The Jewish people have spent almost a full year at Sinai. It is time to move on and continue the journey into the Promised Land. All is going according to the plan. At this point, the Torah in this weeks portion Behaalotecha chooses to relate a fascinating exchange between Moshe and his father in law:
Jethro, Moses’ father in law, has arrived at the Israelite camp sometime before. He brought Moses’ wife and their two sons with him from Midian to the desert. He remained for around a year. Now, it is time to go back home. Moses pleads with his father-in-law to stay. Jethro refuses.
But what is most astonishing is that Moses is virtually begging him to stay. “Please do not leave us… You will be our eyes.” Moses feels that Jethro will fill the role of “eyes” for the Jewish people.
What does this mean? Why would Jethro be their “eyes?”
Indeed, Jethro's refusal to stay and his departure is felt immediately. No sooner does he exit the text, do the Israelites begin to grow restless: But perhaps the sequence of events offers a hint.
Apparently, these eyes which Jethro could have provided were crucial and indispensable. What was Jethro’s spell? Why was he the eyes of the nation?
Jethro provided what nobody else could: an outsider’s perspective.
The Torah teaches us, he was a world-renowned idolater. He was a profound spiritual seeker, who had experimented with every possible philosophy, religion, and faith until he finally concluded that they were false and that the G-d of the Jews was the one true G-d.
Such an individual has “eyes,” and he can give all of us “eyes”—perspective.
The Israelites, who benefited daily from Hashem’s miracles on their behalf, had gradually learned to expect them. At a moment’s notice, with the lack of something they needed, some of them began to panic.
We can only imagine the impact that Yitro’s glowing words must have had upon the Israelites’ collective psyche. Here stood an individual who had voluntarily sacrificed his own comfort and prestige for the privilege of partaking in a lifestyle that had been the object of their incessant gripes. If nothing else, then, Yitro’s conviction must have given them occasion for pause. As long as he remained with them, they could not conscionably complain—his very presence served to remind them, constantly, of the uniqueness of their lot.
Rabbi Yoel Gold, spiritual leader of Bais Naftali in Los Angeles, relates a story. I'll never forget my first day on the job as a rabbi. Shacharit was called for 6:15 in the morning and I walked in one minute late—the digital atomic clock in the wall read 616.
When I walked into the shul, I was in for the shock of my life. I noticed that most of the elderly members of the congregation were already sitting wrapped up in their tallit and tefillin, waiting to start.
I remember thinking to myself what's going on? My name is Yoli; where I come from, one minute late is still a half-hour early. I quickly put on my tallit and tefillin and begin to pray.
In the end, an elderly man, 90, walked over and introduced himself as Amram Deutch. He welcomes me to the shul. And then he said to me: Rabbi I noticed that you were late this morning. Rabbi, it really hurts me to watch people come late to shul; please try to be on time tomorrow.
I was so ashamed and so I resolved right then and there to come to a half-hour early the next day; I was determined not to be outdone by a ninety-year-old congregant.
Little did I know that Amram opened the shul every morning at 5 o'clock, so by the time I walked in at 5:45, he was already sitting and studying.
It was only after a year when he shared with me his story. And then I understood what coming to shul means for him.
He was in Auschwitz and was forced to share a wooden plank at night with three other inmates. To survive the freezing and frigid cold winter nights, they took turns sleeping in the middle, so they can warm each other with whatever body heat they had left in them.
Amram shared with me:
One early morning, at dawn, the guy on my right-hand-side, a friend of mine, says Amram! I'm gonna share a secret with you. Under the barrack, there's a pair of tefillin. I will go out for two minutes, make-believe I'm going to the bathroom, and wrap the tefillin and say the Shma Yisrael.
And then you go next if you want.
For six months, until we were transferred to Bergen Belsen and we couldn't take the tefillin along, my friend and I woke up every morning 15 minutes before roll call and sneaked out of the barrack, crawled underneath, we took turns to put on the tefillin; we each said the Shema and then we finished the morning prayers on the march on our way to work.
“It was the greatest gift I had in that hell,” he said.
Today, Amram is 96 years old and he's still opening the shul 5 o'clock every morning and yes, he still reprimands me from time to time for coming too late.
But as I watch him wrap tefillin around the tattooed numbers on his arm, I can't help but wonder, who will teach our children what sacrifice means? Who will teach them how to stay proud of who they are where they come from, and stand for?
It is true to this very day. This is the unique contribution of every convert to Judaism, and really of every Jewish returnee to Judaism. We, who grew up within Jewish culture, can learn so much from these idealistic and incredible people.
I still recall one Friday evening, a French Jewish boy was sitting at my Shabbat table. He related how at the age of 14 his parents forced him to eat with them pork in a restaurant. But he felt it was wrong and repulsive for a Jew. So he went to the bathroom, stuck his finger into his mouth, and vomited it all.
For my children, sitting around the table, it made an indelible impression. They never had to sacrifice for eating Kosher. But here they saw what it means to be dedicated to Judaism in the 21st century. That week they complained less about the lousy food…
Rabbi Moshe Weinberger once shared:
I have merited to take part in A Jewish court, at three conversions, all of which were powerfully moving experiences. Before one woman’s conversion, she was asked, as is the custom, “Are you sure you want to do this? Things may be alright for the Jewish people now, but we are not loved by many people; things could change for the worse and it could become very hard to be a Jew. You can be a wonderful non-Jew, fulfilling G-d’s purpose for you. You need not become a Jew to be a wonderful human being.”
I will never forget her response. She answered:
“There is nothing more that I want in life than to do this. I want to be a Jew even if it means that I will have to give up my life.”
Her words reverberated in my mind for a long time afterward. I asked myself, “When is the last time I thought that way?”
In a 2003 address at Harvard, Professor Alan Dershowitz related this experience.
“About 15 or 20 years ago, I had the chutzpah—in the worst sense of the word—to write an arrogant letter to the Rebbe.
“I had read in the newspaper that the Chabad movement was honoring Jesse Helms, and there was no man in America I despised more than Jesse Helms. As chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, he absolutely stood for everything that I was opposed to in those days, including being strongly anti-Israel.
“I wrote a letter saying, in essence, ‘How can you honor a man who stands for everything that is opposed to Jewish values in America?’
“And I received a letter back from the Rebbe, a very, very respectful letter; a letter that I cherish for its content. And he lectured me, but in the nicest way, telling me that you never give up on anybody. You never, ever give up on somebody. People can transform themselves. Today Jesse Helms may be against Israel, but tomorrow, if we know how to approach him and speak to him, maybe he will turn out to be a champion of Israel.
And when people transform themselves, sometimes they become far more powerful advocates for the desirable cause, because they know the toxicity of the other side. They have tasted the poison. Their appreciation of the light is far deeper when they first languished in the darkness.
Alan Dershowitz concluded: “And I have to tell you, I had my doubts about it, but as they say, the rest is history. Although I still disagree with Jesse Helms on many issues, when it comes to Israel, he has become our champion…”
And it is true in all of our lives. Moses is teaching us that we acquire “eyes” precisely by working through our errors, setbacks, failures, and mistakes. Just like Yitro we learn and internalize most by the truths we discover through our darkness, negativity, trauma, and mishaps.
Do not judge yourself by what you did in your worst moment, but rather by how you respond to your worst moment.
We believe in redemption. And we believe that the depth of your darkness and trauma can become the depth of your light, love, and goodness.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky
Tom Peacock wrote...