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Nowhere Without Our Children

Where would we be without our children?

It's a question which Moses answers with lightening speed at the start of this week's Torah portion.

As we begin Parashat Bo ("Go"), we observe Pharaoh and the Egyptians reeling from seven initial plagues. 

Moses warns Pharaoh that unless he agrees to let the Israelites leave Egypt and worship God in the desert, an eighth plaque, locust will shortly descend.

Under pressure from his close advisors, Pharaoh capitulates - in part.   He tells Moses, "You men folk go and worship the Lord, since that is what you want."

But Pharaoh, in his arrogance, remains blind to one of Judaism's primary principles.  "We go nowhere without our children."

In response, Moses lays down a series of non-negotiable terms for the release of all Jews.  Says Moses, "we will all go, young and old: we will go with our sons and our daughters." (Exodus 10:9)

Pharaoh tosses Moses and his brother Aaron out the door, and soon after, the plagues of locust, darkness and first born descend.

Indeed, what could have been a small victory for the Jewish people turns into a catalyst for further misery in Egypt.

Often today, when synagogues review their annual budget, there is a concern that a congregation's Hebrew school often operates at a deficit.  Indeed, within any budget, there is always room for improvement, yet the idea of closing a school or reducing educational programs is rarely discussed.

Rather, we are prompted by the Talmudic saying which reminds us that, "The world is sustained only by the breath of schoolchildren." (Shabbat 119b).

Indeed, why has Judaism survived against the odds?   Why does it seem that Jews are so often in the midst of political or cultural controversy? Why are Jewish people often involved or employed within positions which question the status quo, or expose cases of injustice? 

It is because we teach our children to ask questions, to question authority and to carry forward the torch of justice and freedom.

Nobel Prize winner Isidor Rabi was once asked why he became a scientist. 

He replied, "My mother made me a scientist without ever knowing it. Every other child would come back from school and be asked, "What did you learn today?" But my mother used to ask: "Izzy, did you ask a good question today?" That made the difference.  Asking good questions made me a scientist."

Each year, Judaism designates two days to ask good questions.  On Passover, family and friends gather, as the Torah instructs, to pass the message of freedom to our children and grandchildren.

Many of us recall Passover Seders where elders raced through the Maxwell House Haggadah - void of photos or other images -- often with no English, or explanations.

While many fondly remember the voices of elders chanting words and melodies, this Hebrew blur often did little to promote the idea that Judaism is an accessible, contemporary and inclusive religion -- open to men and women, boys and girls.

Wouldn't it have been better to read less of the Haggadah, and encourage questions and challenges -- than to rapidly race through blocks of words on a page?

But Moses saw the big picture. He understood that freedom cannot be pursued and fully appreciated unless it can be experienced and cherished by our children.

Jewish tradition reminds us that the world is broken.  There is so much which needs repair.  Indeed, as the Talmud teaches, we cannot fix the world within our lifetime, but neither are we permitted to desist from the task.

We may not live to witness perfection, but we can pass the torch to our children.

It would have been easy for Moses to walk away with a multitude of middle aged men, and return feeling fulfilled.  But that high would have meant nothing without spouses, sons and daughters.

Notes the Etz Chaim biblical commentary, "no Jewish celebration is complete without our children......a child without parents is an orphan, but a nation without children is an orphan people."

Moreover, as Judaism looks to the future, we need to continue asking ourselves important questions inspired in part by this week's Torah portion; How do we develop models within Judaism which are more inclusive?

Let us therefore create an environment where men, women, sons and daughters, walk together.  And let us remember that without our children -- and the questions and challenges they present -- there can be no change or progress.

And without change, Judaism will cease to be.

The Torah teaches that Passover's most important purpose is to pass the message of freedom to our children and grandchildren.  For in 2017, slavery still plagues humankind, and there is still so much work to be done.

As it is written in the Alenu prayer, we as Jews are charged with "healing the world under God's domain."

Our parents and grandparents passed that responsibility to us -- L'dor Vador -- from generation to generation.  We must do the same.

As Moses teaches us this week, there is no such thing as partial freedom.  His response to Pharaoh serves as a reminder, even today, that the future, and the ongoing pursuit of freedom, is in the hands of our children.

Indeed, there can be no freedom for us, until there is freedom for all.

Shabbat Shalom, v'kol tuv (with all goodness).

Rabbi Irwin Huberman