The One Who Redeems Our Children[1]
(Study led by Rabbi Sacks on Shabbat, the first morning of Passover, April 16, 2022)
At our Passover seder, we use a Haggadah. The word Haggadah means “a telling.” But whose story do we tell on Passover? One obvious answer: Our people’s. We might also think: our own. Yes–both would be correct. But, perhaps as well, it’s the night to tell G!d’s story as well. Let me explain through the exploration of a midrash.
We’re looking at Deuteronomy Rabbah 1:15 as it appears in the manuscript at Oxford published by Professor Saul Lieberman, z”l.[2] It explains how Jewish boys survived Pharaoh’s decree of male infanticide. In my session on Passover, I spoke how Miriam and Pharaoh’s daughter had the first know interfaith dialogue and worked together, along with Yocheved and her Israelite friends, the handmaidens of Pharaoh’s daughter and her slave girl all worked together to ensure Moshe’s survival and growth into the person he became, marked by the compassion of his non-traditional family structure.
But other Jewish boys survived as well, for they were among the adults who were redeemed from Egypt. How did they survive Pharaoh’s decree?. The midrash attempts to answer our questions. First, here’s the background to where we’ll be studying this morning. Jewish women were unwilling to condemn their sons to death and so ventured into the wilderness to give birth, away from Egyptian oversight. Some midrashim depict the setting as the apple orchards. In any event, after giving birth, the mothers could not bring the boys back home because the decree of infanticide was they would be taken and murdered. So they turned to G!d and declared, “I have done my part.” Now it’s time for you to do Yours.”
According to this midrash, that’s exactly what G!d did. Let’s now read the first part of the midrash:
Rabbi Chiyya the Great taught:
May the Name of the Holy One of Blessing be praised, as G!d in full glory, did this for them. The infants grew up in the field like grass, and after they grew up, they returned in flocks to their homes. This is as Ezekiel prophesied, “A myriad–like grass of the field–I ensured for you.”[3]
So here G!d is clearly depicted as a surrogate mother to the Jewish people’s abandoned male babies. This is a different G!d than we often consider in thinking about the Passover story.
In the book of Exodus, for example, G!d is presented as an ish milchamah, a warrior fighting to free the people, while in this midrash, G!d is a mother figure, caring for Her infants.
In Exodus G!d cares for His children by bringing punishment and death to others, while the G!d of this midrash cares for Her children the way we would imagine a good mother doing: by nursing them, washing them, tending to them, holding them, cherishing them.
What happens to these children? How do they find their way to their mothers whom they haven’t seen since they were born, to their fathers they have never met and to their homes they never knew? According to the midrash, when the danger had passed, G!d brought the children home. Let’s read about this in the second section of the midrash:
How did they have awareness to which parents they should return?
Rather, the Holy One of Blessing accompanied them, showing every single one their parents’ home, encouraging each one, “Call out to your father So-and-So” and to your mother “So-and-So.”
Each child would say to their mother, “Don’t you remember when you gave birth to me in such-and-such a field on such-and-such a day five months ago?”
G!d’s kindness to the lost children of Egypt, according to this midrash, was not limited to the care G!d gives them while their parents cannot care for them. Rather, G!d’s kindness extends to ensure that the children know who they are, teaching them their parents’ names, the circumstances of their births, and where they came from. In this midrash, G!d redeems the Jewish people by making sure that children learn their parents’ names and know their parents’ stories.
This Midrash adds one additional scene, one that comes much later, with another reunion, this time the reunion between G!d and these very children. Let’s read:
When they arrived at the Sea and saw G!d, they pointed G!d out to their mothers with their finger, exclaiming, “This is my G!d whom I will exalt.”[4] This is the One who raised me; “this is my G!d whom I will exalt.”
How fascinating! The adults who experienced miracle after miracle after miracle did not recognize G!d at all or sense G!d’s Presence. Rather, it was the children G!d tended to personally and raised as a single parent who recognized G!d. This was the redemption, the great miracle our people experienced: not G!d as the ish milchamah, the great warrior who saved the people from the pursuing Egyptians, but G!d as the One Who raised the abandoned boys and later returned them safely to their homes.
We hope that every family gets to care for their own children, to feed and raise them personally. This is one of freedom’s immeasurable gifts. When we raise our children ourselves, we have the merit to do for them what G!d did for our children in Egypt: dress them, hold them close, love them. Care is the gift of freedom. It is a gift not all of our ancestors had, and a gift denied to many. We think of the millions of children who are human trafficked, or many as a result of the Russian invasion of Ukraine.
Yet, in Egypt at least, the side effect of the harrowing upbringing of those abandoned children of slaves was growing up with G!d Herself. When they grew up, they of course recognized G!d immediately. Our children, on the other hand, do not grow up recognizing G!d so readily. One meaning I take away from exploring this midrash is that today we parents and grandparents have a responsibility. Just as G!d told our children our stories when we were absent, we must tell our children and grandchildren G!d’s story.
That’s precisely what happens on Seder night. On Seder night, we step into G!d’s role and tell our children stories of G!d, who often feels absent. Thus we hope to ensure that when they encounter G!d in the world, they will recognize Her. Just as G!d taught our children our names and stories when we were unable to, on Seder night, we tell our children and grandchildren about G!d.
This is G!d’s Name, we say. And this is G!d’s story. G!d gave birth to us long ago in a land called Egypt. This is how you will recognize G!d when you meet Her: She is the One who frees slaves and loves the broken-hearted. She is the One who cares for those no one else can care for. She is the one who brings lost children home.
May we continue to encounter this G!d of radical caring and radical compassion.
May we continue to recognize G!d in such acts of redemption that occur every day through the efforts of parents and grandparents, the daily acts of ordinary people like us.
And may we continue to tell G!d’s story, Pesach after Pesach, year after year, day after day. Amen.
Chag samei-ach and Shabbat shalom!
[1] Rabbi Sacks’ teaching reflects on the thinking of Rabbi Tali Adler.
[2] Deuteronomy Rabbah is a sermonic commentary on the Book of Deuteronomy dating from c. 900 CE.
It was apparently organized as having one commentary based on one verse (occasionally more) on each section of Deuteronomy according to the Palestinian three-year cycle.
[3] Ezekiel 16:7.
[4] Exodus 15:2.