Sermon from Shabbat VVa’eira 5781

On January 12, 2021, The New York Times published this poem by Matt Mason, the state poet of Nebraska:

The Start

It probably started
in a whisper, a murmur,
a low tone hardly caught by the papers,
a sticker, a poster,
a brick wall with slogans in fresh black paint
because it probably started with a shove,
some bluster, a gunshot,
crushed fingers, it probably started
with a speech that caught the right ears
on an otherwise happy day,
yellow flowers in a wooden stand on the sidewalk,
red apples, radio
trying hard to smooth out the mood,
kid hurrying past, thinking,
God,
is that man on the corner
shouting about me,
pulls his hat low,
it probably started
with another man
drunk on swagger,
it probably started
with a small crowd
coaxing exciting lies,
it probably started
with a neighborhood’s head bowed
as the drone grows each day
(though they’ll claim
it came
in a quick, monstrous surprise).

The Start.

How did Egyptian slavery start for the Israelites?

Perhaps, a complaint by a neighbor in Goshen, where the Israelites lived,
or a comment by a resident of the area next to Goshen, about those Israelites.
or, perhaps, seeds planted by conniving opportunists looking for someone to blame for …

or, perhaps, by statements of disenfranchised Egyptians irked by Israelite prosperity.

A statement from Pharaoh? Repeated. And repeated.

A demand by Pharaoh for action? Repeated. And repeated.

It grew with edicts to oppress the Israelites with forced labor — manual labor and fieldwork that previously had not been their province.

It grew with edicts kill newborn Israelite boys.

It grew with dashed expectations until the burden was so great, the Israelites — finally — cried out! But their cries are muffled.

Four hundred years, the Israelites labored under successive Pharaohs without a peep. Now, they moan and groan because they have not the breath to cry out MIKOTZER RUACH because they are rendered breathless by the crushing slave labor.

Four hundred years — the Israelites managed somehow to maintain a relationship with their God, adonai. What did they know of their God, not even recognizing the name of God Moshe was given by God to use in speaking to them?

Torah tells us to walk in God’s ways. Were the enslaved Israelites expected to do this?

We, not encumbered by forced labor and constrained choices, are called on to walk in God’s ways. How do we do this? A Talmudic sage enjoins us to emulate God as a way of fulfilling that obligation:

Rabbi Ḥama explains: …One should emulate the attributes of the Holy One, Blessed be God, for example: Just as God “made for Adam and for his wife garments of skin, and clothed them”, so too, should you clothe the naked.
Just as God, visits Avraham as he recovers from his circumcision, so too, should you visit the sick. Just as God blessed Isaac after the death of Avraham his father, so too, should you console mourners. Just as God buried Moshe in the valley in the land of Moab, so too, should you bury the dead.

What these actions have in common is that they rely on seeing and hearing those in need, and responding to them. We can emulate God by listening, as we read in this week’s Torah portion, “I have now heard the moaning of the Israelites…and I have remembered My covenant.”

We must see, listen and remember that we are party to a covenant, a mutual enterprise with responsibilities to one another, to all with whom we share the American promise of freedom.

When do we start to see and hear the aggrieved?

Remember the bumper sticker: If you’re not utterly appalled you’re not paying attention?

When do we finally pay attention so that we can hear those in chronic pain, those who feel unheard by a system they feel ignores them, those whose spirits have been crushed by unfair treatment or involuntary financial burden, or those who simply cannot imagine change?

When we finally see and listen, when we recover from having been appalled, what do we do?

If it has taken lawless violence to get our attention, we react with lawfulness.
We react by eschewing vindictiveness even as we demand accountability.
We seek understanding, a mutually comprehensible language, a shared set of goals.

We avoid self-recrimination at our seemingly sudden awareness lead us to overreact as if overnight we can make amends for centuries of inequity.
Ahead of us is a major task. Like any major task, it can be accomplished over time piece by piece.

Rabbi Tarfon taught us in Pirkei Avot, Sayings of Our Sages: lo alecha ham’lacha ligmor v’lo atta ben chorin l’hibatel mimmena; we are not required to complete the labor / the task / the process; however, we may not avoid doing our part.

Rev Dr Martin Luther King Jr: “Saying nothing, doing nothing can be betrayal.”

Betrayal. Betrayal of ideals? Of hopes and convictions? Betrayal of our common wealth, wisdom and welfare?

We must not let ourselves be kotzer ruach, rendered breathless, speechless, by what needs to be done.

Dr. King continued: “Don’t just stand there, stand for something!”

Each of us can stand to learn more about our politics, about our communities, about our neighbors. Each of us can stand to contribute money or labor to organizations that seek the betterment of society as we would like to see it. Each of us can stand to make our views and concerns known to news media and elected officials.

Don’t just stand there, stand for something!

We may not avoid doing our part. We have to start somewhere!

Shabbat shalom!  שבת שלום