Vayeira 5772

It is one of the most upsetting verses in Torah:  “I have now heard the moaning and I have remembered my covenant” (Exodus 6:5).  Had God not heard the Israelites’ groaning previously?  Had God heard the groaning, but ignored it?  Or had God forgotten the covenant?  If any of these is true, then the God-idea is substantially diminished.

Perhaps God is like human beings in that direct experience of another’s suffering moves us, while mere information about it does not.  The raw statistics of child mortality—7.6 million children under 5 died in 2010 worldwide, the global under-five mortality rate has dropped 35 percent in the past twenty years, from 88 deaths per 1,000 live births in 1990 to 57 in 2010* —these dissolve away next to a picture of a suffering child.  Such pictures fade from mind when we are confronted with the immediate reality of a crying baby.

But since that so rarely happens (suffering being hidden from view) and statistics so cold, how are we to react to the moaning we don’t hear?  One answer might be what C. Wright Mills called the Sociological Imagination, the act of extrapolating from a pile of statistics to one single, exemplary story.  The details may be inaccurate, but they portray a greater Truth.  If we imagine a story hidden/embedded in the statistics, we might just be moved to empathy—and beyond:  to action. And perhaps our own action will prompt God’s.

*Source:  UNICEF, www.childinfo.org/mortality.html

Shemot 5772

When a new king arises in Egypt, he places himself in opposition to the Hebrews.  Numerous as they are, foreign as they may be, he assumes they’re a threat.  “And he said to his people, “Look, the Israelite people are much too numerous for us.  Let us deal shrewdly with them, so that they may not increase; otherwise in the event of war they may join our enemies in fighting against us and ruse from the ground” (Exodus 1:9-10).  His reaction to change, to difference is fear.

In this, Pharaoh is not alone.  Many of us react to the new with anxiety: “What did I do to bring this on?”  “What could go wrong?”  “What’s going to happen?”  “What will I lose?”  “Why are they out to get me?”
What if we asked a different set of questions:  “What do I know is true, what do I suspect is true, and what am I assuming is true about this change?”  “In addition to the way I understand what’s happening, what else might be true—what other reality exists?”  Is it possible, for example, that the growing Israelites could be allies or even friends?

Vayechi 5772

Preparing to die, Jacob calls his sons to his bedside.  “Come together that I may tell you what is to befall you in days to come” (49:1).  He speaks to each one, assessing his character, both positive and negative, and prognosticating.  Among these: 

Reuben, you are my first-born, my might and first fruit of my vigor, exceeding in rank and exceeding in honor.  Unstable as water, you shall excel no longer; for when you mounted your father’s bed, you brought disgrace—my couch he mounted! 

Simeon and Levi are a pair; their weapons are tools of lawlessness.  …  When angry they slay men, and when pleased they maim oxen.  Cursed be their anger so fierce, and their wrath so relentless.  (49:3-7)

And yet the Torah has told us clearly that Jacob blessed his sons:  “this is what their father spoke to them and blessed them; each man, according to his blessing, he blessed them.”  Which is it—blessing or curse?  Can a parent intend to bless, but actually deliver a curse?

It is easy to diminish a child without intending to.  We meet their eager glee with “not now.”  We reply to a text in the middle of their story.  We compare them to others.  We set standards reflecting our own abilities, not theirs. 

Children listen to us closely.  They are far subtler with language than we give them credit for.  Sometimes, they hear what we don’t even know we’re saying.