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It’s a story we have heard time and again. Jacob and his sons have passed away, and a new Pharaoh has come to power in Egypt. He sees that the Israelites are growing in number and, afraid that they wouldn’t be loyal to Egypt in case of invasion, he decides to enslave them and tries to kill off their male children. Moses, a beautiful boy whose Levite mother could not bear to see him killed, is miraculously saved from death through the desperate and heroic acts of his mother and sister, and the Pharaoh’s daughter finds him and adopts him. Moses grows up in the comfort of the royal palace but decides one day to go out and visit his kinsfolk. When he sees an Egyptian beating one of the Israelites, he “[strikes] down the Egyptian and [hides] him in the sand.”

But what if Moses hadn’t killed the Egyptian?

Imagine the scene: Moses sees an Egyptian violently attacking a Hebrew slave. He feels angry, perhaps seething at the injustice or feeling physically ill, but he turns away, unwilling to intervene. Afterall, the beating of a slave doesn’t impact him directly. As unnerved as he may feel, is it worth risking his luxury and privilege just to save a man he doesn’t know? Chances are, another Egyptian will be beating the same man the next day. You can’t save them all.

Having walked away from the scene, Moses feels a little guilty. Part of him wishes that he had done something, kicks himself for being a coward, but time calms his inner critic, and he finds a way to justify his lack of action. Maybe the slave had done something to deserve it? Surely, it wasn’t his place to judge the supervisor’s decisions, when he knew nothing of the situation… Maybe he would be wiser to stay in his lane, focus on his own issues, leave other people to fight their own battles. Not his circus. Not his monkeys.

Years later, a bush is burning in the wilderness, but the fire does not consume it. A couple of confused animals stop to stare at it for a while, then move on. Maybe the desert sun is playing tricks on their eyes.

God sees the suffering of the Hebrew children, remembers the covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, but no one seems to notice when God is speaking to them. God tries another bush. A massive cedar tree. Eventually, God sets fire to an entire, unconsumable forest. But no one stops to listen.

So, with a sigh, God stops talking. The Israelites continue serving their Egyptian masters, losing any sense of personal worth, blending with each passing generation into the fabric of the oppressed peoples of Egyptian society. Along the way, many are killed, abused, repressed, shorn of dignity and purpose. Time eventually robs them of their collective memories. The children of Abraham, as numerous as the stars in the heavens, lose their faith in anything greater. They expect little from life other than suffering and learn, as so many victims do, that some of the only satisfaction they can glean in their miserable lives is to cause pain to other people. They have seen what happens to the weak, and they will do what it takes not to be the weakest among them.

Coming back to the actual text laid out in the Torah… No one would claim that murdering the Egyptian would constitute a noble or a God-like act. Given time and some perspective, Moses might have found a more effective way to fight injustice, to advocate for an enslaved people from within the halls of power. While his first instinct may not have been the best or even most effective one, he could not stand by and allow his fellow man to suffer. In his first adult action of the Torah, Moses emerges as a man of action, someone who fights injustice because he must, who listens when a burning bush is speaking, who eventually accepts the task of returning to Egypt to confront the Pharaoh, despite his self-doubt and misgivings. In refusing to look the other way in the face of suffering, Moses set in motion a series of events that eventually freed an entire people from bondage. He may not have been an ideal hero or even a very heroic one, but he could not stand indifferent in the face of injustice, and so a nation was born.

Shabbat Shalom!

Rebecca Abbate