Shut Down in Darkness – Parshat Bo 5779

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I usually avoid straying into overtly political territory in my weekly writings. I tend to stick to moral issues that might allude to the current political scene, but rarely do I actively condemn or condone. However, the story of the government shutdown/standoff over the proposed border wall has been in front of us every day since the end of the year, and it’s increasingly difficult to ignore.

I keep coming back to the news of the migrant caravan that started working its way north several months ago from war-torn, gang-ridden, violent countries. When news broke that our borders were shut down, and the pictures of mothers and diapered children running from tear gas flooded the internet, my heart stopped. My entire family came to America as immigrants. They moved from Europe in the early 1920s to find safety and a better future. We are the “lucky” ones who were safely in America before World War II. Others did not have the same good fortune and were turned away, only to return to their peril and sometimes death in their countries of origin. Why do we vow “never again,” yet when we’re faced with the opportunity to save lives and create a safe haven, especially when there are thorough vetting processes in place, we say no?

Realistically, as citizens there’s only so much we can do. We can write our representatives to express approval or disapproval, and we can donate to aid organizations. But then what? The feeling of helplessness is paralyzing. The shadow of depression hovers low over the things we feel powerless to change. I have so many emotions, knowing that my family was able to seek freedom and security here, while countless others won’t have that opportunity.

This feeling of darkness is not mine alone to bear. We read in the Torah this week from Parshat Bo, which speaks of a similar feeling among the Egyptian people during the time of the plagues. Parshat Bo details the Exodus from Egypt. The Israelites are a traveling people, and in Parshat Bo the Israelites are steps away from leaving Egypt. Pharaoh again refuses to allow the Israelites to leave, and each of the three refusals brings with it one of the three final plagues. The narrative continues with the procedures for leaving Egypt, including putting the lamb’s blood on the doorpost, and the instruction to recreate these events by celebrating Passover in future generations.

During the plagues, there was nothing the average Egyptian could have done to end the misery. That’s the case for all of the plagues except one: darkness. Why is it, our Torah scholars ask, that during the plague of darkness, no one thought to light a candle? Wouldn’t that have ended the darkness? The commentary answers this question by imagining an entire group of people in a deep depression, a psychological or spiritual darkness. People suffering from depression often lack the physical energy to move or the emotional energy to get out of their own heads. This is exactly how the Egyptians are described. We can only guess what the emotional state of the Egyptians might have been, but the Torah is clear in its message. When we are enveloped in the plague of darkness, we lose reason, we lose compassion, we lose ourselves.

The stalemate that resulted in the current government shutdown feels like a plague of darkness. From the federal employees whose payroll has been affected, to the complicated issue of border security versus humanitarian aid, the lack of movement is paralyzing.

I certainly don’t claim to have all the political answers for how to solve the immigration crisis, but I know that darkness is not it. I know that an immobile, uncompromising Congress is not it. I know that verbally and physically attacking people who are simply looking for a better life for their children is not it. I don’t have the solution, but I remain hopeful that at some point soon we will remember we still have the power to end the darkness by turning on a light.

 

Yichus – Parshat Vaera 5779

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As we go through life our experiences and interactions link us to each other. When we build these relationships we end up with a network of colleagues, friends, and acquaintances that we carry with us. If you do any online social networking, you probably know this is the model behind LinkedIn: who do you know, how do you know them, and what skills or services do they have that you or your other acquaintances might benefit from?

Yes, many things in life are about who you know. In Yiddish this is called yichus, the connection and honor bestowed on you by knowing another person of honor. This is common when referring to long familial lines of rabbis or a prominent political figure. In a less public arena, your yichus might be your great-grandparent and their friends, or perhaps that feeling when you move to a new city and find a close connection that suddenly makes you feel welcomed into the larger community. Yichus, the close tie to others, brings a sense of peace and connection as we navigate the world.

Yichus also plays a prominent role throughout our Jewish story. For example, the connection in daily prayer to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah helps us tie the entire narrative together. Parshat Vaera, this week’s portion, is no different. This week we find the Israelites in the midst of their transition from slavery to freedom. God reminds Moses about the covenant made with our forefathers and that redemption is in the near future. Moses tries to share this with the people Israel, but they aren’t ready to listen to him. And Moses isn’t so sure of himself anyway.

In chapter 6, verses 13 and 14, we see our text pause and take note of our lineage once more while the people are again refusing to listen to Moses. The text pauses in the middle of our narrative and serves us up a genealogy leading to Moses and Aaron’s parents. This is their yichus. But why now? Our commentators suggest that perhaps the timing is because Moses and Aaron might have needed this reminder of where they’ve come from. They’re not imposters; they have a long line of leaders, Levites, and heads of households behind them who have been leading this people for generations.

Furthermore, maybe the people need the reminder too. That’s not to say that just because your grandfather was a top notch surgeon, automatically you will be too (I wouldn’t trust that logic), but it is to remind us that we at least have the support and backing of our ancestors and of our community when we take bold steps in our lives.

Yichus is all about who you know, but it’s also about how you know them and what happens when you support one another. I, for one, am grateful that my Torah and my yichus connects me with each of you. Shabbat shalom.

 

Weighing the Options – Parshat Shemot 5779

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“You won’t know unless you try.” It’s that little bit of encouragement used for helping a friend who’s feeling nervous about a new experience or a child who’s about to taste sweet potatoes for the first time. When in life does the fear of what might happen or what might be unpleasant hold you back from doing what could actually bring positive rewards? In most cases it depends on your ability first to weigh the consequences of the action to evaluate potential outcomes. In other words, what result would be bad, what result would be good, and is either one worth the risk?

The Torah is constantly teaching us this lesson as our patriarchs and the Israelite nation come into their own. Especially in this week’s parshah, Shemot, we see this lesson come to life. This parshah serves as the turning point between the leadership of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to that of Moshe. Shemot leads us quickly through the change in leadership in Egypt as a new Pharaoh who isn’t so keen on the Israelites decrees that all males born should be put to death. Thankfully the midwives ignore this decree, and Moshe is kept alive. As an adopted Egyptian, Moshe joins the palace, but later learns he’s an Israelite. He flees out of fear for his life, marries a Midianite woman, and starts his own family.

The circumstances surrounding Moshe’s birth are intense, as you can imagine. Pharaoh has made a decree that all baby boys should be put to death, thus reproduction among the Israelite community slowed quite a bit. According to the midrash, many Israelite couples even went as far as splitting up so that they wouldn’t procreate and have to watch a male child be put to death. In fact, when Moshe is born we learn that his parents are recently married, which doesn’t really make sense since we know they have two older children, Miriam and Aaron. So how, in those days, could they be newly married?

The midrash fills in this puzzle by explaining that Miriam thought this separation was the wrong choice. It teaches that Miriam persuaded her parents to return to each other by saying basically, “You are worse than Pharaoh. Pharaoh only threatens the males; you eliminate the possibility of any child. Pharaoh’s decree may not be carried out, but your decision not to have children certainly will be.” Miriam is able to convince her parents to reunite, and Moshe was born, luckily for the Israelites.

When you’re tasked with weighing potential outcomes, it’s hard to know which decisions will have major implications and which ones minor. Miriam’s strength and conviction in insisting that we must consider all repercussions of our decision making illustrates this point perfectly. If you don’t look at an issue from all sides, you might miss the decision that would change the world.

Caring for the Caretaker – Parshat Vayechi 5779

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As we age we go through a variety of stages. We begin life solely dependent on other, older human beings for support, nutrition, care, and other necessities. As we age we gain independence in each of these areas. From learning to hold a cup or fork, to learning to walk, read, and balance a checkbook, we’re on a steady trend of depending less on parents and more on our own ability to lead and navigate the world.

Even into adulthood, there are certain things we turn to our parents for, even though we might not depend fully on them. When I became a mom, for example, I certainly had lots of questions for my mom about parenting. Eventually, there often comes a point when the roles are reversed, and the parent depends on the child for many things. Many elderly parents rely as much or more on their children for the support they once gave to them.

The idea of this role reversal, of parents relying on children, goes as far back as our very own patriarchs in the Torah. This week we read Parshat Vayechi, the last in the book of Genesis. The text begins with the request of Jacob to not be buried in Egypt, and continues with Jacob blessing each of his sons in his final hours. This text ends with Joseph making the request of his kin to bury him back in Israel when they finally leave Egypt.

What is remarkable is the ways in which we have seen changes in Jacob and Joseph, as well as in their children. Our text begins with Jacob’s end. Jacob has been cared for by his family for a while now as they made their way down to Egypt, and as his beloved son, Joseph, was the caretaker for all of their society. However, in this moment Jacob voices one final request. Chapter 47, verse 29 has Jacob asking his family to do him the service of burying him in Israel. When the Israelite nation will ultimately leave Egypt, he wants to be buried in his homeland. He asks his child out of steadfast loyalty to make him this promise, and in this moment we see a poignant role reversal of parent and child. And of course, Jacob’s sons agree to “remember him” and carry his bones with them as they leave.

This week’s parshah is truly a circle of life display, and the lesson is that caring for other individuals never stops. Responsibility and compassion never take a holiday; they simply guide our lives differently at different times.

The Moment of Change – Parshat Vayigash 5779

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I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m somewhat predictable. Without fail, certain situations elicit a certain response from me. Whether it’s when my kids are in their difficult moods, or when I hear about a “holiday program” that should be called what it is (a Christmas program), or even when I put down my phone to charge, and suddenly that’s when I get flooded with messages, my frustrations follow certain patterns. You’d think that as predictable as my reactions are, I’d be self-aware enough to modify them, but apparently it takes more than moderate awareness to actually make a change.

Parshat Vayigash, this week’s Torah portion, reminds us of the different ways in which we see behavioral changes. In the parshah, Joseph’s brother Yehudah (Judah) tries to redeem himself by asking to be imprisoned instead of Benjamin, and Joseph reveals himself to his brothers and heroically invites the whole family to Egypt to save them from the starvation of Israel. In addition, Joseph and his father Jacob are reunited, and Joseph is able to finally reveal his newfound position of power.

The very first line in the parshah reminds us that we can in fact change our gut reactions. Judah goes up to Joseph after he was asked to bring the “favorite” brother, Benjamin, down to Egypt. Once again Judah is faced with the reality that his father still has a favorite son, as well as the fact that the last time this happened he made the choice to get rid of the other favorite (Joseph) instead of deal with the situation in a rational way.

Judah goes up to Joseph and can either make a deal to save his brother, or he can repeat the same poor choice. The Torah says Judah “went up to him.” According to the S’fat Emet, Judah approached himself. He saw who he himself was inside and recognized that while his father had not changed his behavior, Judah could change how he reacted to it. It takes intention and recognition of our own failings to change behavior. Judah recognizes that he can’t change anyone but himself, and that’s exactly what he does. Let us remember that the only choices we can control are our own, but that in itself is enough to cause change.