat HaShuvah - Va'era - "Would You kniow my Name." Exodus 6:2-9:35, Haftarah, Ezekiel 28:25-29:21

Exodus began by saying “These are the names of the sons of Israel who came to Egypt with Jacob, each coming with his household.”  Right from the get go we learn that in the same way “Israel” was a “person” in Jacob, we also learn that “Israel” is a community of “people” (not yet a country).  Last week we also met Moses, an individual who became a symbol of the whole, a fighter for human rights, an advocate for dignity and equality, and a voice for freedom.
 

In this week's sedra, parashat Va’era, while it continues to be about Moses as a partner with God to bring about the tikkun of Israel, here we meet a people who are just not a “nameless-background” to the story of Moses. We learn further that these people are ancestors of Jacob's twelve sons, extended families who became slaves and who “moaned” under the Egyptian “bondage” (Ex. 6:5).  In this narrative Moses goes to these very same people to remind them of God's words with the flowery language of inheritance and promises from God who would not forget; although the text frames it in the more positive, ואזכר את בריתי, “I will remember my covenant.”  When Moses spoke his words to the people, the experience was less than satisfying, thus without a word in return Moses quickly assessed that the people “would not listen (as) their spirits (were) crushed by cruel bondage” (Ex. 6:9). This is the Israel who we meet this week, broken and inconsolable.

We learn in a Midrash (Shemot Rabbah 6:5) that this was so because they did not put down the idolatry of Egypt.  We read in a later Midrash (Midrash Aggadah, Exodus 6:9:1) that this was also because the people had a “lack of faith,”  and questioned God’s “hand” of salvation.  The Sfrono writes that “for (these people) it did not appear believable to their present state of mind, so that their heart could not assimilate such a promise.”  The later Midrash elaborates even more about their state of mind, saying that from Moses’ perspective their lack of faith was a listening problem, hence, לא שמעו אלי ועובדין ע"ז, “they would not listen to me (Moses) and they served idols.”  It is hard to believe that their state of mind preferred idols over freedom?  It's even more of a shame that the Midrash made that conclusion.  Conversely, Sfrono writes “if it had not been for the heavy labor which they had to perform they would have paid much more attention to Moses’ words, and they would have understood that Moses’ arguments made what he said very believable.”

The Sfrono seems to look beyond the explanation of the Midrash for the reason why the people “moaned'' from the “bongage” of slavery, a people who Moses described as mikotzer ruach (מקצר רוח) or “small in spirit.”  In modern Hebrew mikotzer ruach (מקצר רוח) means “impatient,” but that meaning of mikotzer ruach to me diminishes how those words are used in Exodus that identify the emotional-makeup of the slaves.  Rashi renders mikotzer ruach as “through anguish,”  writing that “If one is in anguish his breath comes in short gasps and he cannot draw long breaths.” These people were out of breath, they were ridiculed, mistreated, disrespected, robbed of human dignity.  These were people who were treated as less than human and unworthy of basic decency.  This was a people who were a tool in the hand of Pharaoh to accomplish his desires without any human consideration other than a place to sleep and some food to maintain their ability to work. I'd say that this is why they were mikotzer ruach, or  “small in spirit” (מקצר רוח), thus their state of mind had nothing to do with idolatry in the slightest more so than that work was difficult, or may'avodah kasha (מעבודה קשה).

 

Rashi, reflecting on Jacobs' difficult words to his sons Reuven, Shimon and Levi back in Genesis, connect them (the sons) to this week's parasha with the people who are mikotzer ruach because of the hardship of slavery.  Looking at the genealogy of the people in Exodus 6:14 and following, regarding those same disinherited sons, Rashi teaches that this “scripture again enumerates here their genealogy alone of all the tribes to indicate that they nevertheless were men of worth.”  Even the sons who were spoken to harshly and deprived of the promises are worthy of dignity and respect as all the sons, and in the same way all those who became slaves, which was what Moses wanted them to realize. The people of slavery who Moses approached were diminished souls, beaten up and treated as unworthy humanity who held no value in life but to fulfill the will of a dictator.  These people lost hope because they were forgotten, people no longer knew their names but just called them slaves, plain and simple. But Moses and Aaron came to remind them that they were much more than that.  This sedra ends with seven of the ten plagues, but in the end (for me) it is not about those “miracles” experienced!  As such there is another unspoken miracle that we do not celebrate during our Passover Seders, the miracle of the slaves being reminded that others cared for them, their lives were important and Moses wanted them to see their own self-worth; each had a name that was precious, each had a name that was known to God.

Each day Arutz Sheva (Israeli News Outlet) publishes the names and ages of the soldiers who have sacrificed their lives for Israel's security, sons and daughters, husbands and wives as well as children and grandchildren, each with a backstory of who they were, their families, friends and so on.  Arutz Sheva wants to remind us that these folks were just not IDF soldiers with ID numbers, but they have names.  When we drive down the street in our local communities and we see a homeless person, how many of us take a moment to think about what their name is or where they are from, do they have family that misses them or even how did they get there?  More than that, do we think, “I wonder if they are mikotzer ruach, or small in spirit.”  With Moses we continue to learn that we must step up for others who are in need, which is why we talk Tikkun Olam and Social Action. But with Israel (their story it is more obvious) who were mikotzer ruach, we must always remember that some slavery is not visible, albeit daily life responsibilities, mental health issues or a disbelief in our own self-worth that others cannot see (think Exodus 6:14 and following above). A friend of mine wrote that “we can get distracted and neglect those we love dearly.”  If the Torah is anything, it is human, and wants to remind us that when we see (or perceive) that others are mikotzer ruach, we must recall our great superpower: we can know them by name and even join them in their journey. That is the essence of Judaism!!

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Adam Ruditsky

Parashat HaShuvah - Shemot - "Defining a Sacred Encounter." Exodus 1:1-6:1, Haftarah, 1 Isaiah 27:6-28:13, 29:22-23

Unlike Genesis, which was about individuals and families, Exodus, will be about a nation made up of individuals. Here in this first sedra of Exodus, parashat Shemot, we find the formation of a nation who begin as slaves and the emergence of Moses to lead them out of slavery.  As such a two-part question comes to mind: why Moses and why now?  I mean, think about it, was Moses the only person who held those ambitions?  I therefore want to suggest two answers as to why Moses and why now. 

The first answer is that he grew into his role.  In this parasha we have the famous scene of Moses standing in front of a bush that is on fire but does not burn.  Yet there are other incidents before the bush that we should be mindful of. First, we read how Moses was outraged at seeing an Egyptian taskmaster beating a Jewish slave, so he killed the overseer (Ex. 2:11-14).  Second, the next day when confronting two fellow Jews, Moses attempts to break up a fight  only to be told “Do you mean to kill me as you killed the Egyptian?”  The secret was out, Moses killed an Egyptian so he fled Egypt for Midian, where he spent the next 40 years of his life.  And finally, as soon as he gets there his sense of “right” is further on display when he defends Yitro’s daughters over the water they drew from the well for their animals (Ex. 2:16-17).  What do all three encounters teach us about Moses? 

There is a Midrash (Yalkut Shimoni 166:11) that asks why we read that Moses grew up twice.  In Exodus 2:10 it says, “When the child grew up” and then again in 2:11, “Some time after that, when Moses had grown up.”  Both times the word for grew/grown in the Hebrew are the same (vayigdal), but one reads as “grew up” as opposed to “grown up,” but why?  The short answer is “context,” but Rashi reminds us that this has already been solved.  In this case the “first time it refers to growth in stature (and) the second time to greatness.”  I'd like to further suggest that the second time also had to do with his identity as a Jew and his sense of values that all people should be treated with dignity.  When Moses arrived at that well in Midian it said he “rose to [the daughters’] defense, and he watered their flock,” standing up against the injustice of the other shepherds.  Let's not read that as Moses flexing his masculine muscles before these young ladies, no, this was a man of conviction who had a passion to fight for others!  After no longer being able to withstand the oppression of his own people, not only did he grow into a man to battle injustice, but he “grew up” to be the man who would lead his fellow Hebrews to freedom. 

The second answer was he realized that his convictions were spiritually embedded within.  In the narrative itself Moses’ preconditioned nature (see above) was further aroused at the bush in Exodus 3:2, also to be seen as the time when God and Moses formally met, so to speak. Regarding the bush when Moses came across it he noticed that it was “all aflame, yet the bush was not consumed.”  Upon drawing closer to investigate this phenomenon when he “turned aside to look, God called to him out of the bush: “Moses! Moses!” He answered, “Here I am (hineini).”  This bush was a sacred moment for Moses, but it was a sacred moment for God as well. In that moment God knew that Moses' convictions to oppose injustice made him the right person to rise up and lead Israel to freedom, a partner for tikkun.  I am sure that Moses was startled, but he responded to a sound that was not audible.  But to really understand how Moses reacted we need to go back to the creation narrative of Genesis but also look forward to Israel standing at Mt. Sinai (Gen. 1:1ff and Ex. 19:16-25).  In this case the common bond is nature: fire, thunder, plants, mountains and humankind (man and woman, Moses and all Israel).  As I pondered the above I was drawn to the words of Psalm 19:1-3 that says, “The heavens declare the glory of God, the sky proclaims God’s handiwork. Day to day makes utterance, night to night speaks out. There is no utterance, there are no words whose sound goes unheard.”  Even if not the same, Moses responded to the nature he encountered that connected him to a world he could not see, just as Adam did in Eden and Israel would at Sinai.  Is that not what the power of music does, such as nigun - a wireless melody, it has the ability to touch our inner being! 

The Jewish theologian Arthur Green teaches that this encounter for Moses at the bush was identical to that of Adam’s in the Garden or what will happen to Israel at Sinai in as much as all were being asked, איכה (ayekah), where are you?  Adam responded in denial whereas Moses responded in curiosity, הנני, “here am I,” and Israel will respond by saying, נעשה ונשמע, “we will do and we will hear!”  At the bush Moses realized and responded to a personal conviction to stand against injustice, not just for himself,  but for the sake of Israel.  Now, whether you call it God, the universe or your sense of a higher power, this passage demands we take a moment to consider our own sacred moments that define us. But here, we are the inheritors of Moses’ conviction to oppose injustice, not just for the Jewish people but for all people.  Is this not the same reason why we struggle to hold the dynamic tension of life together?  On one hand we stand opposed to injustice and cannot let evil and hate win the day, while on the other hand we cannot stand by and watch innocent people, Jew or otherwise, die.  Listen to the tension of that voice, because if we do not and stop caring, well per the words of Bob Dylan, “how many times can a man turn his head and pretend that he just doesn't see?”  In 2024 let's take extra time to see what we might have missed in the past by listening more to the convictions within. After all, is that not what Moses did as he grew?

Shabbat Shalom and Rosh Chodesh Shevat, Rabbi Adam Ruditsky