The Right Torah at the Right Time- Shemot 5785

It seems sometimes, especially this week, that all the tumblers of fate just click into place and line up perfectly. This Shabbat, we are at a confluence of the beginning of the book of Exodus, celebrating the life of Martin Luther King Jr. on Monday, and- please G-d, may it happen speedily- the release of the first group of hostages as part of the ceasefire agreement between Israel and Hamas. 

I believe that we always hear the right Torah at the right time. Speaking for myself, I’ve been on pins and needles since Wednesday afternoon, repeatedly checking the news for updates and developments. It’s impossible to ignore the fact that this agreement comes during the week of parshat Shemot, in which we learn of our communal captive enslavement and the process of our liberation being put into motion. It feels, for me, to be entirely on the nose as well as kismet. 

To turn to our parsha: there is a literary genre known by its German name Bildungsroman, or coming of age story. We expect our epic heroes and historical figures of note to have origin stories, consisting of where they come from and what shapes them. There might be lineages and genealogies and tales of exploits undertaken by ancestors. Moses’ own Bildungsroman is, surprisingly, perhaps the shortest in literary history. In just a few verses we learn of his birth, his adoption by Pharaoh’s daughter, and his growing up. There is a huge lacuna in his life story, and there is nothing mentioned of his early life apart from this in the Torah. 

It’s further surprising that Moses- our lawgiver, the one who leads us out of Egypt and is worthy of talking to G-d face to face- has no name until he “grows up”, and furthermore that it’s bestowed by his adoptive mother. Pharaoh’s daughter is the one who names him Moshe/Moses, meaning “I drew him from the water” (2:11), related to her finding him in a basket amongst the reeds. 

The commentator Sforno comments on this verse, teaching that his name is symbolic because Moses himself will draw others out of strife. Seen through this lens, Moses’ name is no accident and serves a purpose that is familiar to us. Often, we imbue the names of our offspring with symbolic hopes and aspirations. Sforno here is pointing to a prophetic power indicated by Moses’ name that Pharaoh’s daughter couldn’t have foreseen.

After we learn Moses’ name, we read that he grows up and goes out to see how his kinsmen- the Hebrew slaves- are faring. Seeing an Egyptian beating a slave, he looks this way and that- ko v’cho as it’s phrased in the Torah- and strikes the Egyptian dead. Interestingly, we don’t know exactly what Moshe did to kill the Egyptian. One teaching in Midrash Aggadah posits two possibilities: the first is that Moshe grabbed a rake the slave was using and used it to strike the Egyptian. The other, which I admittedly enjoy more, is that Moshe turned to the Egyptian and uttered the ineffable name of G-d, which was powerful enough to strike him dead.

The symbolism of this second possibility is quite overwhelming, and again fits neatly into our calendar- Moshe uses G-d’s name, and all that it encompasses, to wipe out a violent act. It’s my assertion that this is directly related to Martin Luther King Jr.’s insistence on non-violence and divine love to affect change in the face of violence. As King famously said in 1963, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

As others have long noted, there is a very strong link between these two figures, especially in what happens subsequently. After killing the Egyptian taskmaster, the Torah teaches in Exodus 2:13:

וַיֵּצֵא֙ בַּיּ֣וֹם הַשֵּׁנִ֔י וְהִנֵּ֛ה שְׁנֵֽי־אֲנָשִׁ֥ים עִבְרִ֖ים נִצִּ֑ים וַיֹּ֙אמֶר֙ לָֽרָשָׁ֔ע לָ֥מָּה תַכֶּ֖ה רֵעֶֽךָ׃

“When he went out the next day, he found two Hebrews fighting; so he said to the offender, ‘Why do you strike your fellow?’”

Moses observes violence occurring between people, in this instance, of the same group and station. Violence, it seems, begets violence, to the point where it’s an accepted condition in the midst of slavery and the Hebrews have perhaps become numb to it. But his question- “Why do you strike your fellow?”– is in fact the same question that King and other leaders of the civil rights movement have asked throughout our history.

It’s of no small importance that this question is the polar opposite of the question asked earlier in the Torah. Early in the book of Genesis, when Cain kills his brother Abel in the field, the question that Cain asks G-d when confronted with his deed, perhaps flippantly, is Hashomer achi anochi?- “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

The answer, as shown emphatically by Moshe’s question, is yes. “Why do you oppress your fellow?”, put differently, is asking why we resort to violence and cruelty when supposed justice can be achieved by other means. Today, in our country and elsewhere, we are still wrestling with that question. Moshe and King- both prophets, and both worth heeding- saw violence in their midst and were appalled. Sadly, both of them were victims of that same violence, but the ideals for which they stood are central to who we are and- I sincerely hope- what we can become.

The central theme of the book of Exodus, in tandem with the narrative of liberation from tyranny, is whether or not the Israelites will be able to allow G-d in their midst or not. In the midst of their enslavement, the Israelites seem to have lost their connection to the Divine which was so central to their ancestors. However, we know that this is not the case. In one of the most moving passages of the entire book of Exodus, we learn that G-d indeed takes notice of the Hebrews and their pain in the midst of slavery:

וַיְהִי֩ בַיָּמִ֨ים הָֽרַבִּ֜ים הָהֵ֗ם וַיָּ֙מׇת֙ מֶ֣לֶךְ מִצְרַ֔יִם וַיֵּאָנְח֧וּ בְנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֛ל מִן־הָעֲבֹדָ֖ה וַיִּזְעָ֑קוּ וַתַּ֧עַל שַׁוְעָתָ֛ם אֶל־הָאֱלֹהִ֖ים מִן־הָעֲבֹדָֽה׃ וַיִּשְׁמַ֥ע אֱלֹהִ֖ים אֶת־נַאֲקָתָ֑ם וַיִּזְכֹּ֤ר אֱלֹהִים֙ אֶת־בְּרִית֔וֹ אֶת־אַבְרָהָ֖ם אֶת־יִצְחָ֥ק וְאֶֽת־יַעֲקֹֽב׃ וַיַּ֥רְא אֱלֹהִ֖ים אֶת־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וַיֵּ֖דַע אֱלֹהִֽים׃ 

“A long time after that, the king of Egypt died. The Israelites were groaning under the bondage and cried out; and their cry for help from the bondage rose up to God. God heard their moaning, and God remembered the covenant with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob. God looked upon the Israelites, and God took notice of them.”

Just as G-d took notice of the Hebrew slaves and freed them from Egypt through Moses, so too I pray that G-d continue to notice those who are downtrodden and in dire straights. Be they the stranger, widow or orphan, those who are delivered from captivity to freedom in our own time, or those who struggle for equality and equity in the midst of racism and prejudice, may G-d continue to take notice of them and redeem them, speedily and in a good time. And let us say: Amen.