On New York's Upper East Side lived an assimilated Jew who was a militant atheist. But he sent his son to Trinity School because, despite its denominational roots, it’s a great school and completely secular. After a month, the boy comes home and says casually, “By the way Dad, do you know what ‘Trinity’ means? It means the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”
The father can barely control his rage. He seizes his son by the shoulders and declares, “Danny, I’m going to tell you something now and I want you never to forget it. There is only one God. And we DON’T believe in Him!”
A woman on a train walked up to a man across the table. “Excuse me,” she said, “but are you Jewish?”
“No,” replied the man.
A few minutes later the woman returned. “Excuse me,” she said again, “are you sure you’re not Jewish?”
“I’m sure,” said the man.
But the woman was not convinced, and a few minutes later she approached him a third time. “Are you absolutely sure you’re not Jewish?” she asked.
“All right, all right,” the man said. “You win. I’m Jewish.”
“That’s funny,” said the woman. ”You don’t look Jewish.”
In this week's portion, Shemot Pharaoh had decreed death for every male Israelite child. Yocheved, Moses' mother, had a baby boy. For three months she was able to conceal his existence, but no longer. Fearing his certain death if she kept him, she set him afloat on the Nile in a basket, hoping against hope that someone might see him and take pity on him. This is what follows:
Pharaoh's daughter went to bathe in the Nile, while her maids walked along the Nile's edge. She saw the box in the reeds and sent her maidservant to fetch it. Opening it, she saw the boy. The child began to cry, and she had pity on him. "This is one of the Hebrew boys", she said.
The [child's] sister said to Pharaoh's daughter, "Shall I go and call a Hebrew woman to nurse the child for you?" "Go", replied Pharaoh's daughter. The young girl went and got the child's own mother. "Take this child and nurse it", said Pharaoh's daughter. "I will pay you a fee." The woman took the child and nursed it.
Then comes the final surprise: When the child matured, [his mother] brought him to Pharaoh's daughter. She adopted him as her own son and named him Moses. "I bore him from the water", she said.
It is a remarkable story. The non-Jewish daughter of the king who decreed that every Jewish infant be cast into the Nile saves this single Jewish infant—and this one act changes history. Without her, Moses might not have lived. The whole story of the exodus would have been different.
The Talmud and Midrash are perturbed by the use of the words, “she sent her maidservant, and she fetched the box.” The sages present "Her arm miraculously stretched from the position she was in so that she could reach the child." This seems strange. Why the need to insert a miracle story, when the Torah text says nothing of it?
Midrash to the biblical text is what harmony is to a song. Midrash never tries to supplant the text; rather, its function is to accentuate and reveal the full depth of meaning of the text.
The simple meaning of the biblical text is kind of like the right hand. It's the text; it sounds like a story. The Midrash is like harmony; on its own, it sounds strange. Put it together with the right hand, and you have a beautiful ballad.
The same is true in our case. The Talmudic and Midrashic sages were not ignoring the literal story; they were giving it harmony. They were accentuating its ultimate meaning, they were extracted from the text the profound harmony and richness of the story, giving it a powerful resonance.
Along comes the daughter of Pharaoh, who sees the Jewish child in the distance. See that look on her face? She had compassion for the child. But then, the cognitive part of her brain kicked in and said, "It's a Jewish child." There is a conflict here. What do I do?
Pharaoh’s daughter wants this baby. What's your job now as a maidservant? You've got to be the one to say 'no.' You can't defy your father like this. Look who you are! He will murder this child and he may kill you too!"
But what if the daughter of the Pharaoh insisted, "Go fetch the child!" She said, "No! I am responsible. I must take care of this baby myself. I am adopting this boy as my child!”
Pharaoh’s daughter reaches for that which is beyond her reach; she pursues the impossible, the goal which conventional wisdom might say is pure insane fantasy.
And you know what happens? Her arm stretches! Her arm extends beyond that which could possibly be imagined that she can achieve.
Or as General Montgomery said: “The Difficult we do immediately, the impossible takes a little longer…”
What is more, you might think that even if she manages to raise that baby, she would make believe he was not Jewish and never tell him who he is. Yet, Moses does know that he is a Jew. When he grows up, he goes to check on his brothers. How did he know those were his brothers? The daughter of Pharaoh must have told him who he was. Look what she's trying to do with this child. She saves this Jewish boy, raises him as her own child, in Pharaoh’s palace, yet as a Jewish child!
All of us have things that are in our reach and out of our reach. What the Sages are telling us, that sometimes when you spot something out of your reach and you reach for it anyway, your arm will stretch. G-d will help you achieve that dream. Your arm’s reach, in fact, is larger than you could possibly imagine.
You stretch out your arm and let G-d finish the job.
You must start it, but He will finish it.
A story:
Each year the Rebbe would lead hundreds or thousands of Chassidim along Eastern Parkway to do Tashlich [the Rosh Hashanah prayer done at the side of the water to symbolize the throwing of the sins into the water] on Rosh Hashanah at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.
One particular year, 1956, there was a drenching rain downpour. Three minutes outdoors was enough to soak you to the bone. There was not a human to be found outside. But the Chassidim marched as usual to the lake at the Gardens for Tashlich.
When the Chassidim following the Rebbe arrived at the park, they found the gates of the gardens closed and locked. Apparently, the one in charge of the Botanical Gardens reckoned that no one would visit in such a rainstorm. He, of course, did not put Chabad into the equation…
What do you do? The garden is closed, it's locked; the gates are barred.
Completely undeterred, the Rebbe looked at the seven-or-eight-foot metal fence, handed his prayer book to one of the Chassidim, and began climbing the wall. As he got to the top, he leaned over, athletically rolled over, then turned around and went down the other side.
And then he signaled to everybody on the other side as if to say: Nu? What are you all waiting for?
Of course, all the Chassidim climbed over, young and old alike, including Jews in their 70s and 80s.
They arrived at the lake and recited the traditional prayers. The Rebbe then started to sing and motioned to all to dance. And that dance penetrated the crowd through and through...
You see, for the woman and man of true faith, there are no closed doors, no lacked fences, no barred gates. This was the motto of the Rebbe. No wonder he so often quoted the Chassidic saying of the fourth Rebbe: “The world says, if you can’t go under, you go over. I say, that you start by going over!”
Never ever allow life’s challenges to make you feel your arms are limited.
My arms may indeed be limited, but G-d’s arms are not. When you align your arms with the Divine arms, your arms become infinite!
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky
Jason Bennett wrote...