S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT SHEMOT

By Rav David Silverberg

MOTZAEI

            The Torah in Parashat Shemot tells of God’s revelation to Moshe at the burning bush, during which He instructs Moshe to return to Egypt and demand that Pharaoh free the Israelite slaves.  God announces to Moshe, “I have surely seen the oppression of My nation which is in Egypt” (3:7).

            While this proclamation certainly appears to express God’s compassion for Benei Yisrael and desire to alleviate their suffering, the Midrash (Shemot Rabba 3:2) detects within God’s statement an element of criticism, as well.  The Midrash cites in this context a verse from the Sefer Iyov (11:11), “Ki Hu yada metei shav” – “For He knows the men of vanity,” and applies this verse to Benei Yisrael’s conduct in Egypt.  In the Midrash’s words, “The Almighty knew the nation that killed themselves to engage in vanity.”  The Maharzu commentary to Midrash Rabba interprets this to mean, “They exerted themselves [moserim nafsham] to engage in vanity.”

            How might we understand the Midrash’s criticism of Benei Yisrael’s conduct and lifestyle during the Egyptian bondage?

            Rav David Moskowitz, in his Gelilei Zahav (Romania, 1935), explains that Benei Yisrael squandered their limited resources of time and energy on relatively petty and unimportant concerns.  Dire situations demand proper prioritization, that people focus their attention and energies on resolving the crisis or at least alleviating the nation’s hardship.  During the Egyptian bondage, it seems, the nation was preoccupied with “vanity,” petty infighting and communal issues that were, at least in the context of nationwide persecution, trivial.  As the building burned, its residents were too busy dusting the furniture to notice.  They focused their attention on “shav,” on matters of trivial importance, on internal quibbling, rather than joining forces and minds to explore possible solutions.

            How did the Midrash arrive at this interpretation of the verse – “I have surely seen the oppression of My nation which is in Egypt”?

             Apparently, Chazal understood God’s statement to mean that He saw what the nation itself did not see, or at least appeared not to see.  God in essence tells Moshe that although the people themselves were too preoccupied with trivialities to address their condition of suffering, “I have surely seen the oppression.”  Benei Yisrael were not wise enough to set aside trifling concerns out of consideration for the larger and more consequential problems that plagued the nation.  God then mercifully stepped in and appeared to Moshe to initiate the process of redemption.  The Midrash, however, seeks to impress upon us the importance of proper prioritization, to give the major and far-reaching issues facing Am Yisrael the emphasis they deserve, rather than devoting the bulk of our time and resources to less consequential matters.

SUNDAY

            Parashat Shemot tells of Benei Yisrael’s persecution at the hands of the Egyptians, who enslaved the Israelites and later systematically killed their newborn boys.  A number of Midrashic sources describe additional atrocities committed by the Egyptians.  In particular, several Midrashim (see Torah Sheleima, chapter 2, note 195) relate that the Egyptian taskmasters overseeing the slaves’ labor would occasionally use Israelite infants as bricks.  According to some Midrashic sources, the bodies of the newborns were retrieved after they were cast into the river and used to fill gaps in walls and buildings.

            These gruesome descriptions not only give us a sense of the brutality that Benei Yisrael endured during this period, but also provide some insight into the mindset underlying the Egyptians’ mistreatment of Benei Yisrael.  Namely, they viewed Benei Yisrael not as people, but as “bricks,” as tools, as building supplies.  The ghastly image of a child used in place of a brick reflects the process of dehumanization and objectification, reducing a group of human beings to mere instruments, to the level of mortar and bricks.  The Egyptians felt justified in enslaving Benei Yisrael because they regarded them not as people, but as “bricks” that could be used as needed to further the interests of the empire.

            It is not difficult to identify the origins of this mindset.  In the beginning of Parashat Shemot (1:9-10), we read that Pharaoh conceived of the idea to enslave Benei Yisrael in response to the threat posed by their rapid population growth.  The Israelites’ numbers were seen as a danger to the empire, and so Egypt decided upon the tactic of enslavement.  In light of what we have seen, the Egyptians’ rationale was simple: if the Israelites comprised too a high a percentage of the population, then all that needed to be done is to consider them as things, not people.  The Egyptians determined that Benei Yisrael were not part of the country’s populace, but were rather a “natural resource,” no different than the nation’s animals, stones or forests.  Objectifying the nation was a simple solution to their rapid population growth.  Once Benei Yisrael became a useful resource, instead of a threat, their large numbers instantly became an asset, instead of a cause for concern.

            Jealousy occasionally leads us to feel threatened or intimidated by successful people around us.  Much as the Egyptians felt threatened by Benei Yisrael’s unusual growth and prosperity, we, too, sometimes become uneasy upon seeing others who accomplish and succeed.  It might be tempting in such situations to look for ways to denigrate these “competitors,” to find fault so that we can lower their estimation in our eyes.  Once their stature is lowered from our viewpoint, they no longer pose a threat to our self-esteem.  The story of Benei Yisrael’s enslavement perhaps teaches the importance of maintaining respect for people despite feelings of envy, rather than denigrating them to avoid those difficult feelings.

MONDAY

            Toward the end of Parashat Shemot, we read of the drastic deterioration of Benei Yisrael’s plight after Moshe and Aharon’s initial confrontation with Pharaoh.  The Egyptian monarch not only rebuffed the demand to release the slaves, but also responded by increasing their workload, demanding that they collect the straw needed for the production of bricks.  Whereas until that point the slaves were supplied with the materials needed to produce bricks, the new edict required them to search through the countryside in search of the straw needed for the prescribed quantity of bricks.

Pharaoh himself made it perfectly clear why he decided to intensify the slaves’ labor: “Let the work be intensified on the men, and let them engage in it, and let them not indulge in matters of falsehood” (5:9).  The king sensed that the slaves were enjoying too much free time, which allowed them to entertain thoughts and indulge in fantasies of a life of national freedom in their ancestral homeland.  He therefore sought to overwork them to the point where they would have no opportunity to dream about anything beyond meeting their immediate responsibilities.

            One might wonder why Pharaoh chose the specific course of action of withholding straw.  If he wanted Benei Yisrael to work longer hours, he could have simply doubled the required rate of brick production.  This would have yielded the same result of additional hours of labor, thus achieving Pharaoh’s goal of eliminating the slaves’ free time.

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, suggests that Pharaoh sought to not only fill the slaves’ time, but also crush their spirits.  Withholding straw yielded this effect in two ways.  First, it forced Benei Yisrael into a situation where they would compete and struggle with one another.  We can easily imagine the agitated, fatigued slaves quarreling with one another over pieces of straw in their frantic attempt to meet their quotas and thereby escape beating.  Pharaoh cunningly – and heartlessly – sought to undermine Benei Yisrael’s nationalist aspirations by causing bitter friction and discord among the slaves.

            In addition, Pharaoh’s new system placed the slaves in a constant condition of anxiety.  A daily quota of bricks, regardless of how demanding, still allowed the slaves to feel secure after a day’s work, knowing that they’ve fulfilled their obligations.  But the need to collect straw denied the laborers this sense of security.  Even after a successful day’s work, they still had to worry about whether or not they will find straw the following day.  The new edict thus took away not only the people’s free time, but also their peace of mind.  They were constantly worried, uptight and anxious, and this, as Pharaoh realized, was far more destructive to the slaves than additional hours of labor.

            This insight reminds us of the importance of contentment, of feeling satisfied with what one has rather than constantly fretting over what he doesn’t.  As Pharaoh understood, few things are as destructive as a state of constant anxiety, ongoing worries about what’s left to do.  It is critically important to temper ambition with a sense of gratification over what has been accomplished, rather than entering a never-ending cycle of anxiety and pressure.

TUESDAY

            Yesterday, we discussed the edict that Pharaoh issued to intensify the Israelite slaves’ workload, after Moshe and Aharon had petitioned the monarch to set them free.  Pharaoh decreed that the slaves would no longer be supplied with the straw they needed for their production of bricks.  They would instead have to fetch their own straw, but still fulfill the same quota of bricks as they had previously.  In issuing this announcement, Pharaoh specified why he deemed this exceedingly harsh measure necessary: “Let the work be intensified on the men, and let them engage in it, and let them not indulge in matters of falsehood” (5:9).  Pharaoh intensified the workload to eliminate the slaves’ free time (and peace of mind, as discussed yesterday).  The absence of free time precluded the possibility of their contemplating a better life, a life of freedom and dignity, of meaning and self-fulfillment.  Without the opportunity to harbor dreams and aspirations, the new movement to secure their release from bondage would quickly die.

            Interestingly enough, Rav Moshe Chayim Luzzato cites this verse in the second chapter of his Mesilat Yesharim, amidst his discussion of the importance of zehirut, living with careful thought and caution.  He sees Pharaoh’s edict as a model for a familiar and dangerous tactic of the yetzer ha-ra (evil inclination):

One of the evil inclination's most effective weapons is to overburden the human heart with cares and labors, leaving a person no time at all to consider the direction of his life.  If a person would but contemplate his ways, he would surely begin to reconsider his priorities, and the ensuing remorse would no doubt bring about a complete abandonment of the transgression.  This is similar to the counsel of the wicked Pharaoh who said: “Let the work become heavier for the people so that they will be occupied with it, and will not be misled by false ideas.”  His intent was not solely to frustrate any thoughts of resistance on their part, but also to prevent them any opportunity for even reflecting on their situation, by imposing upon them unceasing labor.  This is exactly the same approach taken by the evil inclination...

Rabbi Michael Hattin (http://vbm-torah.org/archive/intparsha/shemot/14-61vaera.doc) elaborated on this analogy:

In every human heart there is a (small?) voice that counsels us to pursue a life of material excess, of moral and spiritual apathy, and of indifference.  Held in its sway, we busily fill our days with labors, activities, and pastimes, but rarely pause to question the ultimate purpose of our endeavors.  Caught up with life's burdens and worries, some of them self-imposed, we find little or no time to contemplate our enslavement…

Cast in this light, the story of the struggle against the injustice of the mighty Pharaoh takes on added meaning, for it is not only the perennial and universal tale of hapless slaves achieving deliverance and independence.  It is also the no less significant story of the self, of the ongoing conflict in the human heart to liberate the spirit from the bonds of lethargy and torpor that would otherwise overpower it.

Pharaoh’s assault on Benei Yisrael’s spirit closely resembles the ongoing, internal struggle we all wage against the instinct to pursue hollow goals to divert our attention from more meaningful achievements.  Demanding financial goals and time-consuming pastimes, like the search for straw, take our minds away from matters of far greater importance; they free us from the daunting responsibility of finding meaning and purpose in life.  Professional and recreational overachievement allows us to respond with “I don’t have time” when we raise the difficult question of whether we are living a meaningful life, whether we are satisfactorily meeting our spiritual obligations.  Tragically, what Pharaoh sought to accomplish through a cruel royal edict, we voluntarily bring upon ourselves.  Pharaoh tried to force Benei Yisrael into a mindless rote where they don’t contemplate a higher purpose; we knowingly fill our schedules to the hilt so we can enjoy this kind of mindless rote.  As the Mesilat Yesharim urges, we must make and take the time to reflect upon our lives to determine whether our current direction is the proper one, and what our true goals and priorities ought to be.

WEDNESDAY

            We read toward the beginning of Parashat Shemot of Moshe’s experiences upon leaving the comforts of Pharaoh’s palace, where he was raised, and observing the torment suffered by the Israelite slaves.  In his first encounter, he witnessed an Egyptian taskmaster beating a slave, and Moshe immediately responded by killing the taskmaster.  The following day, Moshe came upon two quarreling Israelites, and reprimanded the aggressor, who, resenting Moshe’s intervention, cynically asked, “Are you going to kill me like you killed the Egyptian?” (2:14).

            Moshe then fearfully cried, “Indeed, the matter is known!”

            According to the plain reading, of course, Moshe discovered that the earlier incident, his killing of the violent Egyptian taskmaster, was “known” and the news would soon reach the authorities.  Rashi, however, citing the Midrash, detects that Moshe here made a deeper discovery: “I have discovered the matter about which I had wondered: how have Israel sinned more than all seventy nations, that they are oppressed with harsh labor?  But now I see that they are deserving of this!”

            Rav Yehuda Leib Graubart, in his Yabia Omer, suggests an explanation for what precisely Moshe noticed that solved the mystery of Benei Yisrael’s enslavement.  The Torah writes that on the first day, before Moshe slew the violent taskmaster, “He looked this way and that way, and saw there was no man” (2:12).  At first glance, this means that Moshe first ensured that nobody was present to witness his killing of the Egyptian.  Rav Graubart, however, suggested a different interpretation, namely, that Moshe looked around to see if any of the victim’s fellow slaves would come to his rescue.  To his chagrin, he saw that “there was no man,” that nobody was prepared to intervene.  The years of brutal oppression, it appeared, had driven the slaves to despair and indifferent acceptance of their bitter reality.

            This is what Moshe assumed – until the following day.  On his second excursion, he suddenly discovered that Benei Yisrael’s emotional reservoirs of passion, zeal and concern had not yet run dry.  “He saw two Hebrew men quarreling.”  When it came to their own personal matters, they were anything but apathetic.  The same Hebrews who reacted with cold indifference to the sound of the taskmaster’s whip cracking against a slave’s back the previous day, now erupted in a zealous rage in response to personal grievances against their fellow.  Moshe was dismayed at the sight of people who ignored the plight of others but emphatically – and even violently – sprang forward to defend their own rights.  He thus lamented, “Indeed the matter is known.”  He came to the painful realization that Benei Yisrael were as yet unworthy of freedom, as they reserved their passion and energy for the pursuit of their own individual interests, rather than for caring for one another.

THURSDAY

            Parashat Shemot tells of the beginning of Moshe’s “career” as a prophet, a role which he first assumed when God appeared to him at the famous burning bush on Mount Sinai (chapter 3).  Numerous theories have been advanced to explain the symbolic significance of this particular vision, of a bush that burns but is not consumed (3:2).

            The Keli Yakar detects within this vision a harsh indictment of Benei Yisrael’s interpersonal conduct at the time.  Yesterday, we discussed the stories told of Moshe’s experiences as he observed the work of the Israelite slaves in Egypt.  In his second encounter, he came upon two quarreling slaves, and upon approaching the aggressor, he was angrily rebuffed.  Worse, Moshe learned that the news of the previous day’s event – when he had killed a violent Egyptian taskmaster who was beating a slave – was spread and became public knowledge.  Moshe then lamented, “Indeed, the matter is known.”  The Midrash (Shemot Rabba 1:35) explains, “There is lashon ha-ra [negative speech about others] among them – how can they be worthy of redemption… I now know on account of what matter they are enslaved!”

            According to the Midrash, Moshe attributed Benei Yisrael’s oppression to the prevalence of lashon ha-ra – slander, gossip and backstabbing.  The Keli Yakar suggests that it is for this reason that God first appeared to Moshe in a “seneh,” a thorn bush.  Benei Yisrael at the time were like a seneh, “pricking” each other like thorns.  The animosity and conflicts ignited the “flames” of oppression and suffering, symbolized by the raging fire that burned inside the seneh at Sinai.  But just as the bush burned but was not consumed, the “thorns” of Benei Yisrael persisted and endured.  The affliction caused by the people’s contempt for one another should have led them to come together peacefully, and destroy the “thorns” that plagued them – just as the fiery flames should have consumed the bush.  Oddly enough, however, “the bush was not consumed” – the “pricking” continued.  Although the fighting caused so much pain and harm, the people were not wise enough to end it.

            One could debate whether or not this was truly God’s intent in revealing Himself at the seneh, but regardless, the parallel is indeed a compelling one.  So often, people “set fire” to their lives through senseless fighting, but refuse to allow the “thorns” to be consumed.  They refuse to relent, to back down, to move forward, despite the havoc the conflict is causing.  According to the Keli Yakar, the image of the burning bush reminds us to allow the “thorns” to be consumed, to put an end to fights and conflict before the “fire” overwhelms us.

David Silverberg

FRIDAY

            The Torah in Parashat Shemot tells of the remarkable circumstances that led to Moshe being raised as a prince in Pharaoh’s palace.  Moshe’s mother, insistent on rescuing her infant from the royal edict ordering the murder of every male newborn Israelite, placed Moshe in a basket in the river, where he was discovered by Pharaoh’s daughter.  The princess pitied the boy and adopted him as her own child.  Moshe’s sister, who was present at the time when the baby was discovered, offered to find the princess an Israelite nursemaid to care for the child.  She brought none other than Yokheved, Moshe’s mother, whom the princess offered to hire, for pay, as the infant’s nurse (2:9).

            One might, at first glance, question the propriety of Yokheved’s accepting payment to nurse her own child.  Since caring for the child was in any event her responsibility, it might seem unethical for her to receive remuneration.  And yet, the Midrash (Shemot Rabba 1:25) explicitly sanctions her accepting payment, even seeing it as a model for the reward granted to the righteous.  Commenting on this verse, the Midrash writes, “Not only do the righteous get their lost items returned, but they even receive reward,” clearly indicating that Yokheved did not act wrongly in accepting payment.

            One simple explanation, perhaps, is that once the princess willfully adopted the infant as her own child, Yokheved no longer bore any responsibility for him.  From a strict, legal standpoint, Pharaoh’s daughter was now the child’s mother and fully responsible for his care.  As such, she incurred the expense of feeding Moshe, and Yokheved, technically speaking, was no different from any other nursemaid and thus entitled to payment.

            Furthermore, the Chid”a (Rav Chayim Yosef David Azoulay, 1724-1806), in his Peri David commentary, writes that Yokheved’s responsibilities entailed more than simply feeding Moshe.  The Chid”a notes that Pharaoh’s daughter instructed Yokheved, “ve-heinikihu li” (“nurse him for me” – 2:9), indicating that Moshe had to be nursed specifically “for” the princess.  What this meant, the Chid”a suggests, is that Yokheved was required to eat particular foods to ensure that the quality of the milk she produced would be befitting a prince.  If so, then Yokheved was perhaps justified in accepting payment because her job entailed more than her basic responsibilities as Moshe’s mother.

            Interestingly, the Netziv, in his Ha’amek Davar, commented regarding the princess’ offer of payment, “This was customary among people of royalty, to generously pay, rather than decreeing to work for them for free.”  The Netziv implicitly questioned why a member of the royal family would offer to pay a Hebrew slave for her services, and he answered that to the contrary, the people of royalty made a point of generously paying their servants.  If so, then it is possible that Yokheved did not, technically, deserve to be paid for nursing Moshe, but was nevertheless justified in accepting payment because it was customary practice for royal employees to receive respectable wages.

            This discussion became practically relevant when a certain destitute woman abandoned her newborn child in an Israeli hospital shortly after birth.  The hospital staff was forced to care for the child until a permanent arrangement for the baby could be found, and publicized a notice that they were searching for a nurse.  The mother offered her services without identifying herself as the infant’s mother (she had used false identification papers when she checked into the hospital), and was given the job.  Years later, the woman regretted the entire episode, and sincerely repented.  She raised the question of whether she was halakhically obligated to compensate the hospital for the wages she received for nursing her own infant.  Initially, one might draw proof from the story of Yokheved that she was entitled to receive payment, just as Yokheved accepted pay from Pharaoh’s daughter.  In truth, however, Yokheved’s situation was unique, for the reasons discussed above.  Indeed, Rav Yitzchak Zilberstein (as recorded in Ve-ha’arev Na), based upon the aforementioned sources, ruled that the woman was, in fact, obligated to return her wages, noting that the situation of Yokheved was exceptional in several respects.

David Silverberg