Shabbat Bo
Two summers ago, I read the letters and journals of my grandfather and his siblings who fled Nazi Germany. Tucked into these writings was my grandfather’s eulogy.
For his first few years in this country, he worked for the US Army to screen German Prisoners of War.
Decades later, Germany honored my grandfather for his service by giving him the Order of Merit, First Class – Germany’s highest civilian honor.
His eulogy records the words he spoke on receiving this honor – words that speak powerfully to me today.
He said:
The tragedy of the Thirties in the country of my birth has taught me, among other things, that the bonds of humanity transcend, by far, the restrictive bonds of national, religious, political and cultural identity.
This conviction was put to the test for me when my Army assignment during World War II required that I meet face to face with those who could be labeled my enemy.
I emerged from a struggle of conscience confirmed in my belief that retribution has no place.
I feel enriched by that struggle, by having been forced to differentiate between transitory and relatively insignificant values and those which are truly fundamental.
Pretty remarkable.
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This week’s parasha speaks to my grandfather’s idea that when we encounter another who could be labeled our enemy, our ability to see them as a human being will be our ultimate victory.
Parashat Bo begins with God’s command to Moses, “bo l’pharoah” usually translated, “go to Pharoah.”
But, as we know, when God wants someone to “go” somewhere, God usually uses the word “lech”, as in: “lech lecha!” Go forth!
Bo l’pharoah literally means “come” to Pharoah!
If God is speaking to Moses, telling Moses to come to Pharoah, God…is with…Pharoah!
These words engage us in a similar “struggle of conscience” as the one my grandfather described during his Army service: a struggle, to recognize the humanity of those who we are tempted to see as less than human: Enemy. Other.
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What gave my grandfather the strength to humanize even those who had dehumanized him?
Perhaps he remembered a midrash:
After the Israelites crossed the Red Sea, they turned around to see the water closing on the advancing Egyptian armies.
The angels, seeing all this, were about to break into song when God suddenly silenced them, declaring, “How dare you sing for joy when My creatures are suffering.”
The angels’ silence reflected a moral and spiritual victory. A strength that enabled our ancestors to, in my grandfather’s words, “differentiate between transitory and relatively insignificant values and those which are truly fundamental.”
I never got to speak to my grandpa about this part of his life, so I’ll never know where he got the strength to do what he did, but I’m pretty sure that, like our ancestors, he renounced the temptation to get even: that would just add more hate, enmity and resentment to the world.
Instead he remembered what he was — what we are — ultimately fighting for: to restore “the bonds of humanity.” That only way to do this is to build the world from civility, equality and love.
Shabbat shalom.