Faithful in Small Things
Parashat Bo, Exodus 10:1-13:16
Dave Nichol, Ruach Israel, Needham, MA
My heart is not proud
Perhaps the most difficult time of day in my house is getting the kids out the door to school in the morning. On the days I take them to school, all I really want is for them to be ready, coats and backpacks (and masks) affixed, shoes on their feet, waiting patiently for me outside, lined up and at attention. A parent’s dream is to tell their kids, “Let’s go!” and to have everyone outside within a couple minutes without any major drama. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask, right?
Well, as any parent knows, it never happens this way. Someone will need (read: want) help putting on their shoes, or can’t find their mask, or needs to draw one last picture before leaving. Chaos always asserts itself in some measure.
In this week’s parasha, Moses prepares the Israelites for leaving Egypt. He has them literally get their shoes on and their walking sticks in hand (Exod 12:11) so they are ready to go when the moment comes (masks were probably unnecessary).
But unlike my instructions to my children on school mornings, Exodus 12 is not limited to practical matters. It’s not so much, “Wait by the door while Moses grabs the keys to the Red Sea,” as much as, “Let’s talk about the calendar and the detailed instructions for remembering this moment across countless generations. Also, matzah!”
Even while redemption is still future-tense they are commanded to sit and eat. Despite the fact that they haven’t even left slavery yet, there is a meal with rules and regulations—the first seder, before the Exodus! We can’t wait for the bread to rise, but there’s time for a communal sacrifice, a public display, and memorial. Even before their redemption they are beginning to act out their role as God’s witnesses.
What can we learn from this unexpected ordering of events?
Nor do I go after things too great . . .
For one thing, it is a clue that the Exodus is not fundamentally about freeing slaves as we might understand it today. The freedom narrative is certainly part of the picture, but it is subordinated to a greater purpose. The opening verses of our parasha fill out the bigger picture:
Then ADONAI said to Moses, “Go to Pharaoh, because I have hardened his heart and the heart of his servants, so that I might show these My signs in their midst, and so you may tell your son and your grandchildren what I have done in Egypt, as well as My signs that I did among them, so you may know that I am ADONAI. (Exod 10:1-2)
You can almost imagine Moses saying, “Wait a minute . . . go to Pharoah, because he’s not going to let us go? How does that make sense?” And it doesn’t make sense unless there’s a greater purpose beyond one people’s freedom. Rabbi Russ Resnik recently commented on parashat Va’era how this greater purpose includes Israel’s calling to God’s service (avodat Hashem).
Freedom—like justice, truth, equity, honor, and love—is not an end unto itself. Rather, it is a concept that requires some context to be meaningful. Is justice “an eye for an eye” or “turn the other cheek”? Notice that in the Hebrew, God does not demand that Pharaoh free the Israelites, but rather that he send them off to serve God instead (e.g. Ex 9:13, “vaya’avduni”). Is freedom simply serving the right master, or is it fulfilling our destiny? If the latter, who decides our destiny?
Such concepts as freedom and justice are useful for serving God, and God demands that we prioritize them. But pursued in a vacuum, outside of the context of our relationship with God, they can become idols on one hand, or blunt weapons on the other. Meted out by humans, one person’s justice is another’s oppression. Freedom’s dark side, as manifested today, is an epidemic of atomization and loneliness. Ask those who spent time in the Soviet gulags about equity, or those who went under the guillotine in the French Revolution about liberty. What is “justice” to the many Americans incarcerated for minor crimes who would have walked free if they could afford a decent lawyer?
And love? While God may be love (1 John 4:8), love is no god.
If these lofty concepts are only tools or signposts on the way, then what are they pointing to? If freedom, love, or justice are not the ultimate goal, then what is? The one thing worthy of seeking, and the one thing that cannot be truly grasped: God’s very self.
. . . or too difficult for me
Of course, you might say, how is “seek God” more practical than seeking justice or freedom? What is more ineffable than God? How do we reach out to the one described by the kabbalists as Ein Sof, “without end,” being beyond even the broadest description? If Moses could not behold God, how can we?
This is where faith comes in. For many people today, it is easier to believe in the existence of God than to believe that we can have a relationship with him. But if we can, it probably looks the way it was described by King David:
A Song of Ascents. Of David.
ADONAI, my heart is not proud,
nor my eyes lofty,
nor do I go after things too great
or too difficult for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul—
like a weaned child with his mother,
like a weaned child is my soul within me.
O Israel, put your hope in ADONAI
from this time forth and forever.
(Psalm 131)
There is great freedom in recognizing what small cogs we are in this infinite world. Put yourself in the place of our ancestors the eve of the first Passover. The fear and anticipation must have been overwhelming. It might have been a relief to start thinking about acquiring a lamb and the other supplies, and reviewing the regulations to make sure it’s done right (“Udi, get your phone and google hyssop”).
Performing mitzvot—following commandments, even if we don’t understand them—provides a concrete way of connecting to God, making us into divine instruments of redemption, even if it takes great faith to believe that our small actions matter.
It is certainly incumbent on us to weigh the effects of our actions and take seriously our obligation to do justice, speak truth, and act out of love. But if that is too big for us, at the very least we can observe the Pesach k’hilkhato, according to its regulations. If it is too overwhelming a responsibility to be God’s witnesses, at least we can sing praises to him daily and say shema morning and evening. We are too small to see all the consequences of our decisions. The big picture is beyond us, but we have the marching orders that we need right now.
As the descendants of Israel, our calling is our task. It is too small a thing to be redeemed from the house of bondage; a greater calling is on us. This is why the act of redemption is inseparable from the giving of the Torah.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul
Perhaps there is a lesson for me as a parent as well. As I bustle children out the door to school, it would probably help to remember that getting to school on time is not itself the most important thing: how we do it also matters. Can I do it without raising my voice? Can I summon the wisdom to take the time to teach them to treat me and their siblings with respect and forbearance, even at the risk of being a couple minutes late? Can I stop for a minute and take joy in being with the most beautiful and beloved people in my world, even as my task list piles up?
But I have calmed and quieted my soul. . . .
O Israel, put your hope in ADONAI,
from this time forth and forever.
All Scripture references are from the Tree of Life Version (TLV).