Sermon - Beshalach - "Taking the Long-Cut"

“Taking the Long-cut”

I love a great shortcut! I love my gps, I love google maps and I am always trying to figure out the quickest way to get from point A to point B. A few weeks ago, someone posted on the Potomac Listserve, a shortcut to the Hebrew Academy (the school my daughter attends) from Potomac. I was so excited. The next time I drove carpool, I timed it. I shaved a minute and a half off my time! I was mamash bsimcha (literally in a state of joy) all day just because I saved a minute and a half!
We all love shortcuts. All of technology is built around creating shortcuts. Think about remote controls, computers, apps; these are all shortcuts. “Progress” can really be defined as doing the same things more quickly.

It was therefore surprising to read the first posuk from this morning’s parshah. The Jewish people have just left Egypt and now they are on their way to Israel. What is the shortest way to get from Egypt to Israel? Straight up the coast towards current day Gaza (in hebrew, “derech eretz plishtim).
What way do the Jews go? Southeast.
Why? If they would have just gone straight up the coast they wouldn't have had to cross the Red Sea and they would have been in Israel in a matter of days.
The posuk gives an answer.

ולא נחם אלקים דרך ארץ פלשתים כי קרוב הוא.

G-d did not take them up the coast (the shortcut) because it was a shortcut!
This makes no sense. If it was the shortcut, why didn't they take it.
It is because of this problem that most commentators say that the word כי which normally means “because” in this case means “despite the fact.” Despite the fact that it was a shortcut, Hashem did not take them on that route because they might see an opposing army and turn around.

Rashi and Ibn Ezra, however, say something amazing. “Ki” means because. Hashem did not take them on the shortcut, because it was a shortcut. Sometimes a shortcut is not the best idea. If it is so easy to get there, it is also easy to go back. If something is easily attained, it is also easy to give up. Hashem therefore wanted them to take the longcut. If something is hard to get, you will keep it forever.

I often think about the history of Aliyah to Israel. In the 1700’s, it was extremely difficult to make Aliyah. The Ohr Hachaim Hakadosh’s (Rabbi Chaim ben Attar) life’s goal was to make aliyah. First he made the long trip from Morocco to Italy (Livorno). He then was not able to continue. There was disease, financial struggles and more. Finally, a few years later, he went on to Acre and a few years after that he finally made it to Yerushalayim. It took him more than 5 years to make Aliyah! When he arrived, he faced a lot of difficulty, but he did not turn around. When you invest 5 years in getting somewhere, you don’t just turn around.

Think about Aliyah today. It is still extremely difficult but compared to the 18th century, it is much more manageable. The flight is only 12 hours, we can still skype with family and friends and many people are able to still work for their American Employers and telecommute. I have talked to people who have made aliyah and then come back to America. They faced real challenges and I know it is painful for them to leave. But it was easier for them to make aliyah, so it is easier to return.

This idea is true on many levels. I just read a fascinating book, “Outliers” by Malcolm Gladwell.
The book is answering the following question. Why is it that some people become Outliers? Why do some people become masters in their art or field. Think about Mozart, the Beatles, Bill Gates (I was going to say Lance Armstrong but that doesn't work any more!).
Gladwell proves that while these people had tremendous talent, that is not why they became the best. There were others with the same talent. Gladwell comes up with what he calls the Ten thousand hour rule. In order to become great at something you need to spend 10,000 hours practicing. The Beatles were excellent individual musicians. But the only reason they became outliers was because they practiced more than 10 thousand hours.
There is no shortcut to excellence. To really accomplish something, we must take the longcut.

I am always amazed that often times when I am thinking about something, I find a message from the day’s daf yomi (page of talmud studied every day). In today’s page (shabbat 115b), we read something shocking.

ספרים שכתובים בכל לשון...לא נתנו לקרות בהם

It is forbidden to read translations of sacred texts. The gemara says (according to one opinion), if your house is burning down on shabbat and inside the house you have an artscroll translation of the Torah and the only way to rescue the english torah is by carrying it without an eruv, you must let the English Torah burn. Let me say that again. You must let the english torah burn.
Translated Torahs cannot be read, they are left to burn, one of the reasons we fast on the tenth of Teves is because in the third century B.C.E, the Torah was translated into Greek.
Why fast? Shouldn't translation be wonderful. It makes the Torah accessible to so many.

But when you think about it, translations are really shortcuts. They make it easy. If you want to take the long cut, you do it in the original. You break your teeth, you try to put one word next to another, it takes a lot of time, but when you get it, when you understand it, you will never lose it. If you read the translation, it is easy to get, but also very easy to lose.
This is why even though translations are important, we always have to remember that there is a certain “tragedy of translation.” It is a shortcut.

This issue of taking the shortcut versus the longcut is something that we struggle with all of the time here at Beth Sholom. We are an outreach shul. As an outreach shul, we are making Judaism accessible to outsiders, we are making it inspiring, doable, unintimidating. This is all important. But sometimes I wonder if we make it too easy and accessible, if we “translate” it too much. If it is easy to attain, it will be easy to give up.
We shouldn't be looking for the shortcut. We should be looking for the longcut.

I have a friend who always says, “If we do X in the following way, it will be quick, simple and easy. This is his motto; Quick, Simple and Easy. I am thinking that I want my motto to be “Long, Complex and Hard!”
To quote John F. Kennedy “We don't do these things not because they are easy but because they are hard.”
I am sure you know the Yiddish Saying, “Shver Tz’zein a Yid.” It is hard to be a Jew. Lets not look for the shortcut. If it is quick simple and easy, it is also easy to give up. Lets choose the longcut.

Let me conclude by sharing an experience that I had just yesterday. I had what I thought would be a brief meeting with Rabbi Eli Reingold, Rosh Kollel of the Yeshiva of Greater Washington. The meeting went on for two hours. We started by discussing some interesting halakhic questions that he was dealing with. I was very impressed with his knowledge, insight and sensitivity. He had an amazing grasp of all areas of the Talmud and Halakha and many people come to him with very complex halakhic questions.
After about an hour, the conversation turned to personal matters. I asked him where he was from. He said, Cleveland. Wow! I am from cleveland so I asked him, where did you go to school (thinking that he went to the Hebrew Academy, the only orthodox school in town when he was growing up). He said, “I went to Shaker Heights High.” What! I did a double take. How did someone go from Shaker Heights High to being a master of Talmud. He explained that when he was a teenager, he got turned on to Judaism and he begged his parents to send him to Telz yeshiva. He arrived at Telz and stayed for 23 years! I am sure the first few years were extremely difficult. He told me he barely knew the Aleph bet. There were no artscroll talmuds. He worked and worked and worked. He probably put in 12 hours a day for 23 years (remember the 10 thousand hour rule) and he ended up being a tremendous master of Talmud and Halakha.
23 years! He took the longcut and it made all the difference. He is definitely someone I want to get to know better.

When I was in High School, I did not really study Poetry because I went to a very frum yeshiva. But when I was going out with Sarah in college, I took a poetry class to impress her because she is a Poet! So I am going to read the last few lines of a poem that you probably had to memorize in high school. It is from Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.”

Two Roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that had made all the difference.

Let us take the road less traveled. The longer road, the path that is more difficult, more complex - the longcut.
I promise you that if we take that road, it will make all the difference.

“Was Moshe Really the Prince of Egypt”

One of the highlights of my week is when I go into the preschool rooms and teach them the parshah. This past Thursday, I sat down with the the 4 year old class and said, “do you know that a long time ago, our great great grandparents were slaves in Egypt. A little boy named Moshe was born and his mommy tried to hide him. When she could no longer hide him, she put him in a basket in the river.” At this point, one of the 4 year olds raised her hand and said, “But Rabbi: I already saw this movie.”

For those of you who are older than 10, let me tell you that she was not referring to “The Ten Commandments” with Charlton Heston! She was talking about “The Prince of Egypt” which has actually become a favorite movie of my children and I have to confess, I also end up watching it with them!

The movie develops the theme that Moshe was the Prince of Egypt and there are Rabbinic Texts which talk about this as well. Moshe was adopted by the Daughter of Pharoah, he grew up with the education of Egyptian Nobility and he was a possible heir to the throne.

All of this begs the following question. Why did Hashem choose Moshe to take the Jews out of Egypt? Moshe, a prince, never went hungry in his life, he never experienced manual labor and he never felt the crack of the Egyptian Taskmaster’s whip on his back. How could he understand the Jewish Slaves? He was not one of them. Why was he chosen to take them out?

I would like to answer this question by focusing on just two words from this morning’s parshah. After Moshe grows up (some midrashim say he was 20, others say he was 40), we are told that he went out to his brothers (the Jewish Slaves) וירא בסבלתם - and he saw their affliction and pain.
The Midrash asks, מהו וירא? What does this mean that he saw? Is this the first time he saw the Jewish slaves? How is this possible? This would be like a man growing up in the American South during the 1840’s and not ever see slaves until he was 20! Impossible. Every farm, every construction site would have been full of slaves. Moshe probably had many personal slaves just taking care of his own needs.

Elie Weisel has a beautiful insight in his book “Messengers of God” on this verse. וירא בסבלתם can have two meanings. It can either mean “He saw their affliction” or from the hebrew word “Savlanut” it can mean, “He saw their patience.” He saw that they were resigned to their fate. As a prince, Moshe was used to getting whatever he wanted by just snapping his fingers and here, his biological brothers were doing nothing. The Ibn Ezra similarly explains that Moshe needed to be a prince because the slaves could not take themselves out. They had a slave mentality and they needed someone from the outside to help.

The problem however with someone from the outside is that they do not really understand. Without personally experiencing the slavery, how could they lead the slaves to freedom. For this, we need to turn to a second definition of וירא בסבלתם - He saw their affliction. He didn’t see. He probably saw slavery thousands of times in his life. But this was the first time, her really saw. He saw and had empathy. The midrash says

מהו וירא שהיה רואה בסבלותם ובוכה ואומר חבל לי עליכם מי יתן מותי עליכם, שאין לך מלאכה קשה ממלאכת הטיט, והיה נותן כתיפיו ומסייע לכל אחד ואחד מהן

 Moshe saw their affliction and cried (he had empathy). He said, “I am in pain because of what is happening to you. If only I could die for you.” Moshe would then bend his shoulder and ease the burden of each one of them.

The cynic might ask: How is Moshe really helping? If he bends his shoulder, the Egyptians will give them more work. Did one jew go to freedom because Moshe bent his shoulder under the burden? The answer is that Moshe needed to do this in order to experience the slavery. As another midrash says, נשתתף בצרתם - He became a partner in their pain. In order help, he first had to feel the pain. וירא בסבלתם - He saw and he had empathy.

One might ask, how could one witness slavery and the beating of a Jewish slave and not have empathy. What was so great about Moshe’s behavior?
Well, Moshe could have acted in a different way. I am sure that the Egyptian education system drilled justifications for slavery into their students. “Slavery is necessary for our economy.” “It is better for the slaves.” “When an enemy comes, if the Jews have freedom, they will fight against us - Slavery is necessary for ‘national security.’”

Furthermore if Moshe sees a fellow Egyptian hitting a jew, any good Egyptian would have assumed that the Jew was at fault. Moshe could have seen and made judgements against the Jews. Instead he saw and had empathy.

Let me conclude with a story about Rabbi Aryeh Levin (which appeared in an Essay by Rabbi Yechezkel Yakobson, Rosh Hayeshiva of Shalavim). Rabbi Aryeh Levin was known as the “Tzadik of Yerushalayim.” He was also called the Rabbi of the Prisoners. Every shabbat morning, he would go to the prisons and help the leading the davening for those who nobody else thought were worthwhile.
Rabbi Levin also had a regular job as the principal of Etz Chayim Yeshiva for boys in Yerushalayim. Every morning as the boys came in from playing outside, Rabbi Levin would just stare at the boys for 5 minutes. One day, one of the other teachers asked Rabbi Levin, “what are you looking at for 5 minutes when the boys come in?” Rabbi Levin invited the other teacher to join him the next morning.

The next morning, they were standing side by side staring at the boys. After 5 minutes, Rabbi Levin asked the other teacher, “Nu, so what did you see.” The teacher said, “I saw Moshe straggling behind trying to do everything he could to come late to class. I saw Yitzchak’s Yarmulka fall off and he didnt bother to pick it up. I saw Shlomo’s tzitzis were not on correctly and I saw Dovid was fighting with the other boys.”
The teacher turns to Rabbi Levin and asks, “and what did you see?”
Rabbi Levin says, “Moshe, I noticed that he was looking a little thin. He must not be eating three meals a day so I made a mental note to send some money to his parents. I noticed Yitzchak’s shirt was ripped and it had not been replaced. And Dovid who was fighting, I wondered to myself “what kind of tension might there be in home if he is acting like that, I better pay the family a visit and see if I can be of help.”

Two people saw the same exact situation and reacted in two different ways. One saw and judged and the other saw and had empathy.
וירא בסלתם - Moshe saw the slavery and had 100 reasons to see and judge the jews. Instead he saw and had empathy.
Here is the difficult question for all of us. When we pull up to the red light and someone is begging for money (regardless of what we do), do we see and judge or do we see and have empathy.
When we see people who look different than the way we look, dress differently, behave in ways that we might not approve of, how do we react? Do we see and judge or do we see and have empathy. Let us all strive to be like Moshe. Let us see and have empathy.