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.

 

Selective Hearing – Parshat Vaera 5778

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I often wonder whether my voice is somehow mysteriously muffled like the adult voices in the animated Charlie Brown movies, or if perhaps I am just not a clear speaker. It occurs to me that occasionally my voice becomes the background noise to the rest of life. Sometimes it’s when I’m asking Shiri to put her shoes on, other times it’s relaying to Duncan the schedule for the day, but I find myself having to repeat things three times before a task gets done or even remembered.

I’m not totally innocent either. When I was a child, I’d selectively hear what my parents were asking me when it served my purpose, although sometimes this got me into trouble because I missed an important instruction or reminder. Selective hearing has a positive side, too. It can be a great self-preservation tool so you don’t go nuts with all the idle chatter around you. All of these thoughts led me to wonder what it means to actually listen.

This week we read Parshat Vaera, which kicks off Moses’s official role as the leader of the Israelite nation. His job is to convince Pharaoh to “let his people go” and to convince the Israelites to go with him. The text begins with God reminding Moses about the generations-long covenant that was made, but Moses shows he is still hesitant in his leadership. Moses and Aaron then go before Pharaoh to plead their case for freedom and begin to bring the first seven of the ten plagues upon the Egyptians.

What’s interesting to note is how selective hearing plays a role in the major steps Moses needs to take. Moses is told by God to go to both Pharaoh and the people and get both parties to listen to him and follow his direction. In each case, there is selective listening at play. When Moses first goes to the Israelites, they completely disregard his leadership. They perhaps hear him, but they don’t listen to his words. This happens again with Pharaoh; he goes and delivers his message, threatening him, and Pharaoh doesn’t take the threat seriously. Ten times in total Pharaoh hears the words leave Moses’s mouth, but does not listen to what they mean. This act of hearing but not actually listening is the cause for great strife among the Egyptians and leads to severe consequences.

So often in our lives we can see that people have something to communicate, but we don’t truly listen to what they’re sharing with us. This week’s parshah, Vaera, is a stern reminder of our obligation not just to hear what others are saying, but to internalize the message. In the news, on social media, at home, too many words are thrown around without enough regard to what they mean. It’s time we paid attention.

 

 

When Tolerance is the Worst Decision – Parshat Vaera 5777

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There are moments as a parent when I feel like the best I can do is accept and move on. So we have a day when my three-year-old won’t wear her clothes? Fine, a day spent in PJs isn’t so bad, even if she’s going to two birthday parties. Turns out we can’t handle a sudden change in the bedtime routine? Fine, the old routine will work for a few more days. There are things that we react to by accepting and moving on because doing so makes our lives less stressful. We exert minimal effort, resulting in a solution that, if not ideal, at least we can live with. This passivity is a coping mechanism; it protects us from the change we are afraid to make. Sometimes this self-preservation is essential; other times it is our job to get up, get moving, and change our circumstances.

This week we read parshat Vaera, the second portion of the book of Shemot (Exodus). The Israelites are deep into their slavery in Egypt, working for Pharaoh, having decrees levied on them daily about how much work they must do, how to family plan, and the like. Moses has become the leader of the Israelites and is now pressed by God to stand up to Pharaoh, in whose house he was raised, and ask for freedom for himself and the Israelite nation. God partners with Moshe and Aaron to send the first seven plagues and manipulate Pharaoh’s heart. This parshah sees Pharaoh dangling the carrot of freedom before the Israelites, only to snatch it away as they reach to grasp it.

Up to this point we are to assume that there were few if any attempts at freedom without God’s intervention, but it’s also possible that physical shackles weren’t the only thing holding them back. God expresses in verse six, “Say, therefore, to the Israelite people: I am the Lord. I will free you from the labors of the Egyptians and deliver you from their bondage.” In Hebrew the word for labors or burdens is sivlot, but a Hassidic interpretation by the Kotzker Rebbe interprets this word as “tolerance.” He asks: What was the worst part of slavery? That the Israelites became accustomed to it. Their passivity enslaved the Israelites as much, if not more than the Egyptian bondage.

The first step to freedom is the step away from passivity and complacency toward action. In our own lives, parshat Vaera urges us to awaken from this tolerance of the intolerable. The question you must ask is do your burdens weigh you down into submission or do they motivate you to fight, to move, and to grow?

No Pain, No Gain – Parshat Vaera 5776

No Pain No Gain

A 2012 study by a Polish university asked marathon runners several months after a race to recall the pain they had experienced when actually running the race. On average, the level of pain they reported after the race dropped by about 40%, regardless of how long after the race they were polled.

Similar studies have been conducted about the pain during childbirth. It’s common for the memory of the labor pain itself to fade over time. I even experienced this with my C-section. The pain of trying to regain mobility after the surgery was excruciating and I thought I’d never get over that feeling, yet now it seems like a distant memory.

Our brains provide what seems like a coping mechanism, allowing us to move on. For those painful moments that are simply a part of life (childbirth, cutting teeth, accidental injuries) as the wounds heal, the brain heals too, and the memory of the pain fades soon after the pain itself. However, what happens when the pain is something we should remember? What about the instances in which the pain is an important part of the journey or the lesson?

This week we read parshat Vaera, the second portion in the second book of the Torah. The Israelites are deep into their slavery in Egypt working for Pharaoh and are having decrees levied on them daily that control all aspects of their lives.  Moshe rises as the leader of the Israelites and is now pressed by God to stand up to Pharaoh, in whose house he was raised, and ask for freedom for himself and his people.  God partners with Moshe and Aaron to send the first seven plagues and manipulate Pharaoh’s heart as a method of persuasion.  

Chapter 8, verse 28 of this week’s parshah is a turning point for Pharaoh and his enslavement of the Jewish people. “And the Lord did as Moses asked:  He removed the swarms of insects from Pharaoh, from his courtiers and from his people; not one remained.  But Pharaoh became stubborn this time also, and would not let the people go.” We discover God is no longer the force that is hardening Pharaoh’s heart; rather, Pharaoh becomes stubborn on his own.

How quickly Pharaoh forgets the pain of the previous plague. When he and his people were suffering, we imagine he could empathize with the Israelites and their daily suffering.  But when his own suffering was eased, the memory was quickly lost and his compassion was gone. Pharaoh learned nothing from the plagues because he (with some manipulation by God) couldn’t recall the pain in the moment.

Memory is fleeting. This can be helpful when it comes to alleviating some of the pains associated with human existence, but in certain cases it’s the memory of pain that actually helps us move forward. To this day our celebration of Pesach includes symbols like matzah and maror to remind us of bitter hardship. As Jews, part of our tradition is the recollection of pain as a way to pass on the experiences of our people so that we may continually learn and grow.