Humans bear grudges. As much as we might like to see ourselves as forgiving and understanding, most of us still have trouble letting go of past insults and offenses.
Jewish history offers countless examples of nations or individuals who have, in some way, hurt individual Jews or the Jewish community as a whole. Within the biblical text, the first nation to earn this distinction is Egypt, where the Israelites are enslaved for hundreds of years. Given the humiliation and misery of slavery, it would be natural—and even understandable—for the Jewish people as a whole, or at least the generation that came out of Egypt, to maintain a grudge against those who enslaved them.
Instead, the Torah commands us directly not to “abhor an Egyptian, because you were a stranger in his land.” (Deuteronomy 23:8) Surprisingly, the response to the oppressor should not be hate or revenge, but rather, in Rashi’s words, some modicum of gratitude for the place that was “like an inn for you in a time of trouble.” (comment to Deut. 23:8) Rather than prioritizing the memory of slavery, this command—according to Rashi—asks us to remember the hospitality that the Egyptians showed to the first generation of Israelites who entered Egypt.
A verse at the end of parshat Masei, the second half of the double portion that we read this week, offers a subtler reminder about the approach that we are asked to take toward the Egyptians.
In recounting the travels of the Israelites people, the text comments, “on the day after the Passover the children of Israel went out defiantly in the sight of all the Egyptians; the Egyptians were burying those whom God had struck down, all their first-born” (Numbers 33: 3-4)
There are at least two ways to read this verse. One option is to understand the reference to the Egyptians burying their dead as a statement of total victory: the burials indicate that the Egyptians were decimated to the point that they would never bother the Israelites again.
But I want to suggest a different reading. Rather than understand this verse only as a statement of victory, we can also hear it as a call for compassion. Precisely at the moment when the Israelites are crossing out of Egypt, they look back and acknowledge the suffering of their oppressors, who are, in the words of Rashi “preoccupied with their mourning.” Perhaps in this moment, even in the midst of their rejoicing, the Israelites succeed in recognizing the pain—and therefore the humanity—of their oppressors.
It is significant that the biblical text specifically presents the Egyptians in the act of burying their dead. Biblical and later texts describe burial as the ultimate act of compassion: Within the Torah text, God Godself buries Moses. Later, the rabbis describe caring for the dead as the ultimate form of g’milut chasadim—acts of lovingkindness.
It is common to dehumanize one’s enemies by presenting these others as lacking even basic compassion for their own children. With a few words, the biblical text forces us to see the compassion that the Egyptians have for their children, and the pain of the parents’ mourning. This glimpse, in turn, may compel the people to find some compassion even for their oppressor and to begin working toward a fulfillment of the commandment not to “abhor an Egyptian.”
(Cross-posted from jspot)