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Every Saturday, this time of year, between about noon and 1 pm, my mind wanders, and I find myself in the northeast corner of ancient Egypt. The sun is shining. The land is good. The earth is rich with grain and produce yet to be harvested.
I say, “Hello” to my neighbors of all nationalities. Children are playing in the fields and in the streets. But then something dramatic happens at 1 pm, and everything changes. And this year, more than ever, I will be reflecting upon that change. A hyphenated word and a central question will redirect my thoughts, as I ask:
“Anti-Semitism—is this where it began?”
In this week’s Torah reading, we conclude the Book of Genesis. For the past 12 weeks, we have borne witness to a narrative dating back thousands of years. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob—Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah.
We have observed these sacred characters evolving as in many cases they transition from the arrogance of youth, toward the wisdom of adulthood. And perhaps, there has been a little bit of you and me in every story.
And so, as we come to the end of Genesis, all appears well. As we will read tomorrow morning in synagogue, the Jewish people are welcomed in Egypt where Joseph occupies the highest position in the land.
When Pharaoh learns that Joseph is part of a larger family, he opens his arms, and invites Joseph’s extended mishpachah into Egypt, providing them with choice land, honor, respect and prestige.
When Jacob dies this week at age 147, a state entourage departs Egypt to help fulfil his wish to be buried in Canaan -- later to become Israel. The Torah tells us that “senior members of the court, and all of Egypt’s dignitaries” (Genesis 50:7) accompanied Joseph and his extended family on that journey.
But something changes. And that transition technically takes place on the Jewish calendar, just around noon on Saturday, as we begin a new weekly Torah portion with the words:
“A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph. And he said to his people, ‘Look, the Israelite people are much too numerous for us. Let us deal shrewdly with them.’” (Exodus 1:9-10). And the Passover story begins.
For many, this may seem like a distant Bible story, but I can’t help but ask myself during that small gap between Genesis and Exodus, “What happened?”
But this is more than some ancient narrative. In fact, if we critically examine the text, we are witnessing the first real case of anti-semitism -- one destined to repeat itself countless times over the generations. We are initially welcomed somewhere with open arms.
We are invited to help sustain the economy, enrich the country’s intellectual, legal, political, scientific and artistic fabric. And this narrative has repeated itself in seemingly sophisticated countries such as Egypt, Spain, Iran, Germany, and yes, even the United States.
On March 31, 1492, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella signed an edict -- paralleling the one previously signed against Muslims -- that Jews needed to convert, leave the country or die. It is no accident that the passenger manifest of Christopher Columbus’ expedition in 1492, which left just a few months after that edict, contains several Jewish names. And here we are again today, talking about anti-semitism.
So, as we examine this ancient text, let us reflect for a moment upon the phrase, “A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph.”
The great rabbinical commentator, Ibn Ezra (1089-1167), speculates this reflected that a new dynasty arose that did not have close ties with the Jewish people. Other commentators speculate that a new military and political force originally based in southern Egypt came north and assumed power
And, as the Etz Chaim Bible Commentary notes, this new dynasty (ca. 1330 BCE) may have looked at foreigners as threats to the purity -- and therefore the security -- of its country. There are many theories of what actually happened, and at the risk of “blaming the victim,” I often ask myself, was there something that could have been done to stem that anti-semitic tide at its source?
Who would have believed that following a period of unprecedented cooperation between Christians, Muslims and Jews—that a new king would arise in 1452, eventually leading to the Spanish Inquisition. Many Jews, integral members of German society, never believed -- some right to the end -- that the Holocaust could occur.
And who would have ever thought that in the United States so many Jewish Americans—insistent that they are Americans first -- are pondering the opposite? I believe we live today in a safe country.
Polls conducted across America consistently conclude that overall, we are regarded as integral and embraced members of American society—respected even more when we display pride in our Judaism.
It is why, perhaps, in the face of anti-semitic stirrings from both the left and right, we must be both present and involved. It is important that we engage non-Jewish politicians, and other faith communities in conversation. We need to combat lies, stereotypes and convenient narratives, with facts, depth and perspective. For I believe that we are only as safe as the future we help create.
Perhaps there is no antidote to the disease of anti-semitism. Indeed, historic attacks perpetrated by the medieval church have been replaced by misguided attacks on Israel’s right to exist.
The core concept of anti-semitism unites the two. Yet, I believe we can still mitigate the severity of this current plague. Over recent decades, Israel and the Jewish people have lost control of our narrative to those who are experts in its manipulation.
So, as we Jews turn the page this Shabbat from Genesis to Exodus—let us reflect for moment upon the cycle of history. And let us not -- in the face of disturbing trends on our streets or on our campuses -- fall into the trap of defenselessness.
Let us talk more, post more, and support organizations on the front lines of fighting anti-semitism—my favorite being JewBelong. This is not Egypt nor Germany. This is the United States.
Two thousand years ago, the great Sage, Hillel, stressed that we must look beyond ourselves and take care of others. It is now time to focus on the sentence preceding that advice.
“If I am not for myself, who will be for me?” (Pirkei Avot 1:15)
It is time to upgrade the urgency of Hillel’s call.
For as he also taught, “If not now, then when?”
Person by person, we must become active participants, each in our own way, in the true telling of our story.
Because that time is now.
Shabbat Shalom, v'kol tuv.
Rabbi Irwin Huberman.
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