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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