Midwives of Morality

Shemot 5777/21 January 2017

Our parshah’s opening passage this morning is a classic example of a flashback, “an interjected scene that takes the narrative back in time from the current point in the story.” This common narrative device sometimes reminds us of key details from earlier in the story, or reveals new information; but it can also be used to change our understanding of the central plot line. The opening flashback in Shemot falls into this last category: although it reprises material we read just two weeks ago, the particular details emphasized here reshape the story to fit a new narrative arc.

Sefer Bereshit ends in triumph: Yaakov is reunited with his beloved son Yosef, who has risen to power and prestige in Egypt, second only to Pharaoh himself; the brothers reconcile, and both patriarchs leave the world content and satisfied. This morning’s opening, emphasizing the immigration and the Israelites’ outsider status, recasts the story in a new light: now, we see a small but successful group of immigrants who suffer persecution at the hands of the ethnic majority population.

What goes wrong for our ancestors? The first verse after the introductory flashback, where the story really begins, gets right to the point: וַיָּ֥קָם מֶֽלֶךְ־חָדָ֖שׁ עַל־מִצְרָ֑יִם, “A new king arose over Egypt,” אֲשֶׁ֥ר לֹֽא־יָדַ֖ע אֶת־יוֹסֵֽף, “who did not know Yosef.”^[1] The political situation in the verse is ambiguous. It tells us that a new king arose, but says nothing about what happened to the previous monarch. In the Talmud, Rav and Shmuel, leaders of the two main Babylonian yeshivot in the 3rd century, debate how we should interpret this verse: one wants to read the verse literally, that a new Pharaoh took power, while the other understands this as a metaphor for the existing Pharaoh’s enacting new laws that discriminate against the Hebrew immigrants.^[2] Perhaps the verse indicates the transition between two whole dynasties;^[3] perhaps it merely suggests a change in attitude.^[4]

In addition, the second half of the verse raises significant problems. Even if we conclude that a new ruler has taken the throne, could any Pharaoh in fact know nothing of Yosef, the brilliant strategist who saved Egypt from devastating famine and built the country into a global superpower?^[5] Was he willfully ignoring Yosef and his contributions to Egyptian society?^[6] It’s important to bear in mind that the Hebrew word יָדַע suggests emotional rather than cognitive knowledge; it describes a relationship connection among two or more people.^[7] The word recurs several times throughout our parshah. In contrast to Pharaoh, the Torah tells us, וַיִּשְׁמַ֥ע אֱלֹהִ֖ים אֶת־נַֽאֲקָתָ֑ם … וַיַּ֥רְא אֱלֹהִ֖ים אֶת־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וַיֵּ֖דַע אֱלֹהִֽים:, “God heard their groaning… and God saw the children of Israel, and God knew.”^[8] God knows what Pharaoh can’t or won’t see: the Israelites’ suffering under Egypt’s cruel torment. At the end of our parshah Pharaoh, true to form, tells Moshe, מִ֤י ה֙’ … לֹ֤א יָדַ֨עְתִּי֙ אֶת־ה֔’, “Who is Adonai? … I do not know Adonai.”^[9] His declaration is no mere statement of ignorance; it is a full-throated rejection of God’s sovereignty, one for which Pharaoh will inevitably pay dearly.

Ralbag, the 14th-century rabbi and philosopher, offers a keen insight into Pharaoh’s motivation. At the root, behind his stated claims, a cruel jealousy drives him: it pains Pharaoh so deeply to see this immigrant group succeed that he will resort to anything in order to drag them down.^[10] The progression of torment, from abuse and oppression to genocidal child-murder, betrays Pharaoh’s awareness that his conduct violates basic human decency.^[11] Rather than risk Israelite and Egyptian outcry over blatant oppression, Pharaoh relied on muted signals — “dog whistles,” if you will — to encourage individuals to act while maintaining personal deniability, as if he turned his back on a fire while reaching behind to fan the flames. At the same time, Pharaoh preserved the appearance of formal justice while subverting the law to serve his own vile purposes.^[12] Our story stands as proof of John Dewey’s chilling observation: “Movements that begin by stirring up hostility against a group of people end by denying to them all human qualities.”^[13] 

The centrality of the Exodus story for liberation movements throughout history has led us to identify slavery as the problem in Egypt^[14] — but that doesn’t seem to be the Torah’s problem. Instead, the story focuses on cruelty,^[15] degradation and humiliation,^[16] failure to show proper gratitude for Joseph’s saving them from famine,^[17] and the viciousness of oppressing refugees who came seeking shelter from problems in their homeland.^[18] While we, and even to a certain extent the Torah itself, recognize the inherent injustice of slavery in any form, the story before us sets aside the specific details in order to reject outright any cruelty toward other human beings.

The Torah explicitly contrasts its laws with the Egyptian dystopia presented here. Again and again the Torah demands equity under law for all people, citizen and stranger alike;^[19] basic economic sustenance for all people, including foreigners living among them;^[20] and most of all, more than any other single theme in the Torah except perhaps monotheism, protection for the weak and vulnerable.^[21] As the American political theorist Michael Walzer observes, “The memory of the Exodus is more often invoked on behalf of aliens than on behalf of slaves.”^[22] A moral society is defined by its treatment of the least powerful; and most important, among all the vulnerable segments of society, are those people who lack even the formal protections of citizenship.

Our story’s heroes fit this paradigm: the midwives, doubly disadvantaged as Hebrews and women; a foundling baby; a nomadic desert priest. And yet, unique among ancient epics, the Torah moves these marginal characters to the center of the drama. We know the midwives by name, Shifrah and Pu’ah, as well as their actions and thoughts; we are told that God established “houses” for them, ensuring that their legacy continued for generations. By contrast, when it comes to Pharaoh — arguably the most powerful individual in the Bronze Age — the Torah strips him of all identity, even his name, referring to him only by his title. There can be no clearer indication of the Torah’s priorities: the midwives, who revere God and hold firm to their morals, are the ones who matter.^[23]

Moshe offers us an even more radical heroic stance. Growing up in Pharaoh’s palace, he sits at the center of privilege, social status, and “access” — and then gives it all up in favor of solidarity with the oppressed.^[24] His father-in-law, Yitro, made a similar choice to sacrifice worldly prestige rather than compromise his moral convictions. A midrash relates that Pharaoh had three key advisors, whose counsel he sought about how to deal with the Israelites. The plans we see unfold before us this morning came from Bilaam, the prophet who returns later in a vain attempt to curse the Israelites in the wilderness. Job, another advisor, abstained from the conversation, neither endorsing nor challenging Bilaam’s proposal. The third advisor, Yitro, refused to take part in the genocide and was forced to flee Egypt. According to the midrash, God dealt with each according to what he deserved: Bilaam, who enthusiastically participated in perpetrating evil, died by Israel’s sword in the wilderness; Job, who declined to take part but did nothing to stop the killing, was condemned to suffer; and Yitro, who stood firm, was blessed with descendants who remained leaders of the Jewish people well into the Second Temple period.^[25] Learning this midrash again this week brought to mind something that Rabbi Sharon Brous of Ikar in Los Angeles taught a few weeks ago:^[26]

In telling us this story this week, the Torah wants us to understand that every so often we encounter circumstances that tolerate no justification or normalization; that we must be prepared, like Moshe, Yitro, and the midwives, to risk everything for the sake of justice.

The Torah is not a political treatise, but it lays out a clear vision for an ideal society. First and foremost, in the Torah’s world might, in and of itself, never makes right. We must turn to the weakest people in society with sanctuary, not exploitation. While halakhah is famous for its subtleties and nuance, on this question alone there seems to be almost no shade of gray: as we recite from the Psalms each morning during our service, “Adonai protects the stranger, strengthens the orphan and widow, and destroys the way of the wicked.”^[27] The Torah uses language so clear, and repeats itself with such emphasis, as to offer no wiggle room: “Do not oppress the stranger; you know the soul of the stranger, because you were strangers in the land of Egypt;”^[28] “Do not pervert justice regarding the stranger and orphan, and do not withhold the widow’s garment; remember that you were a slave in Egypt, and God redeemed you from there.”^[29] 

Parashat shemot leaves us no doubt: we can serve only one master, and we must choose carefully. When a flesh-and-blood political leader aligns his policies with the Torah’s moral vision and concern for the vulnerable, we owe our allegiance as good citizens. But when we are asked to perpetrate, or even just to tolerate, violations of basic human dignity, our only loyalty must go to the ultimate King of Kings, the Creator of all souls.^[30] The story of the midwives and the midrash about Pharaoh’s advisors both make this point abundantly clear: the paths that diverge from a moral crossroads lead to starkly different outcomes.

Those who perpetrate evil – Pharaoh, Bilaam – are ultimately doomed, not only to failure but to near-total oblivion. Consider that, almost 4,000 years later, we know the personal names of two individual women who resisted – and next to nothing at all about the world leader they challenged. The midrash emphasizes that even those –like Job – who offer no assistance but stand by and allow evil to unfold can hope, at best, for a lifetime of suffering. Our only hope for a better future, for ourselves and humanity, lies in our actions for justice on behalf of any vulnerable population. Yitro understood this: his insistence on hospitality for an unknown refugee serves as a direct condemnation of Pharaoh’s betrayal.^[31] 

As our country installs a new leader, this week’s parshah reminds us of what matters. Our Sages of Blessed Memory teach that we must look not at the outside of a person, but at the values he holds on the inside.^[32] The Torah gives us no indication of Pharaoh’s personal style. Was he warm and effusive, or standoffish? Was he physically attractive, socially adept? Was he a skilled orator, or did he prefer to communicate with a few off-the-cuff hieroglyphs? The Torah doesn’t tell us because the Torah doesn’t care. The Torah doesn’t even record the content of Pharaoh’s conversations except as they pertain to the question of ultimate concern: his treatment of the weak and vulnerable, the widow, the orphan, and the stranger.

We watch this week as Moshe, raised as a prince, beneficiary of all the privilege and access to power a person could want, rejects his privilege and sacrifices his “access” in order to stand with the vulnerable and defend the oppressed. Notwithstanding all the great deeds he will one day perform, this one shift in perspective, at the very beginning of his adult life, defines Moshe as the ultimate hero in our tradition. I can’t think of a Biblical character who gave up more than Moshe in the name of justice. Moshe was willing to sacrifice his personal status and political influence in order to preserve his moral bearing; it is clear from this morning’s parshah that the Torah expects no less from us.

Yesterday, a new leader arose over America. We do not yet know what this transition of power will mean for our country, but we have no doubt where our allegiance must lie: with the poor and the dispossessed, with the refugee and the outsider, the weak and the vulnerable, the widow, the orphan, and the stranger. Our God will accept nothing else.

---

Tags: America, Morality, Responsibility, Shemot