Every once in a while we encounter a story, statement or opinion in our sacred literature that disturbs us to the very core of our being.
Sometimes this happens when we read the Tanakh. In Sefer Melachim Bet (2:23-24), for example, we read that the prophet Elisha was heading up a road one day, when a group of kids came out and mocked him. Elisha turned around and cursed them in Hashem’s name. Two bears then came out of the woods and mauled 42 of the children: simply because they mocked Elisha.
At other times we are disturbed by what we find in the Mishnah. Every Friday night during the davening we read that a woman’s death during childbirth is her punishment for somehow neglecting the Laws of Family Purity, the tithing of dough or the lighting of Shabbat candles (Shabbat 31a).
And the Talmud too contains some shocking material. Take the infamous statement of Rebbi Helbo: Kashim Gerim Leyisrael Kesapahat - Converts are as difficult for Israel to endure as a sore on the skin (Yevamot 47b).
What do we do with texts like these -- texts that cause us such discomfort, and even embarrassment? Can we somehow disown them? Ignore them? Can we explain them away though apologetics? Rail against them angrily to diminish their potency? As tempting as these solutions may seem, we cannot employ them. These horrific stories, statements and opinions are part of our holy inheritance. They are embedded within the corpus we call our Holy Torah. They are part and parcel of texts which we learn and utilize to better understand and serve The Holy One, Blessed Be He. We must accept them as part of our sacred literature even if we cannot accept their message. And we can only do this by struggling with the very texts that disturb us most; by trying to understand the reasons behind them and by trying to understand how they fit within the framework of the Torah’s values and morals. This is how generations of rabbis have dealt with passages such as these: we are thankful to know that they too were extremely uncomfortable with what they sometimes learned.
This week’s parashah, Parashat Vaera, is connected with a shocking midrash that we must address. We read today that the fifth plague of Dever, pestilence, killed every horse, donkey, camel, cow and chicken that was in the field and belonged to an Egyptian. The livestock of the Jews, however, was spared and taken with the Israelites when they left Egypt (Shemot 9:1-7). And yet, in two weeks, we will read in Parashat Beshalah that Pharoah harnessed his chariot and six hundred others to pursue the Israelites (Shemot 14:5-7). The midrash asks: Where did the horses which pulled the chariots come from? The horses of the Egyptians were killed by the pestilence; those of the Jews were no longer in Egypt (Shemot 10:26). The midrash points to the Torah’s own mention of “Hayarei Et Devar Hashem - a group of Egyptians who feared the word of Hashem. These individuals listened to Moshe’s threat of pestilence and moved their animals inside to avoid the plague which was to strike only those animals left in the field (Shemot 9:20). Their animals were saved. The midrash concludes that these “Yarei Et Devar Hashem” - who actually believed in and benefited from the word of Hashem - later gave their horses to Pharoah to chase down the Jews. The midrash then quotes Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai’s reaction to this interpretation: “Tov Shebegoyim Harog, Tov Shebenehashim Ratzatz Moho - The best of the non-Jews should be killed. The best of the snakes, their skulls should be crushed” (Mechilta, Parashat Beshalach, parashah 1).
This statement is horrendous. In no way can it describe our attitude toward non-Jews, among whom we have many colleagues and friends. And yet it is part of the Torah’s commentary. In fact, anti-Semites have been able to defame us through its words: to use our own literature as proof of our “true” disdain of non-Jews. It is there in our sacred books, and although we unequivocally condemn it, we must struggle to understand what motivated Rebbi Shimon bar Yohai, one of the most respected Rabbis in the Talmud to utter such hateful words: “Tov Shebegoyim Harog, Tov Shebenehashim Ratzatz Moho - The best of the non-Jews should be killed. The best of the snakes, their skulls should be crushed.”
Rav David Halivni, the head of the Metivta, points out that Rebbi Shimon bar Yohai made his comment within the context of a specific textual interpretation. It was not meant as a general statement against non-Jews, but rather in reference to those Egyptians who feared Hashem and nonetheless enabled Pharoah to pursue the Israelites. Rashi also understands Rebbi Shimon bar Yohai’s statement to be specific to the Jewish experience in Egypt. He therefore quotes it wording as “Tov Shebemitzrim Harog - The best of the Egyptians should be killed.” Perhaps, Rashi too was disturbed by this statement and its interpretation.
Whether or not we find these interpretations satisfying, we must also look at Rebbi Shimon bar Yohai’s personal history for some insight into his words. We know that Rebbi Shimon bar Yohai experienced very difficult times with non-Jews. The Talmud in Massechet Shabbat (33b) relate that a few great rabbis were discussing the occupying government, the Romans. Rebbi Shimon bar Yohai was among these rabbis and made a sarcastic remark about the Romans. News of this reached the authorities, and Rebbi Shimon bar Yohai was condemned to death. He fled with his son, finding refuge in a cave. There they stayed for twelve years until Caesar was dead, and they were free to leave. Through the prism of these hardships, we do not excuse, but understand his antagonism toward the non-Jews of his world. Even my Rosh Yeshiva, a survivor of Auschwitz, says he cannot help but think of Rebbi Shimon bar Yohai’s statement when he hears about the seemingly righteous Gentiles who agreed to guard the money of their Jewish friends, only to later claim that they never received any such money. I do not say that this sentiment is right, only that it is real, and we must struggle with, or against, its presence.
Ideally, struggling with these texts will lead us to a better understanding of them. Realistically, however, there will be times when we come away from them dissatisfied, confused, or no less disturbed than when we first approached them. In those cases, we must be satisfied with the fact that we wrestled with our holy texts. As important as they are, these stories and opinions cannot prevent us from exploring the rest of our rich tradition. We cannot allow them to dominate our own thoughts about our holy inheritance.
A yeshiva student was once learning and encounter a problem that prevented him from continuing his studies. So he wrote a letter to the famous Rogachover Rebbe asking for help. The Rebbe responded by direct him to a particular Tosafot found in the Talmud. The student was disappointed, however, to find that Tosafot’s commentary had no relevance to his question. Still unable to get back to learning, he wrote again to the Rogachover. The Rebbe answered that the solution to the student’s problem did, indeed, lie in the Tosafot he sited. In this commentary, he explained, the Tosafot raise a question, but provide no answer and yet their commentary continues. If Tosafot was able to move on, the Rogachover reasons, perhaps you can as well.
May Hashem gives us the insight to understand all of our sacred texts and may the words of the Rogachover Rebbe carry us beyond those we, at some level, can not comprehend.
Rabbi
Mordechai Friedfertig
Congregation B'nai Shalom
Williamsville,
New York
Email: mordechai at utj.org
Copyright 1998-2003 by Mordechai Friedfertig