The Legacy of Moses
January 12, 2019 Shabbat “Bo” 5779
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
When they first arrived, there was shame. And silence. What they had seen, what they had lived through, what they had to do to survive, were unspeakable. The shame came from inside; but it also came from others, who weren’t there, and failed to understand.
And it didn’t matter what country they came from, whether from the east, west, south or north. Europe had destroyed its Jewish communities, one after another. In Egypt, Iraq, Libya and Yemen, violence broke out against the Jews, forcing survivors to escape with only the shirts on their backs, their passports stamped, “Exit, with No Return.”
They left by the hundreds of thousands, all remnants of what had once been glorious communities, centers of learning and culture, forced to leave behind any material goods they might still have had—today estimated in the billions of dollars. Many, however, had nothing to leave behind. Not even memories. Children who had been orphaned; some who were adopted or hidden by Christian families, or in convents and monasteries, raised as Christians and taught to forget their Jewish roots.
In the renewed Land of Israel the survivors were encouraged to Hebraicize their names; to submerge and abandon whatever elements of the past they did manage to bring with them, and bring new life to an old land. To begin writing a new history, for a new people. If you spoke Yiddish, the traditional language of Ashkenazi Jews, you were shamed: Yiddish was the language of the Diaspora, of the people who allowed themselves to be led to the slaughter like so many sheep. If you spoke Ladino, the language of the Sephardi Jews, the Jews who came from northern Africa, the Balkans, from Greece, you were told to forget your native tongue and learn modern, living Hebrew, not the language of the long-gone past. If you came from Morocco, Tunisia, from Iran or Iraq, you were shamed as backward, primitive, naïve, even stupid.
The horrors you had lived through gave you nightmares, from which you awoke screaming, until you learned to push the memories deep enough into your subconscious so that you could actually go through a day without seeing ghosts.
Slowly a new people did emerge in the renewed Land of Israel. They awoke to a new day, started new families, raised their children to be fearless—and ignorant of the past. Yes, here and there a mother couldn’t help telling her children of the hell she survived. Some of the older folk still listened to radio broadcasts in the language of the countries they had left behind. Some never managed to overcome the intricacies of Hebrew and thus never learned the language their own children and grandchildren spoke fluently. I still wonder at how well I communicated with my grandmother, whose knowledge of Hebrew was limited to a few words, yet who managed to transfer intense love to my brother and me, all the strength of a courageous survivor who only a few years earlier had helped dozens, perhaps hundreds, of refugees escape the clutches of their Nazi hunters.
David Ben Gurion, one of the founders of the new State of Israel, was determined that a new chapter would begin for the Jewish People in the Land of Israel. The extent of his success is immeasurable. Everywhere you go in Israel today, you hear Hebrew. The beggars beg in Hebrew. The singers sing in Hebrew. Soldiers swear in Hebrew.
But then, some time later, something new happened. Young people began to return and discover their old, forgotten roots. Today in Israel you can see these old cultures and traditions revived and flowering again.
It isn’t that the many communities which combined to make up the modern Nation of Israel, are breaking down today, as that they are uncovering the cultures that made them who and what they are: The foods, the music, the language. The memories of the past are unearthed and are reborn, finding new life, forming new branches, giving forth fresh flowers and fruit that enrich the land, life and culture of modern Israel.
The incredible achievement that Israel is today is nothing short of a miracle—a miracle no less wrought by a supernatural God as by the hands of men and women whose will to survive is as powerful as any force of nature. The State of Israel in the 21stcentury isn’t only the result of a modern-day Exodus, but also of a transformation that weaves the past and present, creating a new, multi-colored tapestry.
Yet such a miracle is not new in the history of the Jewish People. Two thousand years ago, a rabbi named Yochanan ben Zakkai transformed Judaism, a religion centered in the Temple in Jerusalem, and turned it into a world-wide faith, where prayer, study and acts of kindness were the new pillars of a new sort of temple, one not unlike this one, and all other temples and synagogues that Jews worship in today.
Similarly, after the destruction of the Spanish Jewish community, five hundred years ago, new rabbis and community leaders restructured the remnants of their ancient traditions, creating what is known—and is still practiced today—as Sephardi Judaism.
But none of these amazing transformations even comes close to the unparalleled achievement of the man we know as Moses, who, more than 3000 years ago, first set the Jewish people on its historical path.
Stories, myths and legends surround the birth of Moses, his youth as a prince of Egypt, his maturation into a man who stood up to power and demanded freedom for his people.
In this week’s Torah portion, Bo (“Come,” Exodus 10:1—13:16), we hear Moses’s demand of Pharaoh, to “Let my people go!” It is in this portion that we read of the last three of the ten plagues that God in turn inflicts upon the Egyptians—locust, darkness and the death of all the firstborn. We recall the dabbing of blood on the Israelites’ doorposts, to ward off the Angel of Death, even as the cries of agony coming from within Egyptian homes continue ringing in our ears to this very day.
It is in this portion that we witness the end of the four hundred years of slavery in the land of Pharaoh, and our emergence into freedom.
But even as the Israelites leave Egypt, even as they begin their long journey into the Promised Land, Moses manages to turn the chaos and confusion that must have characterized the Exodus, into order and purpose. It isn’t easy to leave everything behind—the homes and neighbors, the old way of life. And so Moses instructs the Israelites not only to remember this day, but also to tell and retell the story of the Exodus, from generation to generation. “Tell your children, and their children…. How with a mighty hand did Adonai take us out of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.” We must never forget our past, Moses warns us.
History is more than a random collection of relics and artifacts. A people’s history is its lifeline, a thread that extends into the past, going back to the very soil that first gave it birth. Our history tells us much about ourselves, who we are, where we came from and how we became what we are today. It gives meaning to our existence today, and also direction and purpose as we move forward.
For while supportive, and nourishing us both physically and spiritually, our past cannot tell us what we must now become. That is up to each of us, based on every individual’s own story and background. It is through our interaction with the people we live with, with the environment and culture that surround us today, that tomorrow is created.
Israel today is at a new beginning, a new chapter in our history. There, as well as in many other places around the world, Jews are experiencing a renaissance. Having escaped yet again from the hands of tyrants, the Jewish People still follows Moses’s instruction. Parents are still telling their children, and their children’s children, about the past, about the path they took to reach this place and this day. The exodus that Moses led more than 3000 years ago is reflected in the journey that our parents and grandparents took. The transformation he brought about so long ago is anchored in the changes we see around us today.
The Exodus from Egypt is a story repeated and recreated throughout our history. And just as it was 3000 years ago, it is a story not only of escape, but also of redemption. It isn’t only about suffering and misery, but also about victory and joy.
And our story is not yet over. We take the past with us, our traditions, our music, our customs, and we weave them into a new pattern. The past gives us the strength to continue. And the future is still unfolding, created every day by each one of us.
This is Moses’s legacy to us: a role in our history, our lifeline; a never-ending story of escapes and survival; of miracles and courage; of love, faith—and, above all, perseverance.
May our journeys forward always be filled with joy and wonders. May the stories of the past we tell our children, and our children’s children, always be told with love, music and pride. They are all—our stories, the stories of our people—the story of the Jewish People.
© 2019 by Boaz D. Heilman
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