April 18th: Pesach
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
It should come as no surprise that our Tradition often finds itself at odds with itself. Or perhaps more accurately: it should come as no surprise that some of the voices in the chorus of Jewish Tradition find themselves at odds with other Jewish voices. Ours is a rich and multifaceted tradition—and the chorus of Jewish voices reflects the complexity of existence and the variety of our experiences. There are many “duels” between verses/voices in the Tradition, and, this Pesach, I would like to consider two.
The first “duel” begins in Psalm 92 with the Psalmist expressing his faith that God will vanquish his foes—and he anticipates his joy when God dispatches them.
“The wicked may flourish like grass, all who do evil may blossom,
Yet they are doomed to destruction, while You, O Lord, are exalted for all time...
See how Your enemies, O Lord, see how Your enemies shall perish,
How all who do evil shall be scattered.
But You lift up my cause in pride, and I am bathed in freshening oil.
I shall see the defeat of my foes; my ears shall hear of their fall.”
The bad guys are going to get what they deserve, and we are going to celebrate.
On the other hand, we are warned about hating others. As Leviticus 19.17-18 counsels:
“You shall not hate your fellow human being in your heart. You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your fellow. Love your neighbor as yourself.”
This is a difficult standard, and among the issues Tradition addresses is that of how we classify other people. Some are achicha/your brother. Others are re’echa/your neighbor. Some are amitecha or b’nai amecha/your countryman. Some are ev’yon’cha/your destitute, while others are ger’cha/the stranger among you. Do our standards of respect and non-hate depend on the comparative closeness or affiliation or friendliness of other people? How wide is the circle of “brothers/sisters” and “neighbors” whom we are to love?
And of course, there are the bad guys—oy’vecha/your enemies or po’alay aven/the workers of evil—whose actions put them beyond the pale of friendship and good treatment. Is it all right to hate our foes and eagerly anticipate their doom (as does one of the Psalmists)? Or should we somehow take a higher road—whatever that means? Consider this possible resolution:
“There were some thugs in Rabbi Meir’s neighborhood who were oppressing him, and Rabbi Meir prayed that they should die. But his wife Beruriah objected, ‘How can you think that such a prayer is permitted? Does the Scripture say, “Sinners will cease?” No. Scripture says that “Sins will cease.” Pray for an end to sins, and the thugs will stop sinning.’ Rabbi Meir prayed for them, and they repented.” (Midrash on Psalm 104.35 in Talmud Berachot 10a)
We have principles, and we have reality. How does our morality work in the complexities of human relationships?
Another conceptual duel begins with this week’s special Pesach Torah Portion (Exodus 14-15), the Crossing of the Red Sea. Though we celebrate on Passover, it is important to remember the genuine existential risk we faced back there on the Egyptian side of the sea. We were backed up to the sea with no path of escape, and Pharoah’s hate had inflamed a lust for blood in his charging soldiers:
“The foe said, ‘I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide the spoil;
My desire shall have its fill of them.’” (Exodus 15.9)
It could have been horrible, but thanks be to God, we were miraculously rescued. One can only imagine the jumble of emotions our ancestors felt as they walked on the far beach of the sea and surveyed the remnants of the mighty Egyptian cavalry. The Torah simply says, “Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the shore of the sea…and the people feared the Lord; they had faith in the Lord and in God’s servant Moses” (Exodus 14.30-31), but one suspects they must have also felt relief, revenge, shock, and maybe even grief at the wasted lives washed up on the shore.
Did they imagine Psalm 92’s words?
“I shall see the defeat of my foes; my ears shall hear of their fall”?
Or were they sick to their stomachs at the devastation that God had found necessary?
We cannot know whether our ancient ancestors felt this mixture of emotions—this ambivalence, but we know that it is something some of the Sages contemplated. And, as is common in the Midrash, they projected their own mixed feelings onto Heaven:
“After the miraculous crossing of the Red Sea, the Israelites rejoiced: Moses leading the men in the victorious Song of the Sea and Miriam leading the women in a dance of jubilation. The angels in heaven wanted to join in the rejoicing, but God silenced them. ‘The work of My hand, the Egyptians, are drowning, and you wish to sing songs?!’” (Talmud Megillah 10b)
God feels terrible, but destroying the Egyptians was necessary—and thus are we given a paradigm of conflicting emotions as we encounter evil and struggle to deal with it.
There is a lot of conflict these days, and we are all experiencing lots of conflicting emotions. Some of the people whom we consider enemies have been brought low or will be brought low. It is only human to rejoice at the defeat of our foes—and to hope for and revel in their humiliation and disgrace. But…is there a better way? Is there a more godly way? Is there a way to channel our emotions to deal with significant conflicts in a humane and godly manner?
I think that the polarization from which we are all suffering is not just societal or political. I think that much of the polarization is internal and spiritual as we struggle to approach the life and death, good versus evil battles that rage all around us. Can we, in Hillel’s words, behave like a mensch when no one else does? (Avot 2.5) Can we manage to bring in some godliness and grace while also maintaining our combat readiness and doing battle?
This seems to be the struggle to which we have been called. And, as Rabbi Tarphon reminds us, “God is watching.” (Avot 2.15)