Parsha Shemos: Gd Knows

 Parsha Shemos: God Knows

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Chana Zelda bat Gittel Yita, Batya Dina bas Chava Tzivia, Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, and Yaakov ben Esther Malka.

 

In the first parsha of the Torah, we learn how Hashem made man in His image…and, alas, ever since then it seems that man has been trying to do the reverse – make God in man’s image. Ok, it’s a bit of a pithy thing to say, but, in many ways, not so far from the truth. Even today when Western society has moved far away from statuesque idolatry or that Greek pantheon, most people tend to have an understanding of Hashem that reflects God as they want or expect Him to be. Sometimes that is the all-loving, all-forgiving, “if I’m just a good person God will accept me” deity, and sometimes it’s the fire and brimstone deity who will punish those who cross a person’s moral line.

 

Hashem is all-knowing, of course. And Hashem does reward the righteous and punish those who deserve to be punished. The calculations for all of that, however, are well beyond our means of understanding…and understanding that is critical criteria for this week’s parsha, Parshas Shemos.  Parshas Shemos – well, indeed, sefer Shemos and, in truth everything thereafter – is a testament to the difference in how we mortals view the world and Hashem’s comprehension of all the moving pieces and His understanding of what, ultimately, needs to happen and is thus “good.”

 

The parsha opens with a recounting of the names of the 70 who came down with Yaakov to Egypt, and here we must remember that when Yaakov hesitated to come, Hashem told him it was what he should do. But was it good? We see quite quickly into the parsha that it really wasn’t what one would say is for the good because the Egyptians turned on Bnei Yisrael rather quicky once Yosef’s generation had passed.

 

One of the primary factors of the events in Mitzrayim (beyond, of course, the foretelling of the oppression by Hashem and it being the means of forging the nation) was Pharoah’s belief that he could shape his world. He wished to kill Jewish boys because an astrologer gave him a foretelling, and he believed that he had ability to thwart it. He believed that he could remove himself from infanticide by trying to recruit the Jewish midwives to do it, but their better nature could not be turned. He believed that he could ignore Moshe because, as he himself declared: He did not know Hashem.

 

In contrast, however, there is Moshe. The Torah tells us that when Moshe was born, his mother saw that he was “good” (Shemos 2:2). Of course there are lots of interpretations of what that means, but perhaps it is an allusion to his innate connection to the Divine.  Think about the fact that only his youngest years were spent in an environment of kedusha, when he was nursed in his mother’s house. The Torah only first records him interacting with any Israelites is when he stops the taskmaster from killing a slave, and he stops him by striking him with, as the Midrash tells us, the actual name of Hashem. This is an incredible level of connection for someone who had no one to teach him the ways of Israel, which makes it even more perplexing that Moshe does not immediately agree when Hashem instructs him to go back to Mitzrayim.

 

When Moshe asks Hashem what he should tell the Israelites when they ask for Hashem’s name, the response is more than just a message for Bnei Yisrael. It is a message for every person… “And God said to Moses, “Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh,” continuing, “Thus shall you say to the Israelites, ‘Ehyeh sent me to you.’” Ehyeh-asher-Ehyah – I am that I am or I will be what I will be…

 

Moshe, with his inborn special connection to Hashem, cannot alter the path that Hashem wants to occur. None of us can. We can judge the world all that we want. We can look at individuals or whole groups of people or situations and declare that they are wrong, that they need to be different, but we are mere mortals. To be frank, we know nothing except what we see and what we feel, but Hashem… Hashem doesn’t just know everything, Hashem IS everything.

 

And while for the moment you may nod your head and say of course, it’s an incredibly difficult idea to hold in one’s mind.

 

I wish you all a beautiful Shabbas, and let us all come to truly accept that it is all Hashem.

 

Parshas Shemos – Who me?

Dedicated as a tefilla for the speedy end to these challenging times.

The fourth perek of Sefer Shemos begins in a seemingly abrupt manner: “Moshe answered and said, "Behold they will not believe me, and they will not heed my voice, but they will say, 'The Lord has not appeared to you'" (Shemos 4:1).

This response comes in the middle of the narrative of the burning bush, and this narrative is well-known for highlighting Moshe’s reluctance to take on the role of leadership. Indeed, he questions his capabilities, and thus Hashem’s choice, both before and after this pasuk (verse):

“But Moshe said to God, "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and that I should take the children of Israel out of Egypt?... And Moshe said to God, "Behold I come to the children of Israel, and I say to them, 'The God of your fathers has sent me to you,' and they say to me, 'What is His name?' what shall I say to them?" (3:11,13)

And

“"I beseech You, O Lord. I am not a man of words, neither from yesterday nor from the day before yesterday, nor from the time You have spoken to Your servant, for I am heavy of mouth and heavy of tongue… But he said, "I beseech You, O Lord, send now [Your message] with whom You would send" (4:10, 13).

Moshe’s first response is logical. He was an Egyptian prince; it makes no sense for Bnei Yisrael to believe him. His third response is also logical because he is noting an actual limitation, a speech impediment. It is interesting, however, that this is the verse that most often leads into a discussion of Moshe’s sense of self, of his allowing insecurity to take hold. That discussion seems most appropriate for our originally quoted pasuk, 4:1.

Perhaps you are wondering why it is significant to consider which refusal of Moshe has deeper meaning. The important part, after all, is understanding that at Moshe’s first conversation with Hashem, he tried to remove himself from the position of leader, and thus we can understand that Moshe, though raised as a prince, was a humble person.

But there is significance here. Indeed, the significance stands out from the fact that these are the first words of a perek (chapter). Perek daled begins, literally, with an answer, v’ya’an. But answers are, by nature, the response to a question, or, at the very least, to a statement. So why would this be the place to start the perek.* It certainly wasn’t a worry that a perek would be too long. Perek Gimmel is only 22 verses.

This is the pasuk that shows us the real humanity of Moshe. Not his humility, his humanity. Moshe’s response to this intense set of instructions is to worry, again, that “they will not heed my voice.” He was able to ignore everything else that he was being told. He didn’t question the wisdom of bringing the elders to Pharoah. He didn’t argue about asking to take the slaves out for a three-day holiday, which might seem like a pittance. He didn’t ask why Hashem wanted him to go to Pharaoh if Pharaoh would only reject him and that Hashem knew this.

Moshe’s been given the words to prove himself. He’s been told exactly what will happen. And Moshe still gets stuck on the very first line of God’s instruction: Go to the elders. His question here is a question that every person faces at different points in their lives: What if they don’t hear me? What if they reject me? What if they don’t accept me?

Opportunities for leadership abound (obviously not generally so significant or important as Moshe’s). We see it all the time in our communities where there is such deep need for leadership and so many opportunities to organize tzedakah and chesed outlets. Perek Daled is asking us, each individual, to recognize that when we say, “Who me?” or “Oh someone else will take charge of that,” we are ignoring the fact that Hashem always has a well-laid out plan for us and our own insecurities are often the biggest impediments to letting Him show us His direct involvement.

Moshe was a stranger. Moshe had a speech impediment. But most significantly, Hashem did not let Moshe get stuck on worrying about how others would react to him. This verse, simple as it may be, holds a very important lesson for life.

*This could also turn to a discussion of the history of pasuk and perek (verse and chapter). The Torah was not given to Am Yisrael with these divisions. They were added later, by Christians in the Middle Ages. They have, however become accepted, and so one wonders why it was decided that this was a good place to start a new chapter.

Parsha Shemos: A Man, A Prince, and A Judge

This week's parsha begins the narrative of the Exodus. Here we have the birth of Moshe and his journey to leadership, to the point where he could stand before Paraoh and demand him to "Let my people go.'' While the midrash tells us that Moshe was born special, born to be the one to lead Bnei Yisrael, there were many steps on his journey to leadership. Most often we hear about his compassion as a shepherd, his willingness to stand up to the abusive taskmaster, or his reluctance to be placed in power, but if one reads the text carefully one finds other traits, such as the skill of learning from critique. 

The morning after Moshe kills the taskmaster who was beating an Israelite slave, he is confronted by two Israelites who saw his actions. When Moshe steps between a fight they are having with one another,  one of the men turns to him and says belligerently: "Who appointed you a man,  a prince or a judge over us? Are you threatening to kill me as you killed the Egyptian?" (Shemos 2:14). Moshe reacts with fear and flees, but the words of this rash man were actually potent on a different level. He questioned Moshe's right to act as an eesh, meaning a man of leadership, as a sar, a prince, and as a shofet, a judge. Quite a few commentators state that the use of the word eesh implies that Moshe was very young, that he was just barely, if at all, a man. They were exentuating his inexperience. Questioning him as a prince has other implications. It highlights the illogical title for one now suddenly "identifying" with the Israelite slave. It also undermines the authority he believed he grew up with. Finally they question his right to act as a judge, for he quite obviously already saw himself as being guilty of a crime. 

The words of this man are also interesting in the fact that they talk about appointment, about being named over. In the future, when Moshe was the eesh, the man in charge, so to speak, it would be his job to oversee the princes and to appoint the judges. Indeed, he would be the one who would act as a sar and a shofet, even if he did not hold these titles. 

In this moment, however, these words cast a particularly hard punch. Moshe was, after all, at a crossroads in his life. Having been raised in the palace of Paraoh, having grown up believing he was a member of the Royal Egyptian family, he has suddenly become aware of his actual heritage as in Israelite. He now identifies with his brethren, who he sees enlaved all around him. Moshe is at an identity crisis where he must decide who he wants to be and what he wants to do. When this man,  in the text, questions him and asks who appointed him a man and a prince and a judge, Moshe might have been struck deeply by the idea  that he must determine if that is the person that he wishes to become. And this too could have been the fear that drove him to flee, for in Egypt he could never have an opportunity to understand his identity. It was clear that so long as he stayed in Egypt, he would be drawn in both directions 

This is not, of course, to say that Moshe was aware of the impact of these words at that time. But words have power, and their impact can effect a person for years. The words said to Moshe were a threat, and he reacted to them. Those words, however, resonated in his brain. As he found himself forced to determine his future and his identity, those words built the foundation of who he was to become. 

When we speak to others, let us try to be aware of the powerful impact our words can have.

Dedicated Lilui neshama of Dovid Chaim ben Shmuel Yosef HaCohen. 

And Moshe Said (Parshas Shemos)

There are few more common words in the Torah then “Vayomer Moshe; And Moshe said.” It isn’t a phrase that stands out, and it is rarely a set of words that draws commentary. This is why, perhaps, there did not seem to be much written about Shemos 3:3’s beginning: “And Moshe said: ‘I must turn aside to look…’”

To understand why one might look for commentary on Vayomer Moshe, it is important to know the verses that come beforehand, or else one might think Moshe is in the middle of a dialogue with someone (which would make the question moot): “Now Moshe was shepherding the sheep of Yisro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian, and he drove the flock into the wilderness, and he came to Horeb, the Mountain of God. An angel of the Lord appeared to him in a blazing fire out of a bush. He gazed, and there was a bush all aflame, yet the bush was not consumed. And Moshe said, ‘I must turn aside to look at this marvelous sight; why doesn’t the bush burn up?’”

So who is Moshe talking to? He is alone on a mountain with a bunch of sheep. And we know he is alone because the Midrash famously explains that one of the reasons Moshe was chosen for leadership was that he went up onto this mountain chasing after a stray lamb, going out of his way to ensure the safety of the entire flock. So once again, to whom was he so politely explaining his decision to go look at the strange burning bush?

One could, perhaps, jump back to verse 3:2 and point to the presence of another sentient being. It clearly states that the angel of the Lord appeared to him. And yet, it seems, Moshe did not see this angel. Just because the angel appeared, just because the angel made itself visible, does not mean that it was seen. This is supported by the second half of verse 3:2, when the Torah appears to be narrating Moshe noticing and processing that there is a bush that was burning without being consumed.

This brings us back to the original question. Why isn’t verse 3:3 written in a more removed style? It might, perhaps, have made more sense had the verse been written: And Moshe turned to look at this great sight and wondered why the bush did not burn. Perhaps in this question we discover the true significance of the miracle at the sneh, the burning bush, that here we see how Moshe’s balance of neshama and goof, of spiritual and physical, was unique.

When Moshe says “I must turn aside to look…,” he is talking to himself. His intellect, the part of his brain tied to olam hazeh, is seeing a bush that refuses to burn. His neshama, his soul, is seeing the angel of Hashem. Moshe’s declaration of intent is, perhaps, a transcription of him going through the process of the neshama leading the goof (the spirit over the body). “And Moshe said…” Moshe’s spiritual side was actively guiding his physical self. It is perhaps telling that there is an etnachta, a trope that infers punctuation, at the end of the phrase “And I will go and see this great thing.” This etnachta separates the two sentences that are within the same verse: “Why doesn’t the bush burn up?” Perhaps the etnachta break is a means of indicating that the great thing was not the burning bush, but the angel of the Lord. Moshe’s brain could not yet process this, so he believed he was turning aside to look at the bush that did not burn, the miracle in the physical realm.

It is a well understood fact that the situation at the sneh was a major moment in Jewish history. It is the moment when Moshe accepted (begrudgingly) the job of redeeming the Jewish people. But perhaps the truly significant moment was when Moshe allowed his spiritual self to speak to his physical self, when he talked to himself so that his overpowering force of goof would find its own reason to wish to turn aside.

Conjecture such as this is, most interestingly, supported by the fourth verse of the perek: “And when Hashem saw that he had turned aside to look, Hashem called to him…” (3:4). When Hashem had confirmation that Moshe’s neshama could empower his goof, He immediately called out to him.

Moshe was the greatest prophet of all time. His ruchnias was able to actively redirect his gashmius, and therefore he was able to communicate with Hashem as no other could. And while most of us know that we are far from this madrega, this level, everything in Torah is recorded for us to strive toward. The angel appeared, Moshe gazed at the bush, and then Moshe went to examine it. There are times in each of our lives when we encounter something inexplicable – something even as mundane as a coincidence, as hashgacha pratis – and we gaze at it, but we fail to see what it actually is. The introduction of the burning bush is, perhaps, a subtle reminder for us to remember to stop an examine such events and find their true spiritual meaning.

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.

In Just Five Verses (Shemos)

The narratives of the Torah, from creation through the Exodus, cover an incredibly intense time period. A lot of things happen and so taking an extra look at where the text focuses can lead to particularly interesting. For instance, the dialogue between Yosef and Yehuda is repeated. On the other hand, moments that one would expect to be discussed in detail are covered only briefly. An excellent example of this brevity is the incident when Moshe slays an Egyptian taskmaster and is called out on it and ends up fleeing Pharaoh and Egypt. All of that takes place in five verses.

11: Some time after that, when Moses had grown up, he went out to his kinsfolk and witnessed their labors. He saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his kinsmen.
12: He turned this way and that and, seeing no one about, he struck down the Egyptian and hid him in the sand.
13:When he went out the next day, he found two Hebrews fighting; so he said to the offender, “Why do you strike your fellow?”
14: He retorted, “Who made you chief and ruler over us? Do you mean to kill me as you killed the Egyptian?” Moses was frightened and thought: Then the matter is known!
15: Now the priest of Midian had seven daughters. They came to draw water and filled the troughs to water their father’s flock;

The verses of Shemos 2:11-15 are rather surprising really. From the narrative perspective Moshe has just been set up for a charmed life as the adopted son of Pharaoh’s daughter – and that life is totally ignored in the text because it was all false. Instead, the Torah jumps right into a scene of murder! One almost feels as if one has been dropped into a vigilante movie scene.

These verses, however, are a pivotal moment in Moshe’s life. (Ok, there were a lot of pivotal moments.) One could read this text and cheer at Moshe for stepping up for justice, rather than look at it as his casting away of his Egyptian privilege, but this was the moment that he broke his connection to the Egyptian he was being groomed to be. The fact that the text says he “went out to his brethren” implies his awareness of his connection to the Hebrews. Interestingly, the Torah does not reveal exactly how much he understood this connection. At this point in his life he might have felt only the vague connection of knowing he was of Hebraic origin or he might have really wished to know his biological family. Perhaps he was drawn to his heritage but did not know how to come closer to the Hebrews  since his position in life was so far from theirs.

In a way, it is reminiscent of the position of so many Jews in the last few generations who were raised away from their heritage. Many have sought a way to connect, but not all of them were able to take those steps.

In a book based on the commentaries of the Ramchal, there is an interesting idea that explains that the reason that Pharaoh wanted to kill Moshe was that when Pharaoh heard that Moshe had spoken the holy name of God (Midrashic explanation for how the taskmaster died), Pharaoh understood that Moshe was still attached to the kedusha (holiness) that was an anathema to the avodah zarah that was the foundation of Egyptian life. First, he recognizes his connection to the Hebrew slaves, his brethren, then he connects to kedusha.

But the next day, his sudden elevation to a connection with the Jewish people is not met with warmth. When he comes upon the quarreling Hebrews, he is rejected, pushed away and rebuked. Shouldn’t the men have been somewhat welcoming? You might respond that they were upset and were interrupted in the midst of arguing, but they appear to present a unified reaction against Moshe. You might presume that they responded in fear, but a frightened person would not be so confrontational. No, these two men were stuck in their places and were thus resentful and angry that a man they wished to perceive as Egyptian was showing such a deep connection to kedusha. Here was a man who was not afraid to stand up to the Egyptian world in which he had been raised, here was a man who looked at the Jewish world and saw brethren. Alas, it is easy to live a Jewish life and be afraid of the passion of another person. If we are honest, it's something that we see in our own era and not just in reactions to baalei teshuva and gerim but often to people who are judged as extreme in their observance.

So why was this important moment so sparsely discussed? I can't answer that. But I can enjoy this opportunity to speculate :).