The Power of Words--Bo

The Power of Words

D’var Torah for Parashat Bo

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

In this week’s Torah portion, “Bo” (Exodus 10:1—13:16), Moses is instructed by God to bring about the final blows on Pharaoh—those last, devastating strikes that ultimately shattered Pharaoh’s hardened heart. The first seven plagues—blood, frogs, lice, wild beasts, pestilence, boils and hail—failed to cause the change of heart God was seeking. But these last three—locust, darkness and death of the first-born—brought such misery upon all the Egyptians, that the former slave owners were only too glad to see the Israelites off, even showering them with gold and other riches as they took off for liberation—and the desert beyond Egypt’s borders.

The might that Moses shows at this point in the story is indeed awesome. That he was bound for greatness was evident from the get-go: He was, after all, brought up in the household of Pharaoh, rich and pampered. But his first independent act was one of violence—killing the Egyptian guard who was beating the Israelite slave. Trying to bring law to the downtrodden slaves only resulted in ridicule for Moses, causing him to flee from Egypt and to run for his life, pursued not only by Pharaoh but also by his own people.

Moses’s transformation took a long time. The Burning Bush symbolizes that point in his life in which he realizes that he can no longer escape his fate. Afraid to assume the mantle of leadership thrust upon him, he is encouraged by God who promises to be at Moses’s side—along with Aaron, his brother—as they deliver the message to Pharaoh.

It took arguing, cajoling, pleading and much hand wringing. In his halting, hesitant speech, Moses begins speaking.  More eloquently then, Aaron reinforces the meaning behind Moses’s words. As proof of the truth of the message, the plagues begin to arrive, one after another. At this point in the story, with the last three plagues yet to be unleashed, power seems to flow from Moses effortlessly. There is no need for words or further iteration. Moses merely lifts his staff to the heavens, extends it over the land, and the devastation of Egypt begins.

Even as Moses resorts less and less to speech, the power of the word becomes more apparent. Yes, God is performing these wonders and miracles; it is all part of the process of liberation and redemption of the Israelites that God had promised Abraham. But God has a price for this gift.

We pay God back with some of God’s own gift. God freed us with words and deeds. We pay God back with our own words and deeds.

It doesn’t take the Torah long. In the second verse of the portion (Ex. 10:2) we read: “That you may tell your children and grandchildren how I dealt harshly with the Egyptians and how I performed my signs among them, and that you may know that I am the Lord.” Telling our children, teaching them about God’s presence in our lives, is God’s first demand.

Later on in the portion, Moses gives further instruction. He prepares the people for their night of liberation, telling them that it is to be a night of vigil, no one stirring from their house. Detailed instruction for the slaughter and preparation of the paschal lamb is given. The people are told to eat this meal standing up, in their traveling clothes, by family, by household, by clan and tribe. Some of the lamb’s blood is to be splattered on the doorsills as a sign for Death to bypass the Israelites’ homes.

And somewhat later again, we are told to turn this unique night into an annual ritual, a yearly reminder of the hardship of slavery and how its bitterness was turned to milk and honey when we were freed.  An annual recitation of the story of our liberation.

How ironic that a man who was, by his own description, hard-of-speech delivered the smashing blows to Pharaoh’s tyrannical heart of stone. But, of course, it wasn’t only Moses. Moses was a stutterer, after all. It was the words, the words themselves that, as they were freed from Moses’s lumbering mouth, took flight and brought about the liberation of the slaves. Freedom is ever God’s gift; it is the haggadah, our utterance of God’s liberating words, that makes this gift come true.

It was some 3000 years ago that the Hebrew slaves were freed. Yet throughout this time Moses’s words never lost their power, and their message resounds to this day. It’s no miracle. It is precisely because we continue to speak them, because we continue to retell the story of how freedom came into the world, that the words maintain their power to this very day.

It was the same liberating force that was unleashed by Martin Luther King 3000 years after Moses. Of course there were others who were active in the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960’s. There was W.E.B. du Bois; and Malcolm X, and Rosa Parks, and the millions who marched in Selma, Montgomery and Washington. But it was Martin Luther King’s words—his speeches, his sermons on the mount—that turned the tide.

Wrongs aren’t righted by the sword. Only justice can right wrongs, and justice is borne on the wings of words and is carried out in our everyday deeds.

There were other wrongs that the 20^th century saw righted through words and deeds. The return of the exiled Jews to their homeland is one such miracle of liberation.

And once again it was the vision expressed by Moses that bore the exiled people home by foot, train, boat or plane.

How sad that such events always were and always will be met by acts of violence. The plagues of indifference, hatred and prejudice engulf the land as a result of some people hardening their hearts and refusing to change. At the same time that Rev. King spoke of freedom, churches were being burned, children were being murdered along with their parents, and many more were beaten and killed simply for daring to believe in the equality of all humankind. The State of Israel is still facing its detractors and delegitimizers, enemies sworn to destroy it and kill its people to the very last child.

But freedom is unstoppable. As long as its message is told, from generation to generation, it is certain to spread across one boundary after another, until that promised day when all people will live in freedom, freed from every shackle, freed even from fear itself.

Does it take a Moses or a Martin Luther King to achieve this exalted goal? No! Each of us has this power, this gift. Awareness of it dictates that it be used. Eloquently or hesitating, in prose or poetry, freedom has to be declared. In great literature or in advice columns, it has to be told and taught, spoken or sung, from one mountain to the next, from one generation to the next.

As some of you may know, this week the great Pauline Phillips, aka “Dear Abby,” died. Ms. Phillips, or Abigail van Buren as she was known by her readers, once received to the following letter:

“Dear Abby: Two men who claim to be father and adopted son just bought an old mansion across the street and fixed it up. We notice a very suspicious mixture of company coming and going at all hours—blacks, whites, Orientals, women who look like men and men who look like women. … This has always been considered one of the finest sections of San Francisco, and these weirdos are giving it a bad name. How can we improve the neighborhood? --Nob Hill Residents.”

The sage advice Ms. Phillips gave: “You could move.”

Such is the freeing power of words, a treasure and gift that never fails.

May we be among those who speak of freedom and make it real for all who share this dream, for all who dwell upon this earth.

© 2013 by Boaz D. Heilman