In this week’s portion, Yitro, the children of Israel receive the Aseret HaDibrot—the Ten Commandments. But how did they HEAR the 10 Utterances? Can you imagine the scene at Mt. Sinai? There were upwards of 600,000 people. There were countless animals braying and bleating and baa-ing. Babies were crying, Mothers were trying to shush their infants, children were probably doing what children always have done---running around shouting and laughing. And then, let’s not forget the heaven-made sounds---the crashing of the thunder, the blaring of the horns. How on earth could anyone have heard ANYTHING?
And, the second question…If, as our Rabbis tell us, we were ALL standing at Sinai and if the Torah is continually being given to all of us at any given time, why is the experience at Sinai so important?
Eliyahu KiTov, an Orthodox Israeli commentator, says that the everyday noise of our lives (think the sound of traffic, people talking and laughing, dogs barking, machines whirring, etc.etc.etc) keeps us from being able to hear God’s voice. At Sinai, God was able to quiet all the noise so every single person could hear the Words.
If God could do that for the Children of Israel in the wilderness, then surely God can do that for us today. But we have to work in partnership with God by learning to quiet all the inner and outer noise that keeps us from hearing God. Some people retreat to the mountains or to the ocean trying to hear God’s voice. But we can do it in our daily lives (even in Chicago) by consciously focusing on what was said at Sinai. Because every time we study Torah we are standing at Sinai. And by living the values that were set before us, we can hear God’s voice every day.
“And this shall serve you as a sign on your hand and as a reminder on your forehead—in order that the Teaching of the LORD may be in your mouth—that with a mighty hand the LORD freed you from Egypt…..And so it shall be as a sign upon your hand and as a symbol on your forehead that with a mighty hand the LORD freed us from Egypt.”
When the great medieval sage, Rashbam (grandson of Rashi) described tefillin as an ornament to be worn like jewelry I doubt if he anticipated a time when the mitzvah of tefillin would be as neglected as it is today. Yet this mitzvah has always seemed to me to be one which is imbued with meaning on so many different levels.
First, putting on tefillin is a very concrete and tangible act that not only ties our hearts and minds to God, but invokes a verse of betrothal when wrapping the strap around the fingers such that it is as if each day we can re-consecrate our relationship with God in a fashion that mimics the most successful marriages.
Second, the tefillin have great historic and national significance for not only is Jewish literature replete with tales of brave Jews who donned tefillin in the most challenging of circumstances, but we have ancient tefillin in our possession discovered in the caves at Qumran that prove that this mitzvah has been observed continually for at least the last 2000 years.
Some note that two of the sources for the mitzvah are familiar to us from our daily recitations of the Shema where we may infer that the tefillin are pedagogic tools meant to remind us of the Oneness of God and of our special relationship with God.
Similarly, we can note that the other two sources are contained in this week’s parasha, Bo, where the mitzvah is commanded in the context of Pesah observances meant to perpetually remind us of the great miracles performed by God when we were freed from slavery in Egypt. This means that the tefillin not only serve to remind us of the special relationship we enjoy with the one and only God, but that at the foundation level of that relationship is our gratitude for the gift of freedom. Freedom is a foundation value of the Jewish people and of the Jewish religion.
How fortuitous then that we study this passage during the Shabbat when we commemorate the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. of blessed memory. Dr. King devoted his life to guaranteeing that all human beings would know and enjoy this gift from God. And Dr. King died on the altar of freedom refusing to compromise his belief that every single human being had a right to claim this gift.
At Anshe Emet Synagogue we are once again commemorating Dr. King’s legacy in a variety of ways. Last Friday evening we hosted renown author, Richard Michelson, who spoke to our families about his award winning book for children, As Good As Anybody, which depicts the special friendship between Dr. King and the late Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, of blessed memory.
This Friday night Hazzan Alberto Mizrahi will host our friend Pastor Chris Harris of Bright Star Church so that their two magnificent voices can raise our spirits to new heights in celebration of Dr. King’s legacy.
And on Monday, inauguration day, Rabbi David Russo, will lead a contingent of Anshe Emet adults and youths to spend the day engaged in communal activity with our friends at Bright Star Church.
This week when we put on our tefillin we will remember that every day we can commemorate the exodus from Egypt, the gift of freedom, and our arrival at an age when we are no longer judged by the color of our skin but by the content of our character.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Matt Futterman
Senior Educator
I often struggle with sections of Torah, of our sacred tradition. And every year when I approach this week’s parsha, I have one specific struggle: why did God harden Pharaoh’s heart?
If God hardened Pharaoh’s heart so that he repeatedly refused to let the Israelites go, why were he and all of Egypt punished so terribly? How could Pharaoh be held responsible if his free will had been removed?
I find comfort in the fact that I am not alone, that rabbis for thousands of years have struggled with these same questions. One response of our rabbis picks up on the nuance of the language used in the Torah. The first five plagues are accompanied by the passive formulation: “Then Pharaoh’s heart was hardened.” After each plague, when Pharaoh refused to let the people go, he hardened his own heart. It was only after Pharaoh hardened his own heart during the first five plagues, that God finally begins hardening Pharaoh’s heart for the final plagues. (Tanhuma Vaera 3). This follows the rabbinic concept that when a person has committed a sin once and a second time, it appears to that person as if it is permitted.(Yoma 86b)
I like this interpretation in that it explains that God hardens Pharaoh’s heart only because Pharaoh becomes so set in his punishment of the Israelites. The fact that God hardens Pharaoh’s heart is, in some ways, only a further reflection of Pharaoh’s own stubbornness.
But I would still like to believe that people can change, and that God and society could help us change, without hardening our hearts. One rabbi responds to this challenges, and mentions that if Pharaoh would have truly wished to submit to God and return to God in full repentance, there would have been no Divine deterrent at all (Sforno).
I still struggle with this Torah reading. And I want to invite you to join me in this struggle, and similar struggles with Torah study. Torah learning is not only about discovering answers, but adventuring through great questions.
We at Anshe Emet are kicking off our exciting and action-packed series of adult education classes this coming week. We offer a wide array of classes: studying about the environment, prayer, teachings of our sages, and much more, at many times and in different locations. We want to study Torah together, to struggle with deep questions together, and to learn from each other. So come and join us, as we explore Torah study together. Click here for a listing of courses that will be offered in the Winter/Spring 2013 semester!
The Book of Exodus opens with the names of the children of Israel who went down to Egypt at the end of the book of Genesis. After listing eleven of Jacob’s sons and giving the total number of seventy souls, the passage concludes, ve-Yosef hayah b’Mitzrayim, “And Joseph was in Egypt” (Ex. 1:5).
The plain meaning of this verse, as is made clear by the translation that appears in the Etz Hayim Humash is that Joseph was already in Egypt – as we know from the concluding chapters of Genesis. But Reb Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev (Ukraine, 1740-1810), an early Hasidic master, points out that the language of the verse is excessive: since the opening verse already establishes that the children of Israel are going to Egypt, the verse about Joseph could simply have stated, “And Joseph was (already) there.” Why does the verse need to specify that Joseph was in Egypt, when that is already obvious both from context and from the preceding stories in Genesis?
Reb Levi Yitzhak reads the verse differently: rather than telling us where Joseph was located, he reads the verse as saying, “And he was Joseph, (even) in Egypt.” Joseph had climbed to the very pinnacle of Egyptian power and society – he had even taken an Egyptian name, Zaphenath-paneah (Gen. 41:45) – but, in Reb Levi Yitzhak’s interpretation, he never forgot who he truly was inside: an Israelite.
Joseph’s story resonates powerfully for Jews in America today: like Joseph, we have moved from the immigrant fringes to the center of American life; we have taken on American names, American cultural references, and American lifestyles. Nevertheless, the strength of our community comes from our always remembering that in our essence, beyond all the surface trappings of mainstream America, we are Jews – heirs to an ancient moral tradition who bear the responsibility of living by our ancestral values and passing them on to future generations.
