Bo! Thoughts on the Word (Parshas Bo #2)

Bo is the first primary word of this week’s parsha, and so it is the one after which it was named. It is the simple, singular, third person, male imperative of the verb la’vo – to come, a word that provides rich complexity to the text of the Torah because it often appears to be used for the opposite of what it means. For example, take this very first primary pasuk. If translated literally, it should read “Come to Pharoah,” which would be situationally normal if the speaker was addressing someone at a distance. From the narrative, it seems clear that Hashem is speaking to Moshe from somewhere other than in Pharoah’s presence. One would therefore expect the text to read lech el Paraoh “Go to Pharaoh.”

From the perspective of an English major, the question that begs to be answered is what the difference is between to come and to go.  One might say that the act of going is about the process of getting from one place to another. Its about the journey and the taking action to move. Thus we have Hashem telling Avraham “Lech Lecha,” go for yourself, because Avraham’s movement was what was important.

The act of coming, on the other hand, is about the destination. Hashem told Moshe “Bo el Paraoh,” because what was important was appearing before Pharaoh, not how he got there and not how he was affected by the act of getting there, but actually making himself present there.

Making oneself present, bo, is actually subtly counter-posed throughout the narrative of the plagues with the other primary ways in which Moshe (with or without Aharon) is instructed to warn Pharaoh.  The other is hashkem baboker vhityatzeiv get up in the morning and be present (although a slightly different version of the verb, vnitzavta, is used before the very first plague). The difference between the two seems a fine line, but being present and making oneself present are slightly different, and both were important for Hashem making a statement to Pharaoh. When the term bo is used, Moshe is coming into Pharaoh’s royal presence; he is making himself present in a way that makes an entrance and acknowledges Pharaoh’s role as Melech Mitzrayim. When vhituatzeiv is used, he is not making himself present with an entrance. It is an appearance before Pharaoh that demonstrates that Pharaoh is just a man.

"Come to Pharaoh" and a version of "Present yourself before Pharoah" are used equally, and the Torah does not record a precursor for the other plagues. The verb lech Go is only used as a directive from Hashem in relation to the plagues at the very beginning, when he instructs Moshe to go to Pharaoh in the morning and present himself for the first time, a prelude to the plague of blood. Only at the first plague was the journey of going to appear before Pharaoh important, for Moshe and for Bnei Yisrael.

Before he approached Pharaoh with knowledge of the plagues to come and the fact that Pharaoh would harden his heart, Moshe worried about being heard. Once he had appeared before him and saw his own capability. He did not need the journey. Everything thereafter was about the actual coming before Pharaoh. And it was significant that his last appearance was at the command of Bo, come. For Moshe entered the court with the full knowledge that he was now the harbinger of the fate of Egypt.

We often put great significance to lech, Go, to the journeying and getting to a place or a position. But when we change our viewpoint, reverse our position to see where we have come to, we have the opportunity to see ourselves and the world around us in a new light. So many of us struggle with where we think we are heading, perhaps we should come to where we need to be so we can really see where we are.

About Your Gods…A Lesson on Consideration (Parshas Va'era)

Is the Jewish faith tolerant of other religions? It sounds like a question in a Google search box, but it has surprising relevance to this week's parsha, parshas Va’era. Shemos 7 begins the narrative of the Ten Plagues, the actions of which are always prefaced by Moshe and/or Aharon telling Pharaoh to let the Israelites go. 

The goal, of course, is that the Jewish people shall be freed from slavery, but Moshe starts small, requesting only that the Children of Israel be allowed to leave Egypt on a seemingly temporary basis to worship Hashem. Now Egypt is a polytheistic nation, and while Pharaoh actually declares at one point that he does not know Hashem, it is interesting to note that he never denies that there is a God of the Hebrews. 

Long ago, however, Avraham made it clear that he recognized Hashem as the only Deity. His monotheistic faith, centered on the Creator of the World, was uncompromisable, and it was for this that an eternal covenant with his descendants was struck.

Within the Jewish faith, there are three truly abhorrent categories of behavior: murder, illicit relations, and idol worship. While these three categories of sin are also transgressions of the Seven Laws of B’nei Noach, the basic rules expected of all the nations, Jewish law charges accountability to Jews only. All of this makes Moshe's response to Pharaoh after the fourth plague particularly interesting. After Pharaoh offers for the Jewish people to worship locally (in Goshen), Moshe says: “It is not right to do so, for we shall offer to Hashem our God that which is an abomination to the Egyptians - Behold if we do so, to offer to Hashem our God that which is an abomination before their eyes, will they not stone us?” (8:22). 

Pharaoh hears their argument and agrees to Moshe’s proposal that the people will travel three days into the wilderness for their worship. Of course, as we all know, Pharaoh then changes his mind. 

Without question, Moshe’s argument on why B’nei Yisrael must not stay in Goshen is a ploy to remove the people from the grasp of Pharaoh and the Egyptians. The commentaries provide numerous explanations as to why Moshe mentioned the fact that B’nei Yisrael would be sacrificing sheep, which is the implication of the pasuk - that the offering of sheep, sacred to the Egyptians, would be an abomination. Most of the commentaries focus on Moshe wishing to protect B’nei Yisrael, for the fear of the Egyptians rising up and rioting against them was real. Other ideas are connected to working to make certain that the worship service to Hashem would in no way strengthen the power of the Egyptian priesthood. 

As we must read the Torah each in our own generation to understand both our past and our present, one can perhaps see in Moshe’s response to Pharaoh’s seemingly generous offer of “Go and sacrifice to your God within the land” (8:21) a lesson about religious tolerance, or at least about general consideration. Moshe did not have any interest in preaching monotheism, in castigating the Egyptians for their idol worship, or even in preventing them from making more gods. Ultimately, the plagues are meant to leave Pharaoh acknowledging Hashem as the ultimate power, but there never appears to be any attempt to end polytheism in Egypt. 

It should be noted that before entering the Promised Land, and in many other references to the Promised Land, B’nei Yisrael are specifically ordered to destroy any and all Avoda Zara, even remnants of the false worship of people no longer there. But in Egypt, there was no commandment to bring them around to monotheism, to cleanse the land of idol worship. 

When Moshe tells Pharaoh, “It is not right to do so, for we shall offer to Hashem our God that which is an abomination to the Egyptians,”  one could say that Moshe was demonstrating remarkable sensitivity (even if it was to the advantage of B’nei Yisrael). He may deem the belief in the animal-human deities as mistaken, but he did not feel a need to prove his faith above others. 

We today are surrounded by belief systems with which we may disagree on a deeply philosophic level - both belief systems religious and societal. But mocking them or attacking these beliefs, unless in actual defense of Torah and Judaism - does not benefit the Jewish people. Indeed, it can lead to danger for us. Our concern must be, first and foremost, for maintaining the sanctity of the Torah and the security of the Jewish people (both wholly and individually). 

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Speaking of Egyptians and their gods, it is interesting to note that our traditions speak a great deal about the sensitivity of the Egyptians to our sacrificing rams/sheep because their god Khnum was often pictured with a ram’s head. Commentaries do not appear to discuss, however, the somewhat strange connection of the second plague to the Egyptian pantheon. The second plague was the plague of frogs, which overwhelmed the land. The Midrash says that when the Egyptians would hit the frogs, more frogs would come. Among the goddesses of ancient Egypt was Heqet, the Egyptian goddess of fertility who was represented in the form of a frog or as a frog headed woman. This is a fascinating connection when one thinks about the fact that the Pharaoh’s excuse for enslaving the Israelites was that perhaps they would multiply and join an enemy army against them. Add to that the Midrash that in Egypt each Jewish woman gave birth to sextuplets, thus truly multiplying, and one could see a Divine “response” to Pharaoh’s attempt to interfere with the growth of the Jewish people through a plague wrought through the goddess of fertility.

(On the other hand, if you are one who shares the opinion of the commentator Sforno that tzfardeia were actually crocodiles, then this leads you to Sobek, the crocodile headed god of fertility and military prowess, so not much different)

*For more on the Seven Mitzvot of B’nei Noach: http://www.jewishtreats.org/2019/11/the-seven-mitzvot.html

LAST YEAR’S PARSHA POST, “TRICKS OF THE MIND THAT HARDEN THE HEART,” CAN BE READ HERE: http://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2019/01/tricks-of-mind-that-harden-heart-vaera.html

Hidden on the Verge of Revelation (Parshas Shemos #2)

One of the greatest joys of studying the weekly parsha is discovering surprising, unexpected gems of connections. These fascinating points of reference encourage us to delve deeper, to look past what might seem like just a recording of history, and to use that deeper meaning to transform how we live our lives. Many of the insights we can learn from the Torah, particularly the parshiot that deal with Moshe Rabbeinu, are lessons about leaderership.

While Moshe is recognized as being the greatest leader of the Jewish people, it is interesting to find, in this week’s parasha, a subtle but informative connection between him and the other great Israelite leader who preceded him in Egypt, Yosef. An initial comparison of these two larger-than-life figures seems to point out more contrasts than commonalities. Yosef was placed by God into a position to be given status and power by Pharoah, whereas Moshe was divinely instructed to take Pharoah down. Yosef was raised by Yaakov and only came to live like an Egyptian when he was mature enough to cling to his essence; his Egyptianness was a constant charade. Moshe, on the other hand, was raised as an Egyptian and only came to understand his heritage when he was already an adult. Yosef guided the Egyptian people into serfdom to Pharoah, while Moshe led the Israelites out of slavery.

There is, however, one strange connection between them, and it is a word - תצפנו. The word translates to hidden. Yosef is given the name צפנת פּענח (Tzafnas Panaiach), which is generally understood to mean “Revealer of the Hidden,” by Pharoah upon his ascension to viceroy. Oddly, however, the term תצפנהו is also used to describe how Yocheved hid her baby, Moshe, for three months after he was born. According to the Midrash, she was able to hide him because he was several months premature, and so she pretended to still be pregnant until she would actually have been due. In the next verse, Shemos 2:3, הצפינו is also used to express that Yocheved could no longer hide him, which is interesting because the word here hinges on imminent revelation. Other than these three verses - really these two circumstances - this term, according to the concordance, does not appear to be used elsewhere in the Chumash.

So what lessons can hiddenness verging on revelation provide to us today? One interesting lesson that can be derived here is the importance of knowing when to reveal that which is hidden. It appears from the text that Moshe became aware of his heritage and then became aware of the suffering of his brethren. That he was still living in the palace implies that he had not shared his knowledge of his background. He knew who he was, but he kept that information hidden until he came to Pharoah to lead his people to freedom.

Similarly, Yosef allowed himself to be hidden by Pharaoh. He accepted the new name and the rich Egyptian clothing, and he maintained the charade of being part of this nation by speaking their tongue. At first, at least, everyone knew that Yosef was a foreigner, a Hebrew, but the longer he served as Pharaoh’s viceroy, the easier it was for the people to forget. Indeed, perhaps this could even be one way of understanding how it could be that the New King of Egypt did not know Yosef, he knew צפנת פּענח (Tzafnas Panaiach) but did not connect him to Yosef the Hebrew. No one identified Yosef to his brothers because they all saw him as part of their nation and not as a Hebrew. Here too, with his brothers, is an example of Yosef holding back that which is hidden (his identity), no matter how hard it was for him to do so, until the necessary moment of revelation.

In our modern era of social media, many people suffer from the habit of oversharing. It is an easy thing to do when a lauded “artform” is the properly worded tweet to keep up with friends, to impress colleagues, or to attract supporters. Perhaps it is best to remember that, oftentimes, less is more – keep somethings hidden for yourself.

The way that Yosef and Moshe both remained hidden in plain site and made their personal revelations at the moment of greatest impact is not necessarily a lesson for the everyman. Most of us are not in a position to either hide our identities or to make a monumental impact with some grand revelation. And yet, how the important parts of Yosef and Moshe had to be hidden can still be a message of spiritual inspiration.

Yosef and Moshe both appeared, for long periods of their lives, to be absolute members of the society in which they lived. But underneath any such appearance was their own constant awareness of who they truly were. Even while in Egypt, Yosef raised his sons with the same values with which he had been raised, so much so that they were accept equal among their uncles. Moshe, once he knew who he was, could not help himself but to go out and really see his brethren, to feel their suffering.

Their core, no matter what their appearance, remained strong. And those things for which they will be most honored and remembered, those moments that were the most important to them and to history, were accomplished when Yosef and Moshe, respectively, were no longer hidden. This is the message for the everyman. A person can imitate the lifestyle of the culture around them, if necessary, but we must never forget who we truly are. We must never allow ourselves to be subsumed by the foreign society in which we live.

There is one more interesting connection between Moshe, Yosef, and hiddenness and revelation. It is a lesson to echo in our hearts, always. Moshe had the distinct honor of revealing the place where Yosef's bones had been hidden. He brought those bones forth so that Yosef could be buried in the Promise Land, because the man who had been so honored and so empowered by the Egyptian Pharoah wanted nothing more for his eternal future than to be where he truly belonged. But perhaps that is a post for parshas Beshalach.

The Reason for Reassurance (Vayechi #2)

"And God will surely consider you again and bring you up from this land unto the land which He swore to Avraham, to Yitzchak, and to Yaakov” (Bereishis 20:24). Yoseph says this to his brothers from his death bed, and, as the not quite penultimate pasuk of Bereishis, it seems like a natural foreshadowing of what is to come - since we are all familiar with Sefer Shemos and the need for Divine rescue. But on its own within the narrative of Bereishis, it is actually a fairly odd statement. For the brothers and their families to need reassurance that God will remember them implies that they believed they had been forgotten - or at least deemed unimportant – in the Divine plan. How could this be when it had been so clearly pointed out that, even with Hashem’s reiterated promise of the Land of Canaan to their forefathers, everything had happened because God wanted Bnei Yisrael to sojourn in Egypt? Why are they afraid when, as far as the text has demonstrated, they are flourishing and living quite comfortably?

The fact is that life can be good and not good at the same time. One can live in a world of comfort and still be uncomfortable. They may have had physical prosperity, but, perhaps, by the time Yoseph passed away they were aware of the beginning of the spiritual challenges that would face them.

The sons of Yaakov not only saw how Yaakov devoted his life to God, but they lived that devotion with him. Additionally, they had had the opportunity to know their grandfather Yitzchak, so they were clear on the chain of this spiritual inheritance. Their children and some of their children's children also knew Yaakov, only not as intimately since his great spiritual strength was diminished while he mourned Yoseph for years. But what of their younger grandchildren and the children after that? What about the “little ones” left behind in Goshen when the sons of Yaakov went up to Canaan to bury their great father (50:8)? Not only were these little ones not able to meet their holy patriarch, but they never saw the Promised Land with their own eyes.

Bnei Yisrael came to Egypt to avoid the famine and to be reunited with Yoseph, but they also came to fulfill the prophecy of the Bris Bein HaBiturim that Avraham's children would reside and suffer in a land not their own (Bereishis 15). The suffering, however, began far earlier than most people realize. It began with the little ones left behind. Interestingly, according to the Malbim, the little ones were not left behind, but rather they were forced to stay as guarantees that Yoseph and his extended family would return. These children were, ever so slightly, less connected to the path of their forefathers.

This was in no way the fault of the brothers. They made all the right efforts. They settled themselves apart from the Egyptians in the land of Goshen. They maintained their flocks because they knew it was an unwelcome occupation to their neighbors. And, according to the midrash, Yehuda built a yeshiva in which they could study the ways of their forefathers. The brothers created community infrastructure to strengthen the generations to come. That they did so was, perhaps, the key to the strength of Bnei Yisrael that the sages teach us that Bnei Yisrael held on to their unique heritage even as the oppression grew strong during their enslavement and they managed to not cross over the 50th level of tumah.

In the last days of Yoseph, however, the generation that had seen and lived true spiritual greatness, saw the beginning of the descent, just ever so slightly, and they were concerned. Not anxious, not upset, not frighten, just, perhaps, a little concerned. This is a concern that speaks to us today.

When generations lived in strong, cohesive units, such as they did in the times of our forefathers, the differences between the generations were far less noticeable. Today we live in a time when we even name our generations, because not only the Jewish people, but the whole world, can see differences distinct enough between the Baby Boomers and the Millennials.  

Our people have spent thousands of years yearning for our children, for ourselves, to once again be able to live up to the caliber of our great ancestors, and so Yoseph’s deathbed promise to his brothers is a promise even unto this day – as Biblical language might say. For we here in the Western countries have been welcomed, have been accepted, have risen to positions of esteem, and have come to live in great comfort. And we have an infrastructure of strong communities and robust yeshivot. But we fight a constant spiritual battle against assimilation. However, if there is one thing that we can and should learn from the overarching story of Yoseph, it is that Hashem always has a plan, and Hashem will always remember His promise.

Why “the Bagel” is Important to Klal Yisrael (Vayigash #2)

Parshas Vayigash is the culmination of the narrative of Yoseph, but really it is the completion of the story of the reunification of Bnei Yisrael. There is a beautiful verse in Perek 45 that does not seem to draw a tremendous amount of commentary, perhaps because it is natural to the sequence of the narrative. This verse, however, is one of tremendous importance for Jews today to remember: "And he [Yoseph] kissed all his brothers and wept on them, and after, his brothers talked with him" (45: 15). 

Not to him, but with him. Twelve sons, twelve different personalities, twelve different fathers of tribes that were going to become a people, and they embraced and talked together. Yes, this is one more call for unity among the many that we hear after each tragedy, but are we listening? Perhaps we will know how well we are doing when we can relate to the very next verse that describes the reaction to the news that Yoseph’s brothers had come to Egypt: "It was good in the eyes of pharaoh and in the eyes of his servants" (45:16).

There are some very interesting things we can learn from the dynamics of Yoseph and his brothers in Parshas Vayigash, perhaps things that weren’t even relevant until the post World War II era, since this is the significance of the eternity of Torah.  The parsha begins in the middle of perek 34, which certainly makes one wonder why the sages didn’t choose to break the parsha at the beginning or end of the perek. It also, perhaps, draws particular significance to the verse that begins the parsha: “Then Yehuda went up to him and said, ‘Please, my lord, let your servant appeal to my lord, and do not be impatient with your servant, you who are like Pharaoh” (44:18).

In verse 44:18, Yehuda told Yoseph that he is k’paro, like Pharaoh. Isn’t it odd how the brothers did not recognize Yoseph at all? Of course, one can say that they did not expect to find him in a position of authority, or, perhaps more honestly, they did not expect to find him alive. But one would think that he stood out a little from the Egyptians that surrounded him, after all the origin of the Egyptians was from Ham and the origin of Yaakov’s family was Shem, and they came from different regions. However, when the brothers were spoken to aggressively in Egyptian and told to speak through a translator to respond to their Hebrew, there was no reason to look closer, certainly not at the powerful man dressed in regal Egyptian robes who was called Tzaphnas Paneha, as Joseph had been renamed by Pharaoh.  Generations later, the Chatam Sofer would comment that the reason that Israelites were redeemed was that they kept themselves separate from the Egyptians by maintaining their clothes, their names, and their language, but for Yoseph, using a foreign name, speaking Egyptian, and wearing the clothes gifted by Pharaoh were actually the means by which he protected his neshama. 

In the next 16 verses, Yehuda speaks to Yoseph completely from the heart, relaying everything that has occurred between the two of them from his perspective and demonstrating how important is their desire to protect both Binyamin and Yaakov.  This is significant because of more than just the history of this specific family. Yehuda here represent klal Yisrael, and his descendants will be the leaders of the people. Binyamin, according to the Midrash, was a near perfect Tzadik, and he represents the righteous innocents. Yaakov, the man of the tents, represents the sages of the Torah, our men of wisdom and knowledge.  When Yoseph, who could perhaps represent those Jews who would become completely submerged in a foreign culture, heard Yehuda – heard his honesty and his sincerity – he finally cleared the room for what one could jokingly call the ultimate bagel.*

This past week, Jews throughout the observant world turned their focus to the incredible gathering of tens of thousands of Jews for the Siyum Hashas, the celebration of the completion of learning a page of Talmud a day for the seven and a half years it takes to complete the entire Talmud. The Talmud is studied by an incredible range of Jews, and I believe that if one wished to one could find representatives of every “denomination” and each kehilla whose life has been touched by this program of study. There were Jews from across the spectrum of observance, and that unity is palpable and energizing.

Now, however, we who are connected, we who have dwelled in the tents of Yaakov, must show the world our honesty, our sincerity, and the beauty of living a Jewish life by being extra conscientious of how we speak and how we act, ready at all times to make a kiddush Hashem. This is not so that we might appease the seemingly growing number of those who hate us, but so that we might show our honest regret at our separation from those members of our nation who have lost their names, their dress, and their language, but who have not lost their neshamas. They are just waiting for an opening to embrace their brethren.

Discussions of the messianic era refer to a future world of peace and to a time when Hashem’s glory will be revealed. It is also said that it will be a time when the nations of the world will want to work for the shared goal of Hashem’s glory with the Jewish people. This, however, can only occur when all twelve brothers kiss and weep and talk together, for only then will klal Yisrael find the favor in the eyes of the other nations to be a light unto the world. Until then, we remain in a painful state of gulus. 

*The bagel, in this case, is a newish term for moments when one Jew drops Jewish terms into the conversation in order to let the other person know that they too are a member of the Tribe.