Category: Torah

When the Children of Israel left Egypt, passing through the midst of the sea, they then set out on the long-awaited three-day journey into the desert (Exodus, 15:2;. see also: 3:18, 5:3, 8:23.) Anticipation, however, turned quickly to disappointment when after three days of thirst they find only the bitter water of Mara.

The people complain to Moses, who in turn cries out to God.

And the Lord instructed him regarding a tree (etz), and he threw it into the water and the water became sweet” (15:24).

What is striking about this story, and what sets it apart from the surrounding narrative, is that it is completely devoid of any real negativity. The people justifiably complain about the lack of water without the usual segue to critique and complaint about everything else. Moses cries out, but without the despair, anger, or exasperation found in every other stories. God miraculously comes to the rescue, as usual, but without the customary word of rebuke toward the people or their leader. Even the conclusion of the story, a vague mention of the giving of laws, and the even vaguer suggestion that the event was some sort of test, followed by encouragement to follow God’s laws and hearken to His voice, is said without any definite indication that the people had acted to the contrary or failed in any way.

Read the full article on The Times of Israel

Hollywood created the “Let My People Go” idea, but, in reality, all Moses asked for was a three-day furlough to worship God. A statement to that effect is made at least three times in the exodus story. Nowhere is there an indication that he intends for the Israelites not to return. This apparent lie of purpose therefore seems to come from God Himself, forcing one to ask, “Could God not have found a more moral upright way of taking His Chosen People out of Egypt, without resorting to deceptions and untruths?” Does God lack power that He need resort to deceit?

The simplest approach is to suggest that this was not a real lie but one of omission: the Israelites said they were leaving for the three days. They never once said that they were not coming back. If that is what Pharaoh assumes, well, then that’s his problem. Moses says that they would go and sacrifice to God for three days, and leaves out that they would then continue on to freedom, let the Egyptians think whatever they want.

This answer is unsatisfactory; it is still dishonest. Yet many commentators opine that sometimes deception is necessary and therefore justified. Moreover, in this case, would such an attept to deceive be believed? What dictator would allow a whole work force to leave overnight? In addition, God had promised Abraham that the Israelites would leave Egypt with “riches” — which could only happen by means of the Israelites’ “borrowing” gold and silver from their Egyptian neighbors. And who would have given up their wealth had they believed the Israelites were gone for good? Finally, had Pharaoh and his nation known that Moses’ people were leaving for good, they would not have chased them, as they did upon the realization that they had fundamentally moved on. But wasn’t the Egyptian army’s demise at the bottom of the sea part of the goal?

Read the full article at The Times of Israel

The setting: Egypt, in the most intense period of Jewish slavery. The conversation: Between G-d and Moses. The purpose: To create a plan for how G-d, through Moses, will bring the Jewish people to freedom. The obstacle: Pharaoh, who is holding the Jewish people hostage and will not let them go easily.

Before Moses and Aaron even approach Pharaoh, G-d already states “But I shall harden Pharaoh’s heart” and “Pharaoh will not heed you” (Gen. 7:3-4).  Soon after this conversation, Moses and Aaron meet Pharaoh in person and match wits as both Aaron and Pharaoh’s sorcerers turn their staffs into snakes. As Pharaoh and his court watch, Aaron’s snake swallows the other snakes, visibly demonstrating that the might of the Jewish G-d is superior. And yet, as G-d predicted, Pharaoh is unmoved: “The heart of Pharaoh was strong and he did not heed them, as Hashem had spoken” (Gen. 7:13).

Read the full article at The Times of Israel

It may be the middle of January in the year 2020, but in shul this week, we are sliding back into Egyptian slavery. Genesis, with its cosmic beginning, family dramas, and covenantal narratives, has come to an end far too soon, and we find ourselves facing the mesmerizing if challenging tale of our national origins. Here it is again: the sudden, crushing oppression, the sighs and gasps of Israelite consciousness, our emerging leaders, the terrifying plagues, God’s might in full force, the hasty exit in the middle of the night. And as with all stories to which we return, there is newness within the familiarity, old ways of reading interlaced with new possibilities. For we are not shaped by the same conditions as we were last year. This year, we may be drawn to new aspects, find ourselves thinking about different elements and flashpoints than before. And so it goes.

But this is not a story like any other. It is not simply a tale of our national origins, an epic account of how we came to be. The exodus story is our container as a people, its contours holding the shape of our essence, our mission, the way we ought to be in the world. Telling this story is mandated by the Torah, it is an imperative. Each year, crowded around our scrubbed down dining room tables, we gather to teach and reteach, listen and listen again, trying our best to inhabit the story, make it our own. The distant past, our ephemeral present, and the unforeseen future fuse through our efforts. As we read, “In each and every generation, a person is obligated to see himself as if he left Egypt..” There is no completion in our telling, no having done it well. We will come back again to it again next year.

Read the full article on The Times of Israel