Do you know what it is like to have a song stuck in your head? You might not even realize it is happening until you find yourself singing out loud on the subway. That last part may be just me. A regular in my proverbial stuck-in-the-head playlist is "Nelech" by Avraham Fried. The words of this song borrow from a pasuk in Parashat Bo:
וַיֹּ֣אמֶר מֹשֶׁ֔ה בִּנְעָרֵ֥ינוּ וּבִזְקֵנֵ֖ינוּ נֵלֵ֑ךְ בְּבָנֵ֨ינוּ וּבִבְנוֹתֵ֜נוּ בְּצֹאנֵ֤נוּ וּבִבְקָרֵ֙נוּ֙ נֵלֵ֔ךְ
Moshe responds: "With our young ones and our elders, we will go. With our boys and our girls, we will go. With our sheep and our cattle, we will go."
Moshe uses elaborate and repetitive language to answer Pharoah's question, "Who do you plan to take with you when you leave Egypt?" It reads poetically, like the lyrics of a song.
I would expect this phrase to be a Biblical Commentator's field day, as they delight in repetition. Following the traditional understanding that there are no superfluous words in the Torah, verbosity raises flags for commentators, leading them to consider the distinct purpose of each non-essential word. Strikingly, few commentators apply this lens to this phrase, and even Rashi, who especially relishes the opportunity to explain any extra word, does not have anything to add to this pasuk. A modern commentator, Asher Wassertheil, however, comments on this phrase in his book Birkat Asher:
ומסתבר ש"בבנינו ובבנותנו בצאננו ובבקרנו" בא לומר, שאף הקטנים וכל אלה שאינם מבינים עדיין, צריכים לטעום טעמה של חירות
"It makes sense that this language is meant to teach that everyone, "even those who do not comprehend," are required to (or entitled to) taste freedom."
I like to think that Emma Lazarus also commented on this pasuk: "Until we are all free, we are none of us free." I wonder whether Wassertheil was conscious of her words when he wrote this commentary.
This week, I spent a day in the Federal Courthouse in Brooklyn with our eighth-grade students, participating in a Civic Spirit program. We heard from Second Circuit Court Judge Sullivan, attended a Naturalization Ceremony, met Federal Marshals and their bomb-sniffing dogs; and heard from Federal Prosecutors and Public Defenders. Many aspects of the day were unforgettable. The dog was an entertaining highlight, but it paled compared to other components. I had never been to a naturalization ceremony before, nor had our students, and I had expected it to be a bureaucratic and fairly dry experience. Quite the opposite. The students and I were in awe of the 48 people representing 21 different countries who were becoming citizens. Their expressions varied, but they all seemed intense; later, students in my group described how they read different people's expressions during the ceremony: joyful, nervous, scared, proud, and overwhelmed. We also discussed our families' immigration stories; every child in my group knew where they came from. Every one of us either immigrated ourselves, had a parent who immigrated, a grandparent or great grandparents. Not a single one's family had been here for as long as they could trace. Despite the majority of the students being American citizens by birth, their family stories of immigration were ingrained in them in a way that seemed core to their identities. Many of them described thinking about their parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents as they watched the ceremony. It made me think of another quote from this week's Parashah:
וּלְמַ֡עַן תְּסַפֵּר֩ בְּאׇזְנֵ֨י בִנְךָ֜ וּבֶן־בִּנְךָ֗
God tells Moshe to approach Pharoah with magical acts, so that "you may recount to your children and children's children" the Exodus from Egypt with the wondrous acts of God that enabled it.
Judge Sullivan sounded like he was quoting the Torah when he implored the new citizens to "remember this day, and tell your children and grandchildren about it." Judge Sullivan said something else that really stuck with me. He talked about the powerful diversity in the room- countries of origin, religions, and personal stories that brought each person to this moment. Then he described this ceremony as uniting all of these new citizens with each other and all Americans. Judge Sullivan described America as the first country not founded on a specific shared identity but on shared ideas and values. He addressed the new citizens and all of us in the room with the charge of being the guardians of these values through concrete acts like paying taxes, voting, and more philosophical and equally important activities like being good neighbors and celebrating our country's heroes. The future of our country is based on ideas, and every citizen must internalize these ideas and bring them to fruition for themselves and others.
Judge Sullivan also spoke about this country as "not perfect" now or in its founding, saying to the new citizens, "Many of you have already felt the stain of bigotry and prejudice in America," but he continued, "Our ideals endure." Later, a person in the breakout group I facilitated reflected back on these words and commented that the mission of a country or any organization is meant as the goal we are trying to achieve rather than as a description of the current state of affairs. Judge Sullivan contextualized these real imperfections as obligating each American, including our newest citizens, to do their part to embody our ideas and pass those on to our children.
This Shabbat ushers in the start of African American Heritage Month. Moshe’s response to Pharoah especially resonant- everyone deserves to be free, and we do not leave anyone behind. Judge Sullivan’s message, too, resonates and obligates. We love our country with its imperfections, and with the power our citizenship provides comes the responsibility to protect its ideals through actions. To face our faults and do better to make sure none of us is left behind.
I want this charge to be stuck in my head like a catchy song, present with me both consciously and subconsciously. Maybe one day, one of our students will set it to music as an act of stewarding our American and Jewish ideals.
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