Hey friends. Today we have the treat of learning from the one, the only, Joel Abramovitz. I’ve worked with Joel peripherally for years and have admired his deep knowledge of Torah the entire time. So I was thrilled when he said he’d share some thoughts on this week’s torah portion. A few pieces of housekeeping first.
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And now, on with the show. Shabbat Sh’almost.
– Meg
This week's Torah portion, Bo, is one of the darkest in all of Torah - literally and emotionally. It contains the narrative of the final three plagues God sent to Egypt, each more terrible than the last: locusts, darkness, and the death of the first-born son. As these plagues lead to the Israelites being released from slavery, Bo (literally meaning “come”) might teach that even from within that darkness, there is redemption.
But what about forgiveness? Is it possible for us, as the ancestors of the Israelites, to ever, truly, sincerely forgive the Egyptians? To forgive Pharaoh? To express sympathy or empathy for their plight and their own suffering too? The ancient rabbis make it clear we aren’t allowed to take delight in their suffering, but what kind of redemption are they entitled to?
There’s a throwaway line, so slight, so small, in Bo, that I’d never noticed it before, that brings this question to the forefront. It comes right after the tenth plague, as Pharaoh releases the Israelite from slavery:
And Pharaoh arose in the night, with all his courtiers and all the Egyptians—because there was a loud cry in Egypt; for there was no house where there was not someone dead. He summoned Moses and Aaron in the night and said, “Up, depart from among my people, you and the Israelites with you! Go, worship Adonai as you said! Take also your flocks and your herds, as you said, and begone! And may you bring a blessing upon me also!” (Exodus 12:30-32)
In the cumulative grief at losing his son along with the nine previous plagues, Pharaoh breaks. He calls Moses and Aaron back to his palace (after previously saying if he saw them again he would kill them) to tell them they have won. He is letting their people go. But he adds something at the end that is both surprising and sad: “And may you bring a blessing upon me also!”
What kind of blessing would Pharaoh, the archenemy of the Israelites, want or need from Moses and Adonai? Rashi presents a straightforward, if cynical view: Pharaoh is actually saying: “Pray on my behalf that I should not die because I am a firstborn” –meaning, now that the plague of death of the firstborn sons has been wrecked upon Egypt, Pharaoh, as a firstborn son himself, can only think of his own safety.
Rashbam argues that Pharaoh is slightly more sincere, asking for a blessing for the nation (because the Egyptian King is the nation). Perhaps in this reading Pharaoh is thinking about the future of his people and what life will be like them post-Exodus.
The Mehilta of Shimon Bar Yochai itself goes further than Rashbam: it makes an argument that Pharaoh, in asking for a blessing, is atoning for his mistakes: “From here you say that Pharaoh knew that he was lacking in prayer, and God does not forgive someone until he has persuaded his neighbor [to forgive him as well].” Pharaoh has realized the catastrophe he has brought upon his people and in this moment, he’s no longer a god, or a king, he’s a man, broken, sad, humbled. He wants to be forgiven.
But here’s the questions: if he asks for forgiveness must we offer it? Torah, of course, has an answer. An unrelated midrash (from Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer) tells us when Jonah (of “& the Whale” fame) went to Nineveh to ask them to repent, and if not they’d be destroyed, the king of Nineveh did it immediately. But this midrash reveals that the king of Nineveh, actually, was our old enemy Pharaoh (!!!). When he heard Jonah’s missive, he demonstrated that he’d learned how to not bring his country into ruin due to hubris and arrogance. The midrash says: “Pharaoh listened and rose from his throne, tore his garments and dressed himself in sackcloth and ashes, and proclaimed to all his people that they should fast for two days [to atone].” It’s astounding: Pharaoh learned and grew and changed and found himself redeemed.
Our tradition shows us that anyone, everyone, the worst among us, can change. And then even a Pharaoh can change, and even he is deserving of a blessing.
What do you think?