The Pshat Heard 'Round the World

The fruit is finally ripe for the picking. The Torah’s pre -occupation since creation with birth-order comes to a head in Parashat Bo. While in previous encounters with the privileges and problematics of primogeniture, the first-borns have been displaced one by one – Kayin, Yefet (perhaps), Yishmael, Esav, Reuven, Zerach, Menashe, Aharon – now the firstborns suffer the ultimate displacement – death. Even the firstborn of Yisrael would not have been spared, were it not for the Korban Pesach. No Egyptian firstborn is spared, however – from the firstborn of Par’oh, sitting on his throne to the firstborn of the slave-woman sitting at the grindstone and the prisoner in the dungeon. Ironically, equality finally comes to all in Egypt, that stratified, ossified, firstborn of all ancient nations. As a result, we are instructed twice in this parashah to redeem our firstborns sons throughout all generations, as we offer the firstborn of our flocks as a sacrifice to Hashem.

The fruit is finally ripe for the picking. The Torah’s pre -occupation since creation with birth-order comes to a head in Parashat Bo. While in previous encounters with the privileges and problematics of primogeniture, the first-borns have been displaced one by one – Kayin, Yefet (perhaps), Yishmael, Esav, Reuven, Zerach, Menashe, Aharon – now the firstborns suffer the ultimate displacement – death. Even the firstborn of Yisrael would not have been spared, were it not for the Korban Pesach. No Egyptian firstborn is spared, however – from the firstborn of Par’oh, sitting on his throne to the firstborn of the slave-woman sitting at the grindstone and the prisoner in the dungeon. Ironically, equality finally comes to all in Egypt, that stratified, ossified, firstborn of all ancient nations. As a result, we are instructed twice in this parashah to redeem our firstborns sons throughout all generations, as we offer the firstborn of our flocks as a sacrifice to Hashem.

And here come the plagues. With Parashat Va’era, the unfolding of a great divine lesson begins. Lesson, because the ten plagues are seldom referred to as such in the Torah. Over and over they are called otot umoftim “signs/letters and demonstrations/proofs” – acts of communication from Hashem designed to remedy Par’oh’s earlier response, “I don’t know Hashem, and (therefore) I also will not release!”. An expected response on Par’oh’s part. After all, Hashem had told Moshe when He revealed Himself to Moshe at Mt. Sinai, “I know that Par’oh will not let you go, not until the mighty hand ”. Hashem, of course, knew, and Moshe also should have known, having heard if directly from Hashem. Yet at the end of Parashat Shemot, we find Moshe, complaining to Hashem – after merely one Pharonic encounter – “ever since I’ve come to Par’oh to speak in Your Name, he has done worse to Am Yisrael, and saved? You haven’t saved Your People!”, As that parashah ends, Hashem re

They were standing there, leaning against the wall with that world-weary, seen-it-all indifference. Shalhevet, our oldest daughter, had returned to the school at which she worked during her three months in Sherut Leumi (National Service) to visit the kids with whom she had formed a connection. She had decided to change track to a pre-army Mechina (preparatory academy) for religious girls, but she still missed the kids, and so she hit the road early last Erev Shabbat, made her way to Netanya, and was rewarded by an overwhelming, excited response on the part of the kids, who missed her too. Even fifth-grade boys, normally so habituated in their pre-macho macho, smiled and came running. All except these two. Earrings in place, spitting sunflower seed shells, they kept their distance and make sarcastic remarks. Oh, well. You can’t win ‘em all. Teenagers will be teenagers, no? Except this pair were no teenagers. They were six-years old! Shalhevet remembered them from her time at t

We didn’t give it a nickname. I never even referred to it as “she”, as was once the fashion with vehicles of all sorts. Nevertheless, I felt that same strange bond with our 1993 Subaru “Station” (as that sort of is called in Israel, dropping the “wagon”) that develops between people and their possessions over time. It was the only car we’d owned since making Aliyah, bought for us by my parents, one of their many munificent acts on our behalf over the years. Keeping its provenance in mind, I tried to use it for mitzvot whenever possible – given “trempistim” (hitchhikers in Israeli parlance) rides as the default option, lending the car to friends in need, trying not fret and worry when our son our daughter took it somewhere. We were careful to keep it up as directed, and it was dependable in return, perhaps sensing how dependant we had become on it. Oh, there I go again, anthropomorphizing. Well, you can hardly blame me, as I have moved from denial to mourning. You see, our car w

Shalom, Shalom v’ein Shalom. “And you shall go up to your father in peace”. With those words Yosef concluded last week’s parashah. Everything looked hopeless. After having sworn their innocence on the life of the purported thief, the brothers were horrified to see the goblet emerge from Binyamin’s sack. They were drags back to Egypt, presumably to witness the execution of their father’s last precious son from his beloved wife, Rachel. Yehuda seeks to avert this worst of all outcomes by pledging the servitude of all the brothers in exchange for commuting the death sentence of Binyamin. The viceroy, however, is not interested in multiplying his servants, but in justice. On the surface, then, everything works out fine – he will spare the life of the goblet thief, allowing him to remain his servant, while all the other brothers are free to go. Yehuda has made his plea, and this is the verdict: so let it be written, so let it be done!! Of course, peace is the l