God's Promises

January 4, 2008
Rabbi Seymour Rossel

Our weekly portion begins as God speaks to Moses to make five promises to the people of Israel who are still slaves in Egypt. In the selection I read from the Torah, God promised to [1] free us, to [2] deliver us, to [3J redeem us, and to [4] make us God's Chosen people. In addition, God promised, "I will bring you into the land... to ...give it to you for a possession" (Exodus 6:4-8).

Having made these five promises, God instructs Moses to repeat them to the Israelites. But the Torah says, "When Moses told this to the Israelites, they would not listen to Moses -- their spirits were too crushed by cruel bondage" (Exodus 6:9).

I am always seized by this verse. Moses comes to the Israelite slaves just when it seems to them that things can never be worse. Moses imagines that he is bearing good news. God has sent him with promises -- and God's promises are bankable, they are certain, they are eternal, they are absolutely trustworthy. The Hebrews will soon be free, they will be delivered from their burdens, redeemed from their slavery. They will be the most esteemed people in God's world, a kingdom of priests and a holy nation, God's chosen people. And they will inherit the land of Canaan to turn it into a Holy Land. What better future could slaves ask for?

But the slaves have been beaten down by the Egyptians, Pharaoh had oppressed them so hard their backs were bent -- they could not stand upright when they returned home each day from their labor. Endlessly gathering the straw that had once been gathered for them, endlessly stirring the mixture of clay and straw and water, endlessly pouring the mixture into molds, endlessly setting the molds into the sun to bake as bricks, and endlessly separating the bricks one by one from the molds. It was not just their shoulders and backs that were painfully sore; they had lost their spirit, their souls were empty. From their point of view, they had cried out to heaven and heaven had sent them this strange shepherd who claimed he was once a prince of Egypt, but who was obviously as powerless and weak as they were, and who had, anyway, brought even more difficult work upon them.

No matter who announced the promises of God just then, the people could not have heard the promises. Not only has this verse always seized me, it was just this verse that seized the rabbis in the Midrash. Looking back at the wonders of the Exodus, they swore never to allow the Jewish people to be so hopeless that they would ignore God's eternal promises to the Jews.

Just then, as the rabbis wrote and taught, times were even worse for the Jewish people than they had been when they were slaves in Egypt. Not only had the Temple been destroyed and beautiful Jerusalem burned, not only had the Jews lost their kingdom to the Romans, but the Jews had risen in a second revolt led by Bar Kokhba which had proved an even greater disaster. In fact, in proportion, it may have been a greater disaster than even the modern Holocaust. Fully half of the Jewish population had died on account of the Revolt. Those who took part had been enslaved, sold, and deported to the far reaches of the Roman empire. For those who remained, there was the aftermath of war, the famine and the illnesses that continued to take a toll long after the fighting ceased. It was said that for fully fifty years after the Bar Kokhba Revolt, every time a Jew plowed his field, the plow would turn up the blood of those who had died.

Nevertheless, the rabbis found a way to keep God's promises in the minds of the people, no matter how depressed and oppressed they might be. The rabbis arranged the Passover Seder around four cups of wine and made each cup represent one of the eternal promises made to Moses: With the first cup there was a toast to freedom, the second cup toasted God's intention to deliver us from our enemies, the third cup reminded us of God's intention to redeem us from all slavery, and the fourth cup became a memorial to the fact that we are God's Chosen people. And what about the fifth promise? That God would make the Holy Land our possession?

The rabbis thought a great deal about that promise. All the others were spiritual promises. We could have faith in them, even if they seemed distant. But it was obvious that the Holy Land was no longer under Jewish rule. What should the rabbis do about the fifth promise? Should we drink a toast to the God's promise to give us the Land of Israel or not? In the end, they could not agree.

In the Jerusalem Talmud, the rabbis ended their debate by saying that "when Elijah comes to announce the Messiah," the prophet Elijah would tell us whether a fifth cup should become part of the Passover Seder. In the meanwhile, they said, let us set a cup for the fifth promise in the center of the table and not drink it. Call it "Elijah's cup" and wait for Elijah's final decision on the matter.

Today, we live in a land of freedom and plenty. Remarkably, it is just as difficult for us as Jews to hear God's promises when we have all we need, when our lives are comfortable, and when our bellies are full, as when we are deep in distress. Today, we are distracted by movies and television, by food and drink, by luxury and trinkets. What need have we for God's eternal promises when it seems we have all we need?

Those clever rabbis. You just have to give them credit. Because of them, once a year -- rich or poor, free or enslaved -- as we retell the story of Passover at our tables, we remind ourselves of those promises sent to us through Moses in ancient Egypt -- and we give thanks for being Jewish. Once a year, we remind ourselves of our destiny as Jews: to be free, to be delivered, to be redeemed, to be God's Chosen People, and to possess a Land of our own. Let us always remember and never forget. And let us say: Amen.