January 27th: Bo
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
I have always been intrigued by the expression “speaking truth to power,” and I wonder how our Torah portion may offer some insights for modern practitioners. As we begin, God instructs Moses and Aaron to “Go to Pharaoh,” and they do. “Moses and Aaron went to Pharaoh and said to him, ‘Thus says the Lord, the God of the Hebrews, “How long will you refuse to humble yourself before Me? Let My people go so that they may worship Me.”’” (Exodus 10.1 and 10.3)
On the one hand, this is clearly speaking truth to power. Moses is a foreign shepherd with little or no status. Other than memories of childhood, all he has in Egypt is a criminal record. When he and his brother demand major economic changes from one of the most powerful rulers on earth, one can imagine Pharaoh thinking that this former Egyptian is a fool. On the other hand, this is not at all about speaking truth to power. With God’s accompanying Presence, Moses and Aaron are speaking truth and power to a far lesser power. As God says to Moses, “You shall soon see what I will do to Pharaoh: he shall let them go because of a greater might; indeed, because of a greater might he shall drive them from his land.” (Exodus 6.1)
In our day, speaking truth to power is often just speaking. It could involve courage for someone to stand on the courthouse steps—or at the Allen Street gates—and, armed only with a moral truth, proclaim a message for all to hear. It may be brave, but is it effective?
Public witnessing can be found in many cultures throughout history. The novelist James Clavell writes of such practices in his stories of Samurai Japan. In Shogun, in one case of a moral outrage, a high-status Samurai woman publicly performs seppuku (ritual suicide) with the purpose of “calling out” the wrong-doers and invoking public approbation. It was in this spirit, back in the 1960s, that a number of Buddhist monks self-immolated as protests against war. Sacrificing oneself for the moral message certainly hopes to be persuasive.
One can see similar thinking in regard to martyrdom in Rabbinic Judaism and early Christianity. That someone would be willing to sacrifice him/herself L’shem Shamayim / For the Sake of Heaven is seen as meritorious. However, martyrdom and such public witnessing is ultimately an act from weakness or desperation. Though we have inspiring stories about Rabbi Akiva and other martyrs, one figures that these brave souls would have preferred to continue living and teaching. It is just that they were out of options.
To the extent that their martyrdom “speaks” to believers, then the message gets through. However, how do we know when speaking truth to power is communicative and when it is merely an act of self-indulgence?
Aristotle, the ancient philosopher and “Father of Rhetoric,” defines rhetoric as “finding, in a given situation, the available means of persuasion.” In other words, the point of a communication should be to persuade the other of one’s opinion. Self-expression—like standing on a soapbox in Hyde Park—can be quite fulfilling, but I wonder how effective it is in terms of solving problems or improving the world.
Let us get back to Moses and Aaron, standing nervously before Pharaoh. There as God’s agents, what is their plan and purpose? At its most simple level, their purpose is to free the Children of Israel from Egyptian slavery—and this will eventually happen. However, God’s plan is more expansive and more communicative, as the Torah explains: “Then the Lord said to Moses, ‘Go to Pharaoh. For I have hardened his heart and the hearts of his courtiers, in order that I may display these My signs among them, and that you may recount in the hearing of your sons and of your sons’ sons how I made a mockery of the Egyptians and how I displayed My sins among them—in order that you may know that I am the Lord.’” (Exodus 10.1-2)
God could just whisk the Hebrews out of Egypt, but God is after something bigger: persuading the Israelites, the Egyptians, and everyone else in the world that God is in charge—that God’s is the moral standard to which humans are called. In the Divine estimation, merely rescuing Israel will not be persuasive enough. Thus the Lord determines to make an object lesson out of Pharaoh and Egypt. Though Egypt is considered the most powerful kingdom in the world, God will make a mockery of it. Though Pharaoh is considered (and considers himself) a god, the real God will show that the Egyptian king cannot even control himself. The earthly king is manipulated and humiliated by the Great King, and the message is sent out to the world.
Does God’s rhetorical strategy work? According to the Psalmist, even the topography gets the message. That is why,
“The sea saw it and fled; the River Jordan turned backwards.
The mountains skipped like rams, the hills like lambs.” (Psalm 114)
The Lord’s power is so amazing that the
“Earth trembles at the Presence of the Lord, at the Presence of the God of Jacob!”
Earlier in the story, when Pharaoh orders the midwives to the Hebrews to kill all the boys as they are being birthed, Shiphrah’s and Pu’ah’s strategy is not to speak truth to power. What good would a verbal protest do? Instead, they are courageously practical. “The midwives, fearing God, did not do as the king of Egypt had told them; they let the boys live.” (Exodus 1.17) When Pharaoh demands to know why the boys are still alive, the midwives dissemble: “Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women: they are vigorous. Before the midwife can come to them, they have already given birth.” (Exodus 1.19)
Moral certitude is certainly a virtue, but it is seldom enough. The goodness of God needs to be brought to fruition—and thus Tikkun Olam requires strategy and practical application. When we pray, in the Kaddish, “V’yam’lich mal’chutay / May God’s influence reign,” our words are about more than speaking. We are praying about doing God’s work in the world so that God’s reign will truly prevail.