The Midnight Hour: Bo.23

 The Midnight Hour: Bo

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

January 24, 2023

Midrash is a body of rabbinic literature going back to the early years of the Common Era. Devoted to complex and sometimes ambiguous issues that come up in the Torah, the Midrash offers commentaries, lore and teachings that fill in gaps in the stories and help us understand better the meaning and intent of the original texts.

As you might expect, there is much material in the Midrash concerning this week’s Torah portion, Bo (“Come In,” Exodus 10:1—13:16).

The very first words of the portion (“Come in unto Pharaoh”) already merit discussion. They are more ominous than earlier directions that God gives Moses. Forceful and even threatening, they indicate the severity and tragedy of what is about to ensue—the last three plagues which God inflicts upon the Egyptians: Locust, Darkness, and the Death of the Firstborn.

But one phrase that occurs later in the portion warrants even more commentary: Va-y’hi ba-chatzi ha-lai-la, (“And it came to pass at midnight,” Ex. 12:29), the time that the Angel of Death descends upon the Egyptians to carry out his terrible mission. The Midrash focuses on the timing that these words imply. Is midnight an exact time, as we would suppose? Or perhaps—like so much else in the Torah—the intent of the word is more abstract, a metaphor that carries wider implication.

That dreadful “night” isn’t only terrible for the Egyptians. For weeks and months now, despite the earlier plagues, Pharaoh has only become more adamant in his refusal to let the Hebrews go. In fact, in anger and frustration, he intensifies their labor and increases their suffering. It is indeed a dark time for all. In the larger perspective of history, this time is the beginning of the end of the ancient Egyptian empire. And as with every such historical event, the suffering is widespread. Pharaoh knows that if he lets the slaves go, his entire system will fall apart. But the harder he tries to hold on, the worse things become. Disease, hunger and disastrous natural events (some would call them supernatural) have been wreaking havoc on his empire and subjects. Huge hail stones containing fire have decimated both crops and livestock; a seeming solar eclipse has just engulfed all Egypt (but not the Hebrews) with pitch darkness. And the worst of all is just about to happen.

This is the “midnight” that the Torah text refers to, the very moment when the night divides in two. For the Egyptians it will become even darker, even more devastating. For the Hebrews however, the second half of the night will bring increasing light. At first it may still seem dark, but Redemption has already begun.

In its telling of the Ten Plagues, the Torah focuses on God’s hand in these wonders and miracles. The Midrash, however, adds yet another element: human involvement. The Midrash cites several other Biblical “nights” (many of which, the Rabbis teach, occurred on the same night as the last Egyptian Plague, the 15th of Nissan). Among these are the night that Abraham rescues his nephew, Lot, from his captors; and the night that Jacob wrestles with the mysterious angel and earns the new name of “Israel.” It is also the very night that Haman meets his downfall, as King Achashverosh orders him to declare publicly Mordechai’s triumph. 

The lesson of the Midrash is that it isn’t always easy to see the light in the “midnight hour,” but that it is there, if only we look forward and bravely take the first steps towards it.

For many of us there have been many dark and terrible times when this teaching provided us with the hope and strength we needed to continue holding on to our faith and mission. It’s a lesson worth preserving.

© 2023 by Boaz D. Heilman

In God’s Time—and Ours: Va’eira.23

 In God’s Time—and Ours: Va’eira.23

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

January 18, 2023

In this week’s Torah portion, Va’eira (“I appeared,” Exodus 6:2—9:35) God inflicts Pharaoh and the Egyptians with the first seven of the Ten Plagues. Each is preceded by Moses’s warning of what’s to come, with the response invariably being “But God hardened Pharaoh’s heart,” as time and again Pharaoh refuses to let the Israelites go.

There are many questions that come out of this portion. How do these plagues happen? Are they a natural process—each resulting from the previous, or are they God’s way of demonstrating superiority over the Egyptian idols? And why do they affect only the Egyptians, not the Israelites? 

And what is the meaning of the phrase, “God hardened Pharaoh’s heart?” Do Pharaoh’s evil decrees reflect his own free choice, or is he being set up by God for the fall that is the inevitable fate of tyrants? 

For me this portion raises yet another question: Why does it take God 400 years to “remember His promise to Abraham” and “take note” of the suffering of his descendants? What does it take to bring God to act? How much suffering is enough?

We don’t know the answer to that one, and sadly we are reminded of this each time we read of another tragedy or disaster that takes the lives of innocent people—men, women and children alike.

In the Torah, 400 years means something like “the fullness of time.” Our human perception of time is based on the sun and the orbit of the earth around it. How does God count? By what set course does God measure Infinity and divide it up into units of days and years?

This unknown factor leads us to only one conclusion: Up until the moment that this unspecified time span has run its course, it’s up to us to fix the wrongs around us. Miracles do happen, but we can’t count on them alone. In Jewish law, miracles cannot serve as precedent. What needs to be fixed now cannot wait for Divine intervention. We can’t just sit there in hope and prayer; it’s up to us to do what needs to be done to rid the world of the evil we see around us.

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, whose birthday we just celebrated, whose memory has become enshrined in our calendar as a national holiday, was a righteous man. He was a religious man, a man of faith. But he was also a man of action. He understood the great lesson of Exodus: that human dignity, human freedom, human rights, human life—these cannot wait for God’s intervening hand. The Rev. King took up Moses’s staff, reminding us that it’s up to us to make sure these rights are fully set in law and stone. 

“Fullness of time” is too long to wait when it comes to people suffering. We have seen the consequences of waiting and procrastinating. In ancient days God always appeared just in time, felling tyrants, making miracles happen. Today these miracles are ours to accomplish, step by step, minute by minute, until the “fullness of time” finally arrives, when all the work shall have been accomplished.

© 2023 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Great Awakening: Exodus.23

The Great Awakening: Exodus

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

January 10, 2023

Exodus.

It’s the title of the second book of the Torah (and of this week’s portion, Ex. 1:1—6:1), and by itself sends tingles down our spine. Exodus automatically evokes images of plagues and pyramids; of a tortured and subjugated people crying to God for help; of a sea parting in the midst of a mighty storm.

Exodus also reminds us of modern times—the saga of the rickety boat that brought 4,500 Jewish survivors and refugees of the Holocaust to the shores of the Promised Land (and the book and movie that this true story inspired).

Exodus is the stuff that dreams, novels and movies are made of. It is grandiose drama, set at the court of the mightiest empire of ancient times. The conflict is not only between Moses and Pharaoh; it’s also between God and the mythical Egyptian gods, and between the human emotions of cruelty and pity, arrogance and compassion.

In addition to its grand elements, the story of Exodus is also infused with instances of human frailty and courage: Moses, chosen by God to lead the Hebrews to freedom, is a stutterer as well as a deeply conflicted coward/hero who flees to the desert rather than face his calling. The heroism of the Hebrew mothers and midwives who refuse to abide by Pharaoh’s orders to kill every newborn male, and even of Pharaoh’s daughter, who openly disobeys her father and rescues the child of Hebrew slaves, raising him to be a prince—these provide depth and emotional power to the story.

Exodus is about the revelation to the world of a single God, powerful, vengeful but ultimately also forgiving. It is of course about the Jewish People finding meaning, purpose and a role in history. But it’s also about the inalienable rights of every human being to be free of tyranny and subjugation. 

But as much as it is intended to capture the imagination of children and adults alike, the Torah’s second book is also a theological discussion. Exodus examines the idea of a singular God, One without any physical form or image, and it struggles with the challenges that come with this vision: How do human beings approach a God who has no body and therefore does not require sacrifices of food or wine to keep Him happy? Yet as much as it’s about human beings who must learn how to worship this God, it’s also about God who must adapt and learn to control the powerful energy that sometimes rages with destructive force and at other times must appear as gentle and soothing as dew on the parched earth.

Like all Biblical stories, Exodus has many lessons. For me, one of the most important is found in Exodus 4:10-11. Moses protests the mission that God sends him on: “I am slow of speech and slow of tongue” (NKJV). Showing growing impatience with Moses’s arguments, God responds, “Who gave man a mouth, or who makes [one] dumb or deaf or seeing or blind? Is it not I, [Adonai]” (NIV). As I understand this statement, God is the power that not only shapes us, but that also empowers us, that drives us onward, that helps us when we struggle, and that lifts us up again when we have fallen.

Exodus is the story of the Jewish people rising from the ashes and finding meaning and purpose in its existence. But it is also about all humankind and our ability to rise to the Divine potential embedded within each of us. Breathtaking in reach and scope, Exodus is the story of humanity awakening from a deep torpor and climbing to heights unimaginable to any other form of life on this earth.

© 2023 by Boaz D. Heilman

Life And Blessings: Jacob’s Final Bequest

 Life And Blessings: Jacob’s Final Bequest

D’var Torah for Parashat Vayechi

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

January 4, 2023

The first book of the Torah, Genesis, comes to its moving and satisfying conclusion with the portions for last week and this week (Va-yigash, “And [Judah] Approached,” Genesis 44:18-47:27 and Va-yechi, “And [Jacob] Lived,” Genesis 47:28-50:26). 

In Vayigash, the story of Joseph and his brothers reaches its emotional denouement. Judah takes the courageous actions necessary to bring about reconciliation between the brothers. Life has taught him bitter lessons, and he finally realizes the damage and hurt he had caused his father, Jacob, and the entire family when he suggested selling Joseph into slavery. Joseph forgives Judah, offering a theological explanation: “Let it not trouble you that you sold me here, for it was to preserve life that God sent me before you… God sent me before you to make for you a remnant in the land, and to preserve you for a great deliverance.” 

This explanation is hard to accept for a contemporary reader, especially in light of Jewish history. The fact remains that Judah and his brothers committed a grave sin. Joseph’s rationalization that it was all God’s doing not only lets the brothers off the hook, it also leads us to infer that bad things in life are brought about by God—all for a good reason, we assume. While some agree with this reasoning and may even find it somewhat comforting, for others it represents a huge leap of faith.

Yet somehow, Judah’s actions combined with Joseph’s faith remain the ultimate touchstones of Jewish belief. We hope, we believe, but we don’t just wait for miracles: we make them happen.

In the final portion of Genesis, Va-yechi, a dying Jacob bestows his final blessings upon his children. Jacob understands the difficulty of reconciling the two faith philosophies that Judah and Joseph represent. He appoints Judah as leader for his people: “The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet.” At the same time, however, he heaps loving praise on Joseph and his two sons (Ephraim and Manasseh, whom Jacob adopts as his own). Love and devotion, as well as steadfast commitment to a future vision, characterize Jacob, the most complex and realistic of the three Patriarchs.

Wise and practical simultaneously, Jacob understands the differences and diversity shown by his children. Each receives a specific blessing; each is recognized for his unique qualities and abilities. But at the same time, Jacob’s blessings unite them into one people: B’nai Yisrael—the Children of Israel. The greatness of Jacob is made manifest in these last moments of his life. As he dies, he gives life to a new nation. It is through his children and future descendants that Jacob’s life and traditions continue to this day. 

© 2023 by Boaz D. Heilman