Parshat Shmot

(January 1, 2000)

A Wife's Power

"The midwives, fearing God, did not do as the king of Egypt had told them, they let the boys live." (Exodus 1:17)

There is a cute, although somewhat politically incorrect story. The mayor of a large town and his wife pull into a service station to fill up with gasoline. A man comes out to fill their tank who knew them both in high school. In fact, the mayor's wife used to date him.

The mayor chides his wife. "Aren't you glad you married me and not him, a mere gas station attendant?" The mayor's wife looks back at her husband and says in a stern voice, "If I had married him instead of you, he would have been the mayor."

This story of a woman's responsibility for her husband's success strikes us as somewhat dated in this age of feminism and egalitarianism. Today she would probably become the mayor herself. However, there is still a often unrecognized truth behind this story. Many men owe much of their professional success to their wives.

A classical Talmudic story speaks of the greatest rabbi of his generation, Akiba. For the first forty years of his life, he was an ignorant shepherd. His wife Rachel recognized Akiba's potential and encouraged him to go off and learn. She worked to support their family while he studied, even selling her hair when finances became tight. Akiba was successful with his studies, and reentered his hometown followed by students and admirers. When his wife approached him, he pulled her to his side and said, "All that I am I owe to her."

In contemporary society the story might have developed differently. Rachel would have dismissed her husband as an underachiever, divorced him, and gone on to become a rabbi herself. The image of the woman who steps back from her own career to help her husband succeed strikes us as somewhat old fashioned, if not downright sexist. We look at a couple as prominent as President Bill and Hillary Clinton and wonder why she gave up her lucrative law career to play a supporting role in her husband's presidency. No wonder so many are cheering her on to enter politics herself.

Still, in this age of greater choices for women, there are some women who choose to focus on their husbands' careers and play a key role in their husbands' professional success. They are literally the power behind the throne.

The main actor in this week's portion was Moses. Yet, there are at least six women behind the scenes who contribute to Moses' success. Without these women, we would probably still be slaves in Egypt.

 Two women, Shifra and Puah, refused to kill the Hebrew babies, defying the order of Pharaoh and placing their lives in danger. Moses' mother Yocheved hid the baby in a basket and sacrified her own motherhood to save her son's life. Moses' sister Miriam followed the baby to make sure he was all right. According to a classical Midrash (Rabbinic legend), Miriam convinced her parents to come back together when they separated following Pharaoh's decree.

Pharaoh's daughter rescued baby Moses and raised him in her household. Later when Moses married, he became deathly ill for neglecting to circumcize his son. His wife Tziporah took a flint and performed the circumcision. Six women, and probably countless others, were the hidden heroines in the exodus story.

It is common to say that women in Biblical times were powerless, mere chattel in the hands of the their husbands or fathers. This week's portion shows another side of the story. Often women are the true powers behind the throne. And so today, it is worth honoring the role of many women in the professional success of their husbands.

Parshat Vaera

(January 8, 2000)

Free Will versus Determinism

"I will harden Pharaoh's heart." (Exodus 7:3)

One of the oldest and most difficult philosophical problems is free will versus determinism. Are we free agents acting according to our own will? Or has God already decided in advance our behavior, making us like actors in a play speaking lines that have already been written?

Today it is popular to see our behavior as pre-determined. When we behave improperly, we often claim that we are the victims of our genes, of our nature, of some inner drives that have been preset and are out of our control. Or else we are the victims of racism, sexism, poverty, social and political forces that are also out of our control. It is easy to say that we are not responsible for our behavior.

This argument is at the heart of this week's portion. God brought ten plagues upon Egypt. (Actually, this week's portion deals with the first seven of those plagues.) Each time, God hardened Pharaoh's heart, and then brought another plague. On the surface, God seems to act unjustly. Pharaoh had no control, he was simply acting as God had pre-programmed him to act. Why was Pharaoh, and the rest of Egypt, being punished?

However, a deeper reading reveals a profound truth about Pharaoh's behavior. For the first five plagues, the Torah teaches that "Pharaoh hardened his heart." Only after these five does the Torah begin to teach that "God hardened Pharaoh's heart." In the beginning Pharaoh was responsible for his own stubborn behavior. Eventually, his stubbornness became second nature, almost to the point where he could no longer control it.

Judaism teaches that we humans have free will, that we can act according to our good inclination (yetzer hatov) or our evil inclination (yetzer hara). In the beginning, the evil inclination is like a spider web; it is easy to step out of its grasp. After a while, it becomes like a heavy rope. The wrong choices become second nature, as if God made us that way.

We see this phenomenon all the time. A teen, encouraged by friends, will shoplift an item. She feels guilty for submitting to peer pressure. After awhile, shoplifting becomes second nature and she does not even think about it. A married man is tempted to become involved in a forbidden sexual relationship. He also feels guilty. After awhile he has rationalized his behavior, and does not think twice about it. Soon infidelity becomes a way of life. The same can be seen of a variety of destructive behaviors: uncontrolled anger, drinking, drug use, violence, and of course, as Pharaoh has shown, stubbornness.

Improper behavior begins as an impulse. At this point, it is relatively easy to change and get on the right track. After awhile, it becomes a habit. Soon a habit becomes part of our character. It is now part of our nature, almost as if God made us that way. At this point, it is extremely difficult to change our ways. It is much easier to play victim, say "God made me that way."

However, even now we can change. Pharaoh could have given up his stubbornness, and brought less plagues on Egypt. We are all given free will. Or to put it in the words of the Rabbis, "Everything is in the hands of heaven except the fear of heaven." (Talmud - Berachot 33b)

Parshat Bo 

(January 15, 2000)

Each Child's Uniqueness

"And you shall explain to your son on that day, it is because of what the Lord did for me when I went free from Egypt." (Exodus 13:8)

This portion tells the great story of the exodus from Egypt. God brought His people forth from Egypt with a strong hand and an outstretched arm. It is a moment God commands us to reenact each Spring as we gather with our family around the table for the Passover seder. Central to the seder is the booklet we use, the haggada, a word that literally means "the telling."

The main idea of Passover is telling our children the story of the exodus from Egypt. In fact, this portion commands us no less than three times to tell the story to our children. In case we missed the point, the commandment appears for a fourth time in the book of Deuteronomy. The Torah, which usually uses words sparingly, tells us four times to tell our children. Why?

The haggada itself provides an answer. There are four different kinds of children that sit around the table with us. There is the wise or involved child, the rebellious child (not necessarily wicked as many translations say, but certainly someone who would rather not be there), the simple child, and the child who is still too young to ask. We must tell the story in a way that each of these four children understand.

This simple law provides a profound insight into raising children. There is no such thing as a generic child, and no generic rules of childraising. Every child is unique, and brings his or her own particular needs, personality, strengths, weaknesses, joys, and challenges.

We must teach our children, but teach in a way that recognizes how each child is an individual. What worked for the older brother may not work for the younger sister. What worked for us when we were children may not work for our children. Or as King Solomon wisely taught us, " Teach your son according to his way, even when he grows up he will not depart from it." (Proverbs 22:6) Every child his or her own unique way of learning about the world, learning the family history, learning values.

There is a classical Rabbinic Midrash (legend) about the brothers Jacob and Essau. They grew up in the same household, went to the same school, and yet when they grew up one gave off a beautiful fragrance and one gave off thorns. Jacob grew up to pursue the values of the Torah; Essau grew up to worship idols. How could these two boys, twins, grow up in the same household, and yet turn out so different?

Perhaps the answer is that they each needed a different kind of education. Perhaps Essau should have gone to a special school that handles boys with special needs. Generic learning is not enough.

We need to look at our own children and say, what makes each of them unique? How can we tell our story in a way that they will understand, learn it, and pass it down someday to their children? How will they learn the values that will make them successful adults? How will they succeed in their education, feel good about themselves, and find their own special path in life? This portion is teaching us to recognize the uniqueness of each of our children.

Parshat BeShalach

(January 22, 2000)

Our Shared Humanity

"I will sing unto the Lord, for He has triumphed gloriously, Horse and driver He has hurled into the sea." (Exodus 15:1)

Last week we celebrated the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. Few others have so eloquently taught that people must be judged not "by the color of their skin but rather by the content of their character." The message still needs to be heard today. This message is as ancient as the Torah.

The Talmud asks the question, why did God choose to form every human being from one man and one woman - Adam and Eve. It replies that nobody should ever say, my ancestors are better than your ancestors. Another midrash teaches that when God formed the first man, He used different colored earth from different corners of the world. Nonetheless, one of the most pervasive human failings is seeing others as inferior, different, not worthy of trust.

Why do people so hate other people, because they belong to a different race, a different religion, a different ethnic group, a different nation? This is one of the fundamental questions of human existence.

I have often wondered, how could the Nazis have spent the day gassing people, throwing their bodies into crematoria, taking babies out of the hands of their mothers and killing them, and then gone home at night to kiss their wives and children, listen to music, and read poetry? How could they be monsters by day and men by night?

Perhaps to understand, we ought to consider what we do when we find mice or some other vermin in our house. We call the exterminator to destroy them, and then go about our business without a second thought. That is how the Nazis looked at the Jews they were killing, as we would look at mice in our homes. They were able to blithely kill them, because for the Nazis, Jews had lost their humanity.

The Nazis did not strip Jews of their humanity all at once. It began with the Nuremberg laws, taking away fundamental rights of Jews to earn a living, employ non-Jews, live in certain neighborhoods, practice certain professions. Then came the requirement to wear yellow stars. Jews were forced to live in overcrowded ghettos, their movements limited. Step by step they stopped being human beings in the eyes of their Nazi tormentors. Once they lost their humanity, extermination was an easy step.

One of the most universal human traits is the denial of the humanity of other people. It may be Jews, or blacks, or native- Americans, or Kosovans, or Tutsis, or Hutus, or Hindus, or Moslems, or Japanese, or Chinese. It is a phenomenon found in every country of the world, in every age of human history. The holocaust was the denial of another's humanity carried to an extreme. But the phenomenon is not new; it goes back to Pharaoh throwing the baby Hebrew boys into the Nile.

The Torah teaches, "Love the stranger for you were strangers in the land of Egypt." (Leviticus 19:34) Most people love their family. It is easy to teach people to love their own neighbors, their own clan, their own type of people. One of the most difficult laws of the Bible is to teach people to love the stranger, the one who is different, the one of another race, religion, background.

Perhaps the most famous statement in Rabbinic literature is the passage in Megillah where the Egyptians were drowning in the sea, and the angels of God started to sing songs of praise. God reprimanded them, "My children are drowning, and you sing songs of praise!" Even the Egyptians, the enslavers of Israel, were God's children.

Parshat Yitro

(January 29, 2000)

The Limits of Providing

"Six days you shall labor and do all of your work, and on the seventh day you shall rest." (Exodus 20:9-10)

The wisdom of my parents' generation was the importance of being a provider. My father considered himself a "good family man." To my father, that meant that he provided for his family. For most men and many women of that generation, being a provider was an act of love.

The wisdom of my generation is finding the limits of provid ing. If providing is an act of love, perhaps the more we work and the more we provide, the more this shows our love. The Ten Commandments disagrees - it calls for a limit on providing. There is a cycle of work and rest. There is time spent at our place of employment balanced with time spent at home with our families. Or, as I often tell overstressed parents, "your children need your presence rather than your presents."

Our family needs us in our lives. I am reminded of the wonderful story of a busy businessman who finally, at the urging of his wife, takes a day off of work to take their young son fishing. The father and son spend the entire day together, although the father frets about what he is missing at the office. At the end of the day, the father writes in his calendar, "Took my son fishing; wasted the whole day." Meanwhile, the son writes in his diary, "My dad took me fishing; the greatest day of my life."

Wisdom is the ability to draw limits. It is the ability to find a rhythm between work and rest, between job time and family time. Different people may understand the requirement of rest differently. However we choose to observe our Sabbath, we should remember that when we were slaves in Egypt we worked seven days per week. Every day was like every other. In freedom, we learn to draw a line and stop our work, to find rest and discover family time.

Rest also means leaving our work at work. Rabbi Jack Riemer tells a beautiful story of a man who stops at a tree in front of house each evening as he comes home from the office. He touches the branches and walks into his home. Each morning he touches the branches again before leaving for work. His neighbor asks him, "What are you doing?" The man answers, "This is my worry tree. Each evening I hang all of my worries from work on the branches. I do not bring them into the house. The next morning I take them back to bring to work. But they seem so much lighter the next morning."

We need to rest not simply for our family but for ourselves. At work, we are judged by our performance. We are valued not by who we are but by what we accomplish. Accomplishment and success are important to our ego. But it is so difficult to always be on call, always be judged by what we do. We need time simply to be.

At home we are not judged for what we do. True love is unconditional. We are loved simply for being, not for any of our accomplishments. When our children hug us after work, it is not because we received the promotion or reached performance expecta tions or brought in a new client or made the sale. At home we can simply be. The pattern of sacred rest gives us time to stop doing, but simply to be.