Bo: Bechor

The bechor, the firstborn, comes into great prominence at the end of this week's parsha. The tenth, and ultimate plague was promised at the begining of the story: 

וְאָמַרְתָּ֖ אֶל־פַּרְעֹ֑ה כֹּ֚ה אָמַ֣ר יְ 

בְּנִ֥י בְכֹרִ֖י יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃ 

Then you shall say to Pharaoh, ‘Thus says Y: Israel is My first-born son. 

וָאֹמַ֣ר אֵלֶ֗יךָ שַׁלַּ֤ח אֶת־בְּנִי֙ וְיַֽעַבְדֵ֔נִי וַתְּמָאֵ֖ן לְשַׁלְּח֑וֹ הִנֵּה֙ אָנֹכִ֣י הֹרֵ֔ג אֶת־בִּנְךָ֖ בְּכֹרֶֽךָ׃ 

I have said to you, “Let My son go, that he may worship Me,” yet you refuse to let him go. Now I will slay your first-born son.’”

All along, it was the divine plan to perpetrate the tenth plague, to kill the first born of Egypt. 

The Pesachal sacrificial rite, with the lamb's  blood on the lintels and doorposts, seems to be, primarily, a way to identify the occupants of a particular home as loyal to the Gd of Israel.  Circumcision was a prerequisite to participation in this ritual. Are you in or are you out. The sacrificial rite involved the sheep and goats that the Egyptians revered and/or reviled, but such a sacrificial rite would drive the Egyptians to kill those who participated in such a ritual. 

8;22

הֵ֣ן נִזְבַּ֞ח אֶת־תּוֹעֲבַ֥ת מִצְרַ֛יִם לְעֵינֵיהֶ֖ם וְלֹ֥א יִסְקְלֻֽנוּ׃

 If we sacrifice that which is untouchable to the Egyptians before their very eyes, will they not stone us!

The pesachal rite was the declaration of allegiance to the Israelites and their Gd. It could identify the families that had assimilated and become part of the alien Egyptian culture. It could protect people who were far enough along in joining the Hebrews that they could and would perform these actions. The protection  that the  rite afforded  against the fatal epidemic was probably a motivation. As Jews in America assimilated, the Passover seder, the remnant of that ritual, was the last celebration abandoned. 

The ritual is call pesach. The root of the word means lame. Gd would skip over the protected homes. The ritual debilitated some heavenly force. Did it dull the scrutiny, allowing the accumulated offenses to be ignored? Was it the death force itself that was briefly inactivated?

My father told me that after the partition of Poland, the armies would commandeer any fit  horse  they saw. My uncle hammered a nail into the foot of his horse to make it appear ( or actually become) lame.  Was this some kind of ad hoc Pesach?

The bchor, the first born, is the protector of the tradition. The first borns had the largest dose of the old ways from parents  - when they were the only child. They were in a position to help inculcate the younger siblings with the prevailing world view. Often, the first borns had the most to gain from preserving a status qou that favored them 

There is irony in the selection of the firstborn, the most privileged, to be the victims of the plague. Perhaps the plague was punishing (arbitrary) privilege itself. It was recompense for the exercise of that privilege in enslaving and torturing others. The tenth plague fulfilled the revenge  fantasy. 

The bechor was the heir-apparent, the designated link in the tradition and the inheritance, the successor.  A plague of death to these people was a grass roots revolution, an insurrection on the family level. Perhaps, it was a step toward meritocracy. 

Firstborn sons do not do well in the stories that precede the tenth plague. Cain sets the pattern when he kills his younger brother because of envy. Ishmael, Abraham's first born, is the runner-up to his brother  Isaac. Esau, Jacob's older brother is a fearsome rival that is bested by his clever younger brother. Ruben, Jacob's eldest, is superseded by his brothers Joseph the provider, Judah the commander and Levi the hallowed.

Birth order is an uncontrollable variable in a person's life. There is no fairness to it.  The selection of the first born as the targets of the tenth plague, and the sanctification of those  whose families made decisions to allow them to survive changes the implications of that accident of birth and time. The privilege now involves a burden. We are reminded that success can come from battling privilege. 

The Torah was not written by a bechor. 

 

Va'erah: the Hard Heart 

There appear to be two paths to Pharaoh's heart hardening. The process begins   by his own choice. Later divine intervention supports the hardening process - after the cattle plague. A ruler's resolve flows from internal strength until external forces prop up failing determination. This progression from self-will to external manipulation echoes through history.

 

Pharaoh stands against overwhelming force. Pharaoh faces not just demands but demonstrations of control over nature itself. The Nile turns to blood, frogs emerge everywhere, livestock dies, humans develop boils, hail destroys crops. Each plague offers an exit: let the Israelites journey into the desert for their festival. The Egyptian scientists, whom we demean  by calling magicians, recognize that they are facing  divine power by the third plague. Yet Pharaoh (the science denier) persists.

 

His technical advisors warn of forces beyond human control, much as today's scientists speak of climate change's cascading effects. Pharaoh's resistance stems from the imperatives of authority. He rightly  suspects the three-day festival masks a permanent departure. The eventual destruction of Egypt's chariot force proves his suspicion correct.

 

Leadership demands this hardness of heart. When faced with impossible odds, reason counsels capitulation. Yet unreasonable persistence sometimes overcomes overwhelming opposition. The divine hardening of the heart after the fifth plague suggests both the necessity and the cost of such determination. It preserves Pharaoh's resistance while raising uncomfortable questions about free will and moral responsibility. Do earlier bad decisions justify the loss of control  over the subsequent path? Do smaller sins justify punishment for the inevitable consequences of the  greater transgressions they lead to?

 

Modern mass manipulation techniques mirror this ancient dynamic. Today's advertising and propaganda machines don't just change minds - they reshape reality itself. The Egyptian revulsion toward Hebrew fertility morphs into contemporary anti-immigrant fervor. The reframing industry transforms ethical positions into their opposites, making virtue appear passe’.

 

Each plague carries layered significance. The Nile's transformation echoes the drowning of Hebrew infants. The ubiquitous frogs mirror  the perceived omnipresence of the foreign population. These natural chains of causation arrive on schedule, targeting specific groups while sparing others - suggesting control rather than mere disaster. The account of the plagues generates problematic narratives: the association of minorities  ( especially the Jews) with disease, invasion, and profiting from others' misfortune. The goal of hardening Pharaoh’s heart was to showcase the power that can be brought to bear upon evil tyrants. That story is also used to justify the actions of despots to their followers.

 

The text reveals an evolution in divine revelation. Previous patriarchs encountered God, but the Va’erah manifestation brings something new: not just foresight but control over future events. Joseph could predict seven years of plenty followed by famine. Moses presents choices that shape destiny. This power to alter the future rather than merely know it marks a fundamental shift.

 

Va'erah thus presents layers of power dynamics: between ruler and rebel, between human capability and natural forces, between immediate compromise and ultimate liberation. Its lessons about prediction, control, and responsibility remain relevant in an era when humanity's power to affect natural systems has grown, even as our ability to control the consequences remains limited. The hardening of hearts - whether through divine intervention or industrial-scale propaganda - continues to shape the course of human events.

Shemoth: Identity and Liberation in the Face of Oppression

 

Shemoth: Identity and Liberation in the Face of Oppression

 

The Book of Names opens with the children of Israel entering Egypt with both their individual and collective identities intact. These are the same brothers who had sold Joseph into slavery, now becoming slaves themselves. Their descendants face the  challenge of maintaining their otherness in the face of systemic oppression.

 

The Hebrews kept their collective identity, and this very distinctiveness marked them as a potential threat in Pharaoh's eyes. This is perhaps the first documented instance of replacement theory—the fear that a successful minority might somehow overtake the majority. The need for quotas and ghettos was born with Jewish identity and remained part of that legacy. This recognition of Jewish competition as a threat has unified Hebrew communities throughout history, from ancient Egypt to modern times.

 

The story turns on the production of bricks, mentioned at both the beginning and end of the parsha. These bricks create a symbolic connection between Egyptian bondage and the Tower of Babel—both massive projects that earned divine disapproval. The manufactured uniformity of bricks replaced the natural irregularity of stones, creating a lower class of brick makers and degrading the status of builders. Industrialization, the production of uniform, replaceable parts, is a tool of subjugation. It transformed the Hebrews into an exploited workforce. The altar was  built with uncut stones.

 

When Pharaoh orders the murder of Hebrew male infants he is reverting to the common method of dealing with a threatening foreign people.  Until the secret decree commanding the   drowning of the first born sons, the guest population was tolerated. The murderous turn of the host country against the guest Jews is a major theme in our history and a foundation of Zionism.

 

 Here, the story introduces its first heroes: the midwives who refuse to carry out this genocidal decree. Whether they were Hebrew (as the Talmud  and Rashi suggest) or Egyptian (Sforno, Kli Yakar, Malbim), their moral courage is an important model for  resistance against evil. They hide behind a flimsy excuse, claiming Hebrew women, being more animal-like than Egyptian women, give birth before the  midwives arrive; yet their rebellion is tolerated. Like the Germans who refused to participate in the Einsatzgruppen during the Holocaust, they demonstrated that standing up for good over evil can sometimes succeed and  without punishment.

 

Into this world comes Moses, saved by Pharaoh's daughter in an act of rebellion against her father's decree. An act that also  substantiates the kindness and sense of justice in some Egyptians. She knows exactly what she's doing when she rescues a circumcised (ibn Ezra) Hebrew child, and her actions, including returning him to his mother early in his life, shape Moses' development.  Moses grows up with an intertwined, dual identity: Hebrew by birth, Egyptian by upbringing, equipped to be both oppressor and oppressed; and understand neither.

 

When Moses kills the cruel overseer, he acts from this unique position. His attempt to make peace between fighting Hebrews reveals his true nature—they recognize him as different because anyone else would have enjoyed their battle or wagered on the winner. It is Moses’ behavior that betrays him as the killer. Moses must flee, becoming a stranger in Midian where he marries and names his son Gershom: "I was a stranger in a foreign land."  I was an Egyptian in Midian; I was a Hebrew in Egypt. What will I be if I go to the Promised land?

 

The divine revelation at the burning bush introduces a new mysterious appelation: a Gd whose name means "I will be what will be." This cryptic answer suggests that the future, in all its dimensions and possibilities, will happen. If you have the goal in mind, you can ride the waves of events. But all of the events that Gd has planned will come to pass.

 

Gd’s signs and wonders will convince Pharaoh to let the Israelites go.  Moses must convince  the Israelites  to leave their place of birth and employment. They had become invested in the great project, their life's work, and will  not leave until Pharaoh himself sends them away.

 

The Jews have continued to build names for themselves in great transnational human endeavors: in medicine with Paul Ehrlich and Jonas Salk, in science with Einstein and Bohr, in politics with countless others. This role in humanity's great projects is an aspect of Egypt that we carry with us.  Our connection to Torah prevents the work of achievement  from dominating our lives and enslaving us.

 

The story of Shemoth reminds us that resistance to evil is possible, that identity evolves over a lifetime, and that liberation requires not just freedom from external bondage but freedom from internal guidelines.. As the old masthead of the Jewish Daily Forward proclaimed: "The liberation of the workers depends upon the workers themselves." Choose your meaning.

 

Vayechi: Legacy, Continuity, and Compromise

  Vayechi: Legacy, Continuity, and Compromise

The title "Vayechi" (And he lived) appears in the past tense, though Jacob is still alive when the portion begins. This paradox encapsulates a deeper truth about survival and compromise. Jacob lived seventeen additional years in Egypt – the same span of time Joseph lived with his family before being sold into slavery. But these years of life came at a profound cost: the beginning of his people's subjugation.

The move to Egypt represented a dramatic reversal of Jacob's earlier struggles. He had settled in Canaan at great cost, wresting his birthright from Esau through a combination of consistent good behavior and guile, enduring twenty years of exile, confronting his brother's army, and navigating dangerous interactions with local inhabitants. The text emphasizes this settlement with the verse "Now Jacob was settled in the land where his father had sojourned, the land of Canaan." Yet famine forced him to abandon this hard-won territory for survival in Egypt, where his son Joseph had prepared for the crisis.

Jacob realizes he is the instrument of prophecy. The exile foretold to Abraham – "Know well that your offspring shall be strangers in a land not theirs" – is beginning to unfold through his family's settlement in Egypt. His response to this fate reveals the delicate balance between compromise and continuity: while accepting life in Egypt, he insists on burial in Canaan, refusing to let his legacy be fully subsumed into Egyptian heritage. He makes Joseph swear to bury him in the Cave of Machpela, understanding that this oath will pressure Pharaoh to permit Joseph's journey to Canaan for the funeral.

When Jacob blesses Joseph's sons Ephraim and Menashe, he seems to ramble, but his apparent digressions serve a purpose. He reiterates his attachment to Canaan as a gift not just to himself but to the "community of people" that are his legacy. Significantly, he speaks of burying Rachel, Joseph's mother, in a separate tomb rather than the Cave of Machpela. This appears to be both apology and insistence – asking Rachel's son to bury him with Leah while reinforcing that his legacy extends beyond Joseph to all twelve sons.

The word "asaf" (gather) appears repeatedly in key moments, carrying meanings of both harvest and completion. Jacob gathers his sons to tell them of the future. He "gathers his feet into the bed" before death, and is "gathered to his people." This bed is significant – earlier, Jacob had bowed at its head when Joseph swore to bury him in Canaan. The bed represents Jacob's legacy, and his bowing acknowledges both the compromise required for survival and the importance of maintaining connection to the promised land.

This parsha marks a transition in the biblical narrative. Previous stories focused on choosing a single heir – Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob. Now, all twelve sons share the inheritance, transforming the story from one of individual selection to one of collective leadership. Joseph, rather than becoming the next patriarch, assumes the role of provider, telling his brothers "I will sustain you and your children." Josephs dreams had the brothers bow to him, he did not abandon them.

The complex series of events – Joseph's dreams, his sale into slavery, his rise to power, the family's dependence on him – served a greater purpose: preserving the family through famine and establishing them in Egypt, where they would grow into a nation. Yet this preservation came with the price of future bondage. Joseph's final words acknowledge this: "God will surely take notice of you and bring you up from this land to the land that He promised."

Today, we still bless children with the words "May God make you like Ephraim and Menashe." We carry forward not just the blessing but its deeper meaning: the ability to maintain identity and purpose even in foreign environments, to make necessary compromises for survival while holding fast to essential principles and connections. The message of Vayechi endures: physical life may require difficult choices, but through these choices, we can maintain the thread of legacy and influence that continues through the generations, weaving individual stories into the greater narrative of a people's destiny.

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Vayigash: Origins of Power and Identity

 Vayigash: Origins of Power and Identity

 

Vayigash presents a pivotal moment in Jewish history when Jacob's family descends to Egypt, setting the stage for both the Egyptian bondage and eventual exodus. This migration, driven by famine, carries deep implications about power, assimilation, and the tension between survival and identity.

 The story begins with a confrontation. The Hebrew word "vayigash" means "approach," but carries undertones of trepidation and courage in the face of danger. When Judah approaches the Egyptian viceroy (his unrecognized brother Joseph) to offer himself in place of Benjamin, he displays the same courage Abraham showed in confronting God over Sodom's destruction. This is indicated by the use of the same word, vayigash, for both encounters.  Judah's vayigash confrontation leads to Joseph revealing himself to his brothers, choosing to embrace the family that had sold him into slavery , not  seeking revenge nor maintaining sole inheritance of Jacob's legacy.

 Earlier the  text had suggested Joseph might be Jacob's sole heir, as indicated by the verse, "These are the generations of Jacob: Joseph," where Joseph's name is set apart by the cantillation mark gershayim (literally meaning "divorces"). Instead of excluding his half-brothers, Joseph enables the formation of the twelve tribes, though his own position of power creates complex dynamics within the family.

The migration to Egypt itself reveals the  tension between assimilation and identity. Joseph instructs his brothers to present themselves as cattle-breeders rather than shepherds when meeting Pharaoh, knowing that shepherds are considered abhorrent to Egyptians. This suggestion to bend the truth for better social integration echoes through Jewish diaspora history. However, the brothers reject this advice, proudly declaring themselves shepherds like their ancestors. This tension between assimilation and tradition would play out countless times as Jews migrated to new lands.

This conflict between the newcomers and the assimilated plays out over the generations. When my parents came to America, the more assimilated American cousins tried to teach them how to be American: the right phrases and gestures. My parents were lost. The world of their childhood was a dreamlike legend to them and their American host-peers. Yiddish was now reserved for witticisms; otherwise, it was to be forgotten along with the traditions it recalled.

Settled immigrants and newer immigrants are in a  dance. Those who came earlier sacrificed their pasts and endured the hardships of pioneers. They were forced to adapt and found appealing aspects in the new ways. Those who prospered were  in a position to rescue their kin. Along with the welcome came a mixture of advice and dominance. The situation echoed the story of Joseph and his brothers.  The acclimatized, now naturalized citizens, want to keep the wealth and power they have acquired through assimilation. The newcomers dredge up the old resentments and antisemitism. They also remind the assimilated of things they may have lost. 

My parents tried to become American, but there were limits to how much they could change .  American non-kosher food was too foreign, they never lost their accents.  It is only now that I see how intelligently they selected from the menu of possible Americanisms, along with the clever rejections. Those choices are most of what I am. 

I married an Americainer, a woman whose roots were in the uppermost corner of the West coast, the most American place in America. Her American forebearers  stretch back to  the  colonization of Puget Sound by Europeans, five generations. Her parents spoke perfect English, no Yiddish. But the spark of the memory of the abandoned traditions was in her. She was sent to Jewish school, exposed to our history in a favorable light. She grew to love it.  Now our children have it, in their own, hybrid, ways. I am very hopeful for the next generation

The traditions are modified by the environment. The traditions color how we see the ambient culture and how we try to change it.

Chanuka celebrates the victory of Jewish tradition over the temptations of assimilation. A new tradition, the lighting of the menorah, comes to preserve the old portfolio of beliefs and practices. The Jews rejected becoming Greek, but they became proficient in many of the arts the Greeks developed. Chanuka is the paradigm of selective assimilation, a trick that is modeled  Vayigash. Chanuka is a renewed preparation for exile

 

The Israelites' decision to remain in Egypt even after the famine ends reflects a pattern seen throughout Jewish history. Like Abraham before them, they left the Promised Land during famine, but unlike Abraham, they stayed in Egypt due to their privileged position and connection to power. This choice sets up the eventual enslavement of their descendants, fulfilling God's prophecy to Abraham of 400 years of servitude.

The story of Vayigash thus presents multiple layers of meaning about power, identity, and survival. It shows how the need for survival can lead to compromises with identity, how economic necessity can transform into political subjugation, and how privilege can bind people to places that will ultimately prove dangerous to them. The brothers' refusal to hide their shepherd identity suggests that maintaining authentic identity might be as important as physical survival.

 

These themes continue to resonate in modern Jewish experience, particularly in diaspora communities. The tension between assimilation and tradition, the complex dynamics between established immigrants and newcomers, and the challenge of maintaining identity while adapting to new surroundings all echo the patterns first seen in Vayigash. The story reminds readers that the choices made for immediate survival can have long-lasting consequences for identity and freedom.

In the end, Vayigash is not just about Jacob's family moving to Egypt; it's about the perpetual tensions between survival and identity, between power and vulnerability, and between the promise of prosperity and the price of assimilation. These tensions continue to shape Jewish experience and broader human society to this day. It asks the ultimate question: who am I?

 

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