January 4, 2014
In this week's parashah we
read about the 3 final plagues that finally convince Pharoah to let the
Israelites leave. We get instructions for how to commemorate Passover, both the
first Passover in Egpyt that very night, and the Passover to be celebrated by
Jews throughout the generations. And the Israelites, along with a mixed
multitude, leave Egypt.
I want to focus on a
compelling question of justice raised by today's parashah, and its lessons for
us today. Why are all Egyptians subject to the plagues, when it is Pharoah's
stubbornness that spurs God to bring on the plagues? This sounds like
collective punishment, punishing a whole group of people for the behavior of
some in the group.
In the case of the last plague we are told very explicitly
that God struck down all first born in Egypt "from the first born of
Pharaoh who sat on the throne to the first-born of the captive who was in the
dungeon" (12:29). Italian sage Sforno says that this verse means from the
most guilty to the least guilty, seemingly accepting this as collective punishment.
But other commentators avoid this collective punishment interpretation. Rashi
claims that the plague of the first-born was a punishment for each Egyptian who
particpated in the oppression of the Israelites, saying even Egyptian slaves
"enslaved the Israelites and took joy in their suffering."
Another explanation
attributes the collective punishment to collective responsibility. As the
commentary in our Etz Hayyim says:
"Non-Israelite slaves were punished because they did not make common cause with the Israelites, saying 'let us join hands and rise together against our oppressors.' Bad as their lives were, they took perverse satisfaction in knowing that there were others even worse off."
Even if Egyptian slaves were unable to stop the oppression of the Israelites,
their silence was damning. Some commentators speculate that some Egyptians did
make common cause with the Israelites in taking a stand for freedom over
oppression. These Egyptians threw their lot in with the Israelites by putting
blood on their doors, thus saving their first-borns, and they comprised the
mixed multitude who joined the Israelites in leaving Egypt.
So one way we might read the
collective punishment in this parashah is to teach us about our collective
responsibility to free the oppressed. The text teaches us that our
responsibility extends beyond our ethnic group, and extends to all levels of
power and privilege. Even Egyptians at the lowest echelons of society were
viewed as responsible for the wrongs perpetrated by Pharoah, and responsible
for the well-being of the minority living in their society, the Israelites.
At least 4 places in Torah,
God commands you to love and not to oppress the stranger, for you were
strangers in the land of Egypt. Why is our experience as strangers in Egpyt used
to explain or support our obligation to treat the stranger well? Is it that our
experience of oppression in Egypt enables us to have empathy and compassion for
the experience of the stranger? That's the way I've always looked at it, and I
think this is indeed a motivating perspective.
But I recently learned another,
perhaps even more compelling perspective, from the book Justice in the City by
Aryeh Cohen, a Rabbinics professor formerly at RRC and now at American Jewish
University. Cohen claims that the real lesson of oppression in Egypt is not
compassion, but rather an obligation to imitate God rather than imitating
Pharaoh. This means engaging actively to fight against oppression, rather than
ignoring and distancing ourselves from it.
How does God respond to
oppression? God heard the cry of the people, took notice of them, and did
something about it (Ex 2:24-25, 3:7-8). How did Pharoah respond when the people
cried out to him? He turned a deaf ear and made their work harder (Ex 5:15-18).
In a few weeks, in chapter
20 of Shemot, we'll read:
"You shall not wrong a
stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. You shall
not ill-treat any widow or orphan. If you do mistreat them, I will heed their
outcry as soon as they cry out to Me, and My anger shall blaze forth and I will
put you to the sword, and your own wives shall become widows and your children
orphans."
In this passage, how are we
to be movivated by "you were strangers in the land of Egypt"?
Following the Torah commentary of 13th century Nachmanides (Ramban), Cohen
points out that merely feeling compassion for the victim ignores the 2nd half
of the passage, beginning “If you do mistreat them”. Ramban points out that God
always hears the cry of the oppressed and saves them from people stronger than
them. The choice is to follow the example of God, who heard the cry of the
Israelites, leading to redemption, or the example of Pharoah, who did not hear
the cry, leading to the devastation of Egypt. Either way, the oppressed will be
redeemed. But if you leave the redemption to God, you will go the way of the
Egyptians.
This principle is taken up
by the rabbis of the Talmud and later commentators. In a discussion over
whether it's desirable to build a gatehouse for a shared courtyard, the Talmud
concludes that a gatehouse is permitted only if it's easy to enter. Rashi
comments that the problem with some gatehouses is that they can gate off poor
people who are crying out for assistance, such that their voices are not heard.
And most other commentators share this view that the potential problem with
gatehouses is that they will not allow the cry of the poor to be heard. Because
none of the commentators give a textual basis for this explanation, they must
have considered it obvious that the ability to hear the cry of the oppressed is
mandatory. Rashi uses the same word, tze'akah, for the cry of the poor, as the
Torah uses for the Israelites crying out to God and to Pharoah. The rabbis seem
to have internalized the mandate to act like God rather than Pharoah in hearing
the cry of the oppressed.
So if we start from an
obligation to hear the cry of the oppressed, what is our obligation to respond?
Does our degree of connection to the oppressed matter? What about our power to
help them?
The Talmud relates a story
known as "Rabbi Elazar's cow". After discussing various shabbat
prohibitions, the text expresses the displeasure of the sages that Rabbi Elazar
ben Azaryah's cow would go out with a strap between its horns, which violated
one of the shabbat prohibitions. The ensuing discussion reveals that in fact
Rabbi Elazar owned thousands of cows, and that this shabbat-violating cow in
fact belonged to his neighbor. So why is it referred to as "Rabbi Elazar's
cow"? Because he failed to protest with his neighbor against its violating
the law, and it is therefore as if he himself is responsible. "Rabbi
Elazar's cow" becomes shorthand for "one who had the opportunity to
protest against a wrongdoing but did not."
The Talmud then continues:
- All who can protest against something wrong that one of their family is doing and does not protest, is acccountable together with their family.
- All who can protest against something wrong that one of a citizen of their city is doing and does not protest, is acccountable together with all citizens of the city.
- All who can protest against something wrong that is being done in the whole world, is acccountable together with all the citizens of the world.
So not protesting a wrong is
practically the same as doing the action. And subsequent passages show that to
the rabbis of the Talmud, it didn't matter if you have the power to stop the
wrongdoing or if your protest would be effective - you have a responsibility to
protest even if you think your protest will not stop the transgression. The
Talmud relates a striking image of Truth having an argument with God. The
argument concerns whether observers of a certain wicked behavior in a story in
the book of Ezekiel are themselves guilty. God initially maintains that the
bystanders are righteous. Truth points out that they were able to protest and
did not. God answers "It is revealed and known to me that if they had
protested, they would not have accepted the protest". And Truth responds
"Master of the World, though it is revealed to You, is it revealed to
them?" Truth wins the argument, noting that since only God can know for
sure whether a protest would be futile, mere mortals have an absolute
obligation to protest.
The potential consequences
of not protesting wrongdoing is illustrated in the Talmudic story of Kamtza andBar Kamtza, 2 citizens with similar names. A rich man who was friends with
Kamtza but did not like Bar Kamtza threw a big party, and invited all the
important people of the town except Bar Kamtza. But his servant mistakenly
delivered Kamtza's invitation to Bar Kamtza. When Bar Kamtza showed up at the
party, the host was enraged, and demanded that Bar Kamtza leave. To avoid
public humiliation, Bar Kamtza offered to pay for his share of the food, then
for half the cost of the party, then for the entire cost of the party. But the
host was adamant and had Bar Kamtza physically removed. Bar Kamtza looked
around, saw that all the sages of the town watched and none of them came to his
support. He was so angry and humiliated, he convinced the caesar that the the
Jews were rebelling, and as a result, the caeser came and destroyed Jerusalem
and the Temple. As a result of the sages' not protesting, the Temple was
destroyed.
So to recap the main
lessons:
1. We are to hear and
respond to the cry of the oppressed and the stranger, because we were oppressed
strangers in Egypt, not only out of compassion for the oppressed, but to engage
in God-like action leading to redemption, rather than Pharoah-like action
leading to destruction.
2. We must protest when
someone we know and have influence over transgresses, as Rabbi Elazar failed to
do around his neighbor's cow.
3. We must protest the
unjust actions even of those over whom we may not have influence.
Questions:
1. Today, how might the
positive consequences of hearing and responding to the oppressed, or the
negative consequences of not hearing and responding, play out for the Jewish
community or for us as individuals?
2. What does it mean today
to have easily accessible "gatehouses" in our living places that
allow us to hear the cry of the oppressed?
3. What if protesting wrongdoing involves costs
or risks? To what extent, if any, does this affect our obligation to protest
