This week, our Torah portion, Vaeira invites us back into the beginning of our Exodus story. As we return to this foundational narrative once again, I find myself asking the question we always pose to our sacred texts. What do these words offer us right now? Especially in this time of uncertainty, of transition, of fear, how might this ancient narrative steady us, offer us something to hold on to? The Exodus narrative gives us, the Jewish people, both a starting point and a mountain to climb— a goal, the Promised Land. Our story begins in narrowness; in the constriction of slavery and suffering. But God takes notice of us– remembering an ancient promise to our ancestors. That sense of promise was to bring us to a place where we could live in community as a people, and experience God’s blessing in freedom. It’s no wonder then that thousands of years later, many of our own ancestors saw the opportunity to free themselves from narrow places around the world, where being Jewish was painful and dangerous, and make their way to a new promised land: America– a goldeneh medina, where the streets would be paved with gold. Tonight, we are called to attend to both of those narratives— the one that brought our people into history, and the one in which we live today.
Our Torah portion this week, Va’era, brings us into a cauldron of urgency in Egypt:
The Israelite people are suffering; their lives are embittered by slavery.
And, there is a new king in Egypt- a Pharaoh who couldn’t care less about Joseph or Jacob or Isaac or Abraham. A king whose cruelty seems to be the point.
Now, there are two brothers: one who will be remembered by history as a singular prophet; never to be equalled or rivaled: Moshe Rabbeinu, Moses- our rabbi, our teacher, our leader. And his brother Aaron– the ancestral head of the Levites, the first of the High Priests, who set us on our path toward being mamlechet kohanim, a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.
And in this cauldron of urgency— where life and death and freedom are all on the line: everyone is suffering.
The Israelites are so battered by their experience, that even when Moses tells them that he will bring them to freedom, we read:
(וַיְדַבֵּ֥ר מֹשֶׁ֛ה כֵּ֖ן אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל) וְלֹ֤א שָֽׁמְעוּ֙ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה מִקֹּ֣צֶר ר֔וּחַ וּמֵעֲבֹדָ֖ה קָשָֽׁה׃ {פ}
[t]hey would not listen to Moses, their spirits crushed by cruel bondage.
In this cauldron of urgency, the people— massive in number, a mixed multitude, are kotzer ruach. Translated here as their “spirits are crushed”, we can also understand it to mean they are literally “short of breath”.
In this cauldron of urgency, everyone suffers, even our leaders. Daunted by the task, Moses goes back to the Eternal and says
(וַיְדַבֵּ֣ר מֹשֶׁ֔ה לִפְנֵ֥י יְהֹוָ֖ה לֵאמֹ֑ר הֵ֤ן בְּנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ לֹֽא־שָׁמְע֣וּ אֵלַ֔י וְאֵיךְ֙ יִשְׁמָעֵ֣נִי פַרְעֹ֔ה) וַאֲנִ֖י עֲרַ֥ל שְׂפָתָֽיִם׃ {פ}
“The Israelites would not listen to me; how then should Pharaoh heed me, me—who gets tongue-tied!”
Moses is tongue tied— or, arel s’fatayim, his lips are circumcised- cut off from their full potential.
The story that we are told in this week’s Torah portion is one of urgency met with indifference. God continues to encourage Moses and Aaron to go to Pharaoh and advocate for the freedom of their people. And each time, despite the signs and the wonders, and the sense of threat that those signs and wonders (i.e. plagues) intimate— Pharaoh’s cruel indifference shines through.
The Israelites are kotzer ruach— crushed of spirit, short of breath.
Moses is arel s’fatayim– tongue tied.
And nothing has changed.
The story of our parashah continues with those divinely promised signs and wonders: Aaron turns his staff into a serpent, the Nile River runs red with blood, the land swarms with frogs, and lice, the livestock are stricken with pestilence, there are boils, and hail and locusts— and each time, Moses and Aaron come forward to demand the Israelites freedom.
And Pharaoh? What of his role in this cauldron of urgency?
וַיֶּחֱזַק֙ לֵ֣ב פַּרְעֹ֔ה וְלֹ֥א שָׁמַ֖ע אֲלֵהֶ֑ם כַּאֲשֶׁ֖ר דִּבֶּ֥ר יְהֹוָֽה׃ {ס}
Yet Pharaoh’s heart stiffened and he did not heed them, as יהוה had said.
Pharaoh’s heart stiffens— va’yechezak: it becomes stronger, more firm in its cruel convictions.
For those of us who have spent time with this text, we know that amongst the many times that Pharaoh’s heart is hardened, there are instances when we read that God hardens his heart. And because we cannot afford the luxury of speaking only in metaphor during these troubling and tender times—for this moment, I would suggest that the lessons of this text for us must remain in the human realm.
What might we learn from the iconic human beings who are a part of this foundational narrative of our people, crushed of spirit, with a tongue-tied leader, up against a cruel king with a hardened heart?
And perhaps, more urgently in this moment— how do we understand the painful parallels in our world at this moment?
Are these the signs and wonders?
Instead of frogs and blood:
We have an executive order to all federal agencies to only recognize two genders, male and female, which are not changeable. And a secretary of state who has put a freeze on passport applications for transgender individuals
Instead of lice and boils:
A rejection of science, with this week’s withdrawal from the World Health Organization and executive orders that cancel cancer research.
Instead of locusts and hail:
A call to end birthright citizenship, a promise of mass deportations, and the list goes on.
Instead of Pharaoh’s courtiers:
A national debate about whether or not a gesture was actually a Nazi salute.
It seems like we're all under the plague of darkness now.
I want to go back to our biblical text for a moment, to offer a clarification that helps me to see our way into the story, in a way that goes deeper than metaphor.
When God tells Moses that he is to go to Pharaoh and demand the Israelites freedom, Moses demurs, saying he is arel s’fatayim; tongue-tied; certain that he is unfit for the task.
God responds by telling Moses “Ok— then I place you in the role of God to Pharaoh, with your brother Aaron as your prophet. You shall repeat all that I command you, but it is your brother Aaron who shall speak to Pharaoh to let the Israelites depart from his land.
The brothers go to Pharaoh together, but it is Aaron who speaks.
Aaron– the first High Priest of the Israelites. That’s who is able to speak.
Perhaps, in this moment now, this is the most salient and daunting lesson of this founding Exodus narrative: in a cauldron of urgency, when everyone is suffering, sometimes it is the priest who must step forward to speak.
This past week, as I mostly tried to maintain my equanimity in the face of the daily news onslaught, I found my new clergy hero: Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde.
As part of the traditional Presidential Inauguration ceremonies, Bishop Budde presided over the inaugural prayer service at Washington National Cathedral. Here I would point out the symbolic significance of time and place. Bishop Budde spoke from the Canterbury Pulpit, the pulpit where the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. preached his final Sunday sermon, days before his assassination.
For those of you who may not yet know this story, Bishop Budde, the Bishop of Washington DC stood at the historic pulpit, and from a short distance of 7 feet, she spoke the following words:
In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country. We’re scared now. The people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings, who labor in poultry farms and meatpacking plants, who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shifts in hospitals. They may not be citizens or have the proper documentation, but the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes, and are good neighbors. They are faithful members of our churches and mosques, synagogues, gurdwara, and temples. I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away, and that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here.
I am reminded of the words of journalist Maggie Kuhn who said ““Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes” although I must say, having watched the video of this sermon, her voice does not shake. In an article published the day after the service, Bishop Budde reflected ““I had a feeling that there were people watching what was happening and wondering, Was anyone going to say anything?” “Was anyone going to say anything about the turn the country’s taking?”So, she took a breath, and spoke.
In the days since she spoke those words, she has been subject to death threats, to calls for her deportation by members of congress, and degraded and debased by the intended audience of her words as well.
I don’t know a single clergy person who is not in awe of her, and who wouldn’t do the same thing if given the opportunity, but then again, we shall be known by the company we keep. I keep thinking about what I might have said were I in that position of presiding over that service, and the truth is- I could not have said it better myself.
We are living in a cauldron of urgency; where the need for mutual aid, community care, and decisive action to protect the most vulnerable among us will be constant.
We need a lot of Aaron’s right now, and I for one am inspired by knowing that Aaron was never meant to work alone; it is why we are called mamlechet kohanim: a kingdom of priests. And so perhaps that’s our task in these days ahead— to find our inner Aaron, to unearth our own inner Bishop Budde. To find times and opportunities to speak words of compassion and mercy, even if our voices shake.
Aaron goes to Pharaoh, and delivers a clear eyed demand for mercy over and over again. Redemption doesn’t come easily. Like the Israelites, we may feel kotzer ruach— crushed of spirit and short of breath. Like Moses, we may feel arel s’fatayim– tongue-tied, and unable to speak. But lest we become indifferent, and unfeeling with hardened hearts, it will be upon us all to find ways to speak. Our people need us. Our country needs us.
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