On a Future That Can Be Lost — and a Future That Can Still Be Saved
Sometimes a person lives a long life.
They have children.
They have work.
They are constantly moving forward.
And yet — there is no future.
This thought came to me while rereading Parashat Bo, and it would not let me go.
Pharaoh does not surrender immediately.
Not after blood.
Not after pain.
Not after fear.
He recognizes defeat only when the blow strikes the future itself —
the firstborn.
This is a precise moment.
A person can endure much.
But when their “tomorrow” collapses,
they suddenly begin to hear.
And at that moment, I found myself thinking of Cain.
Cain does not die right away.
He lives a long life.
He has children, cities, culture.
And yet the Torah seems to stop walking with him.
His line comes to an end.
There is no future.
One can live.
One can build.
One can even prosper.
And still — cut oneself off from the future.
In the Torah, evil is not merely a violation of a commandment.
Evil is the severing of the future.
Cain destroys his brother’s future —
and his own line disappears from history.
Pharaoh destroys the future of a people —
and his defeat comes through the destruction of his own future.
This is not revenge.
It is a mirror.
Pharaoh says, “I have sinned.”
But confession is not yet transformation.
Sometimes it is not repentance,
but the moment when a person finally understands
the cost of what they have done.
At this point, a midrash appears — one that often raises questions.
The midrash teaches that Pharaoh did not perish,
but later became king of Nineveh —
the very city to which the prophet Jonah was sent.
Not because Pharaoh became righteous.
And not because his past was forgiven.
But because someone who has witnessed
the destruction of the future
may, at times, be capable
of preventing the destruction of another’s future.
Pharaoh did not save himself.
He saved a city.
Not out of holiness,
but out of memory —
the memory of catastrophe.
It is important to say this clearly:
we are not required to read midrash literally.
Midrash is not historical chronicle.
It is a language of meaning.
It does not answer the question,
“What exactly happened?”
It answers a different question:
“What does this mean for us now?”
Parashat Bo is not only about Egypt.
And not only about the past.
It is about every choice we make today.
Every action either
opens the future,
or quietly closes it.
And freedom does not begin
when Pharaoh disappears.
It begins
when we stop destroying
our own tomorrow.
Rabbi Moshe (Mikhail) Salita is a Brooklyn-based rabbi, legal scholar, and emerging animal chaplain whose work unites Jewish spirituality, international law, and compassion for all living beings.
He holds a Master’s in International Law (with honors) from the National University “Odesa Law Academy,” where he is currently a PhD student researching the restitution of unlawfully confiscated Jewish communal property in Soviet Ukraine. He also earned a Master’s in Library and Information Science from Pratt Institute (New York) and a Master’s in Education and Special Education from Touro University, with graduate certificates in Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) and Bilingual Education.
Rabbi Salita is an ordained rabbi of the Jewish Spiritual Leaders Institute (JSLI), a Doctor of Ministry student in Jewish Spirituality at the Graduate Theological Foundation, and an Animal Chaplain-in-Training with the Compassion Consortium in New York. His mission is to weave together justice, mercy, and creation care into one sacred path of Tikkun Olam — healing the moral and spiritual wounds of the world.
He serves as Executive Director of the Salita Foundation, originally founded by his brother, Dmitriy Salita — former WBF World Champion boxer, and inductee of both the New York Boxing Hall of Fame and the Jewish Sports Hall of Fame. Today, Rabbi Salita leads the Foundation toward a broader vision — uniting humanitarian ethics, environmental awareness, and cultural restitution.
Through the Foundation, he has launched the “Eco-Kosher Initiative,” a global program encouraging support for businesses and individuals who respect the environment, animals, and their communities. For him, “eco-kosher” is not limited to food — it is a moral philosophy of living in balance with creation, where sustainability and holiness walk hand in hand.
He is also devoted to preserving and gaining international recognition for the rare Israeli cat breed Kanaani — a living symbol of harmony between Jewish heritage and the natural world.
A descendant of Sruel ben Aharon Lekhtman, a Ruzhiner Hasid and brick-factory owner in Kitai-Gorod, Kamianets-Podilskyi — once a spiritual heart of the Ruzhin Hasidic movement in Tsarist-era Ukraine — Rabbi Salita continues his ancestor’s legacy of faith, integrity, and bridge-building. Sruel Lekhtman served as a close friend and estate manager for Pan Dembitsky, a Polish landowner remembered with respect in both Jewish and Ukrainian memory. Their friendship, crossing lines of faith and culture, remains a profound symbol of coexistence — especially meaningful for Ukraine today.
Although Rabbi Salita received Reform rabbinic education in the spirit of Jewish Universalism, he maintains a deep spiritual connection with Chabad, whose living Hasidic tradition unites intellect, compassion, and joy.
Following the example of the prophets — from Adam, the first caretaker of creation, to King Solomon, who understood the language of animals, and to Rav Papa, the sage who spoke kindly of cats — Rabbi Salita teaches that true holiness is revealed through compassion for all living beings. His life’s work is to show that caring for animals and serving God are one and the same sacred breath.
