Yosef writes: "I recently received a letter from a friend of mine, a public-school teacher in California. He told me about one of his students -- a young boy who had suffered several tragic and traumatic experiences. My friend, who is a compassionate and caring person, felt moved to help the boy. Yet individuals in the community at large tried to dissuade him from getting involved. They claimed that this was the boy's karma -- his fate -- and that he had to work it out alone. I wrote this piece in response.

"We were slaves unto Pharaoh in Egypt, and HaShem our G-d took us out from there with a strong hand and an outstretched arm. And if the Holy One, Blessed be He, had not taken our forefathers out of Egypt, then we, our children, and our children's children would still be slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt." -- Pesach Haggadah

How are we to understand this passage? Is it to be taken literally? If G-d had not delivered us, would we really still be slaves to Pharaoh? Might not there have been a rebellion at some point in time, or a movement of social reform which would have abolished slavery, or the eventual collapse of Egyptian civilization which would have brought about our freedom? Or do these words refer to a different type of bondage -- an enslavement to an Egyptian mentality that is not limited to one nation or place. If so, then the message of Pesach is eternal, and G-d's deliverance an act of universal significance -- applicable for all humanity, for all time.

The Pesach story is about the exodus from Egypt. Inherent in the tale is a powerful message -- a protest against passivity in the face of human suffering, against ambivalence towards injustice, and against surrender to immutable fate. These ideas are reflected in the deeds of individuals who actively and forcefully intervened in order to save others from oppression. In one short paragraph, Exodus 2, four such incidents are related. The close juxtaposition of these events accentuates their nature, and the noble character of the individuals involved.

The first account of such intervention occurs at the very beginning of the Pesach narrative. Pharaoh had given orders to throw every new-born Hebrew boy into the Nile. The Torah describes how Moshe's mother managed to hide her infant son for three months, until she was finally forced to seek an alternative plan to save him. Coating a reed basket with pitch and tar, she placed the child inside and set it in the rushes near the bank of the Nile.

"And Pharaoh's daughter went to bathe in the Nile . . . nd she saw the box in the rushes and sent her handmaid to fetch it. She opened it, and saw the boy. The infant began to cry, and she to pity on him. 'It is one of the Hebrew children,' she said . . . . She adopted him as her own son, and named him Moshe (Moses); and she said, 'Because I drew him from the water.'" (Exodus 2:5-10)

The name Moshe literally means "to draw from the water." It is an active verb, as opposed to mashui, which means "to be drawn." According to the classic Biblical commentary Seforno, Pharaoh's daughter, Batya, gave him this name in order to demonstrate that her adopted son will become a person who will "draw" or save others from oppression. Batya had defied her father's orders, and she sought to raise the new- found child with the very values of compassion and humanity that she herself exhibited. And indeed, the very next line in the Torah, the second act of intervention, shows that she was successful.

"And it came to pass, when Moshe was grown, that he went out to his brothers and saw their burdens. And he noticed an Egyptian beating one of his fellow Hebrews. He looked around, and when he saw that there was no man, he killed the Egyptian and hid his body in the sand." (ibid :11-12)

A Midrash teaches that when Moshe saw one of his brethren being beaten to death, he felt compelled to take the law into his own hands. For he saw "that there was no man" -- no official in all of Egypt to whom he could appeal for justice. A similar expression is found in the Book of Isaiah:

"And G-d looked round and in His eyes it was an evil thing that there was no justice. He saw that there was no man and was astonished that no one intervened: therefore His arm brought salvation to him [Israel]; and His righteousness, it sustained him." (Isaiah 59:15- 16)

However, Moshe was not just concerned with the struggle between his people and the Egyptians. As the story continues, we discover that he was interested in their internal welfare, as well:

"Moshe went out the next day, and he saw two Hebrew men fighting. 'Why are you beating your brother?' he demanded of the guilty one. 'Who made you prince and judge?' he retorted. 'Do you mean to kill me as you killed the Egyptian?' And Moshe feared and said, 'The incident is known.' When Pharaoh heard about the affair, he took steps to have Moshe put to death. Moshe fled from Pharaoh, and ended up in the land of Midian: and he sat down by a well." (Exodus 2:13-15)

The next part of the story demonstrates that Moshe's sense of justice was not limited to his own people. In this fourth story of intervention, we see how the one who was drawn from the water becomes one who draws for others:

"The priest of Midian had seven daughters who came to draw water. As they were beginning to fill the troughs and water their father's sheep, other shepherds came and tried to chase them away. Moshe got up and came to their aid, and then watered their sheep." (ibid :16-20)

The Torah portrays Moshe's compassionate deeds, and his readiness to intervene in the face of injustice. But, Moshe was not merely responding to isolated incidents of oppression, his actions were protests against the prevailing world-view of his time. According to Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, the Egyptian society was one of a strict caste system. Each individual was born into a particular stratum of the social order, without the slightest hope of improvement. Oppression of the lower classes was not considered an injustice; it was simply in accordance with their predestined and eternal state. R. Hirsch writes:

"Such was the character of the Egyptian caste system. Its search to discover the secrets of nature and society resulted only in the perception of deterministic forces locked in blind conflict, fettered in eternal obedience to the laws of nature no one was considered simply a human being or even an Egyptian. Rather, a man was defined and ranked according to his own particular caste and professional guild. All of Egyptian life was coerced into this framework, and, as Egyptian paintings depict to this day, even the king had to kneel before the very class of royalty into which he was born!

It was this people, consisting entirely of subservient classes, that sought to subjugate the free sons of Avraham and turn them into slaves . . . . Had the diabolic plan succeeded, the free origin of the Hebrew would soon have been forgotten, and each son of Avraham would have been considered 'predestined' to remain a slave to the monarch in perpetuity . . . . (The Hirsch Haggadah, p.261-262)

We can hear this world-view expressed in the word's of Dosan and Aviram (the two Jews who were fighting). "You are a Hebrew like us," they might have told Moshe. "Even though you were raised in the palace, what makes you think you can judge us and tell us what to do?" But Moshe denied the prevailing view of his society, whether on behalf of his own oppressed people or for the daughters of a stranger. He asserted the responsibility of moral intervention. "In the place where there are no men, strive to be a man" (Pirkei Avos 2:6). His was an act of redemption, an affirmation of the individual's right to freedom, and an attack on all who seek to enslave human potential, be it through the arguments of innate potential, immutable social laws, or karmic destiny.

Yet, this is only half the story. For, in the Pesach narrative, G-d too "intervenes." He descends into Egypt to deliver an oppressed and subjugated people. And just as there are four incidents of intervention, there are four promises of redemption:

I will take you away from your forced labor in Egypt,
And I will deliver you from their slavery;
And I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great acts of judgement.
And I will take you to Me for a people. (Exodus 6:6-7)

G-d overturned the strict laws of nature which the Egyptians worshipped. He took "one nation from out of another" (Deuteronomy 4:34). And despite all arguments that the Jews were neither ready nor deserving of deliverance, He broke the iron gate to take them to Him as His people.

The promise of redemption culminated on the sixth of Sivan; the day of the Giving of the Torah. There, in the First Commandment, G-d proclaims: "I am the L-rd your G-d Who took you out of the land of Egypt, from the house of slavery" (Exodus 20:2). According to many halachic authorities, this verse is the source of our obligation to believe in the One G-d Who creates and watches over all life. Inherent in the very words of this commandment is the affirmation that the G-d Who creates is the One Who redeems, Who intervenes on behalf of the suffering and the oppressed. "For the violence done to the poor, for the sighing of the needy, now I will arise, says the L-rd" (Psalms 12:6). According to R. Hirsch, this message of Pesach is not for the Jewish people alone, but for the entire world.

"For His purpose G-d chooses the Hebrews, the very class of slaves who were doomed to servitude for generations. There, in the state based on an oppressive, self-perpetuating caste-system, He proclaims to mankind the message of eternal freedom, of the inherent mark of Divinity upon all men who are created in His image and are His children for all time . . . .

"The charter attesting to the rights of every man, the charter of man's inherent freedom and Divine dignity, was transmitted to mankind by those who went out from Egypt. Through this charter, the hearts of men and the minds of leaders and nations were enlightened by the realization that there can be no hope or deliverance for society unless there is freedom and independence for every individual. As a result, society expectantly awaits salvation: it directs its hopes towards the days to come, when its Father in Heaven will bless all His children, when all men will form a single community, dwelling on earth in freedom and peace." (The Hirsch Haggadah, p.262)

On the sixth of Sivan we became the people of the One Who intervenes in history on behalf of the oppressed. But there was another deed of intervention that happened on this day many years before. According to the Midrash, it was on the sixth of Sivan that Batya saved the child she would name Moshe. Perhaps the Midrash is making a connection; that on some level, Batya was already hearing the Voice at Sinai. Tradition tells us that on that day, she abandoned the pagan beliefs of Egypt. This took place on the day she went to bathe in the river.

"She went down into the river to cleanse herself from the idolatry of her father's house." Tractate(Sotah 12b)

Batya was no longer a servant of the idols of Egypt -- gods which confine human beings to predestined roles. She felt a yearning to serve the One G-d of freedom, and through saving the young Moshe, she cleansed herself from her old beliefs. Our Sages tell us that as a result of her deed, HaShem named her Batya -- the daughter of G-d, for with this act, she was no longer the daughter of Pharaoh, but of the Compassionate One. On this, the Midrash comments:

"Whoever saves one life is compared to one who saves an entire world; therefore, she became worthy of life in the World to Come." (Yalkut Shimoni, Shemos 2:166)

Such is the obligation of every human being. To follow the path of justice and compassion. To "walk in His ways" (Deuteronomy 28:9), acting benevolently towards all human beings, and upholding the values of justice and human dignity.

However, the old idols are reappearing in our age in a new guise, threatening to once again enslave the human spirit. But G-d has forbidden us to return to Egypt. "G-d has told you that you must never again return on that path" (Deuteronomy 17:16). For it is the path which leads to indifference to the suffering and pain of others; to a place where people forget that each individual being is made in the Divine Image, with the capacity for growth and change. This is the slavery of Egypt that returns generation after generation. Only when we rededicate ourselves to the One Who proclaimed, "I am the L-rd your G-d who took you out of the Land of Egypt, from the house of slavery," will we be truly free.

(C) Eliezer Shore, Bas Ayin

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