Thoughts on Torah Portion Va-eira – “The Strands and the Cord”

Thoughts on Torah Portion Va-eira

The Strands and the Cord

Throughout her discussion of this week’s Torah portion, Va-eira (“I appeared”) in her The Particulars of Rapture, Avivah Zornberg draws fascinating parallels among three main protagonists – Moses, Pharaoh and the Israelites, starting with last week’s Torah portion, Shemot.

Look at Exodus chapter 3:2 from last week’s Torah portion. Etched in the memory of the reader is this: “An angel of God appeared to him (Moses) in the heart of the fire within the bush, and he (Moses) saw that the bush was aflame but not consumed. Moses said (to himself), ‘I shall turn aside and look upon this great sight, why the bush is not consumed.’ ”

God’s voice replaces the appearance of the angel and calls out to Moses. God sets out the ground around the bush as holy. God identifies God’s self. Moses hides his face, “For he was (too) awestruck to gaze toward God.” After a lengthy introduction, God gives Moses his mission, “I shall send you to Pharaoh, and you shall take my people Israel out of Egypt.”

The reader typically is awestruck by the appearance of the Angel in the heart of the fire, and the Voice of God being revealed to Moses. From that voice comes Moses’s life’s purpose. In God’s commanding Moses to lead the people out of Egypt, all the strands of Moses’s painful past are tied into a cord. The fugitive from justice will lead an exodus of slaves and deliver harsh justice to Pharaoh and his minions.

At least, that is what sticks in my mind when I recall the story. I don’t remember right away Moses’s getting over his awe rather quickly, saying in response to God, “But why me?” It was a complaint, not a question. Moses’s response takes the air right out the story.

In the Midrash that Zornberg presents in this week’s Torah portion, a protracted days long argument followed the call of Moses, Moses insistently choosing, for one reason or another, not to accept the mission. God, unlike the IMF, doesn’t say, “this mission, should you choose to accept it . . .” God had already said “yes” for Moses. God just wanted to reason with Moses and get him to say “yes” himself.

In the end, Moses hears everything God said, but demurs. “No one will believe this.” God promises to take care of the people’s disbelief, predicting the miracles in this week’s Torah portion. Moses changes tactics. Despite his eloquent arguments against God presented in the Midrash, Moses says (in Exodus 4:10), apparently without a shred of irony, “We’ve been talking for three days now. You know I am not good at speaking.” God says, in all caps, “GO! I WILL BE WITH YOUR MOUTH AND TELL YOU WHAT TO SAY.” Just follow the script!

Moses responds dismissively, effectively saying, “Yeah, whatever, fine. Send anybody you want.” God’s wrath finally burns against Moses and God seems to make an offer that Moses can’t refuse. Moses starts his mission, halfheartedly, it turns out.

Moses tells the people what happened, and they actually believe him (Exodus 4:29-30). The text is not being entirely straightforward with us, the readers. The people believe that what Moses told them did happen, but it turns out that it just didn’t mean that much to them. They turned out to be like Moses, denying the mission, refusing to hear.

Pharoah is presented as an odd parallel to Moses and the Israelites. Pharaoh hears everything, including the warning of the plagues and the sword. Pharoah answers, in similar fashion to that odd positive-negative in use today, “Yeah, no.” Pharaoh takes out his own wrath on the Israelites, who lose faith in Moses fairly quickly. “May God judge you! It’s all gotten worse!”  Moses, the people and Pharaoh, and even God, start to look like each other.

What a bizarre story! The heart of the fire, the voice of the Eternal One, the promise of freedom all dramatically unravel in the verses that follow the call of Moses at the Burning Bush.

Refusal. Insolence. Denial. Half-heartedness. Wrath. Faith gained and abandoned. Blaming. Pain and suffering. Fear. Something was troubled way down in Egypt land.

And then, peeking out from this story, are verses that echo to us from the book of Genesis, from the story of Rebecca and her pain in her troubled pregnancy. She goes to seek of God in her pain, and says, in Hebrew words almost impossible to translate, (Genesis 25:22), “Im ken, lamah zeh anokhi,” “If thus, why do I exist?” The answer that there two nations struggling in her womb does not bode well. The troubled pregnancy augers further unraveling.

At the end of last week’s Torah portion, capping the entire unraveling at the beginning of the Exodus, Moses says to God (Exodus 5:22), “Why have you done evil to this people and why did you send me (lamah zeh shelachtani)?” “Lamah zeh?” “Why?”

This subtle reference to the pregnancy of Rebecca has us re-ask all our questions of last week’s Torah portion in a different tone, “Why does this story exist?” Why does God choose such an unfit servant? Why does God redeem an unfit people? Why is Pharaoh impervious to truth? Why do things go so terribly wrong? Why doesn’t God matter? These questions are only sharpened in this week’s Torah portion.

With this reference to the pregnancy of Rebecca, we know the answer: Because this is the way things are. Each part of the story stands for parts of our inner lives, our lives with others, and our lives with God. There is trouble in the womb of consciousness. The pregnancy is painful, birthing produces woe. Things fall apart and then fall apart some more. When you are in the midst of things falling apart, you ask why. But once the strands form a cord, you know. Cords come from strands.

There are those moments. When the brothers reconcile in Egypt. When the waters break at the Sea of Reeds. When the people go to Mt Sinai, where Moses saw the angel in the heart of the fire. The people saw it, too, for just a moment. If only our gaze could hold the appearance of the angel in the heart of the fire. If only our minds could hold the voice of God. If only our purpose could resolutely guide the path before us.

That’s not the way things are. We must continuously take the strands at the margins of life and form them into cords. It’s our mission, our purpose.