OzTorah

When Amalek made war against Israel, Moses stood with his hands aloft supported by Aharon and Hur (Ex. 17:11-12).

The Midrash wonders what benefit this brought the Israelites, and it answers that when the people saw Moses in a posture of prayer they realised that victory would only be possible with the help of God.

Does this mean that any time that people stretch out their hands to heaven there will be a miracle and everything will turn out all right?

There are two ways of responding to the question. One: if you know you are fighting for God you will make a superhuman effort of will, and that in itself is a Divine miracle. Two: prayer is a secret weapon that strengthens human hands.

When someone is ill, they need the best possible doctors, the most skilful possible nurses. But prayer – on the part of the patient and their family, as well as from the doctors and nurses – improves the quality of the treatment and care.

It brings into the case the highest Doctor of all. As the sidra says in the name of God, Ani HaShem rof’echa – “I the Lord am Your Healer” (Ex. 15:26).

“One of the finest products of Hebrew poetry, remarkable for poetic fire and spirit, picturesque description, vivid imagery, quick movement, affective parallelism, and bright, sonorous diction” – that is Professor Driver’s tribute to the Song of the Red Sea.

The stirring melody in which the song is chanted, especially the S’fardi version, is full of excitement and vigour.

The words carry you along with them – “I will sing to the Lord, for He has gloriously triumphed: the horse and its rider has He cast into the sea”. The song is one of the high points of the year’s Torah readings.

The drowning of Pharaoh’s army at the Red Sea (Holman Bible, 1890)

Nonetheless the sages mounted a protest against it. Here are the people of Israel expressing their natural relief and joy at escaping from the nation that oppressed them for so long, and yet, say the rabbis, God objected.

“The work of My hands is drowning in the sea,” He said, “and you would sing a song to Me”?

This is amazing Jewish ethics. The Egyptian tyrants were wicked and inhumane, and they deserved punishment – yet they were still God’s creatures, and the rule is, “When your enemy falls, do not rejoice” (Prov. 24:17).

This principle is given as the explanation of our custom of spilling a drop of wine on Pesach at the mention of each of the ten plagues.

It also enables us to understand why we shorten the Hallel on the first six days of Pesach, because our joy is tempered by the thought that human beings, however wicked, had to suffer so we could survive.

From this we learn that there are times not to sing. But there are times for singing too.

The Baal Shem Tov used to say that we recognise God in the words of the Torah, in the themes of the prayer book – but also in the singing of the birds, the whispering of the trees and the grandeur of creation.

Life is full of moments of joy that should make us want to sing. True, there are days of disappointment, disillusionment and despair when nothing seems to go right. But one must have faith in tomorrow and say, “Tomorrow I will sing!”

Even today, in the very midst of its anxiety and worry, there is a reminder in the Psalms, “I lift up my eyes to the hills: whence comes my help? My help is from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth” (Psalm 121). And Adon Olam says, “The Lord is with me: I shall not fear”.

So even in the midst of one’s tears it is still possible to sing.

Q. Can you give any halachic advice about dealing with Alzheimer’s disease?

A. In 1998 Professor Moshe D Tendler, a medical ethicist, the son-in-law of the late Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, spoke on the subject to the 9th annual International Conference on Jewish Medical Ethics.

He urged individuals in the early stages of the disease to give a family member a power of attorney to make their future medical and legal decisions.

Knowing what distress the disease can cause to caregivers, he said it was possible for a husband to enter into a religious contract for a gett at some future point when three experts, usually doctors and rabbis, determined that the patient is no longer competent. This would dissolve the marriage from the date at which the contract was drawn up.

Regardless of this consideration, he stressed that “Honour your father and mother” meant that a child must do all they can for an ailing parent but empowered them to put the parent into a nursing home if his/her condition became literally unbearable. The family must help financially but in the final analysis the expenses of caring for a parent must come from the parent’s estate.

Treatment must not be withheld; halachic advice must be sought in relation to “heroic” measures such as life-support systems.

Q. What is the first mitzvah which a Bar-Mitzvah boy should observe?

A. The day he becomes Bar-Mitzvah, i.e. when he reaches the age of 13 years and one day, is like any other day in that it begins the evening before.

This pattern was set at the time of creation when “there was evening and (then) there was morning” (Gen. 1).

Hence the first mitzvah for a Bar-Mitzvah to observe is the evening service (Ma’ariv). In particular it is the evening Shema that is his first adult act as a Jewish adult.

The Shema is the basic affirmation of Jewish identity. It contains the basic Jewish dogma (God exists and is unique) and the basic duty (to love God, study His Torah and keep His commandments).

Some synagogues require a Bar-Mitzvah boy to say publicly a specially written Bar-Mitzvah prayer: nice, but probably unnecessary, since the Bar-Mitzvah boy who has begun his adult career with the Shema has said it all.

By the time the sidra opens, seven plagues have attacked Egypt.

The country is approaching collapse. Yet Pharaoh is still adamant: “The Israelites will not leave! I will not give in to Moses!”

Moses knows the king is furious. He can guess what reception he will get next time he goes to the palace. But it has to be done. So God decides to lift Moses’ spirits. Hence the sidra begins, “The Lord said to Moses, Bo el Paroh.”

The translation says, “Go to Pharaoh”. But the two-letter word bo doesn’t mean “go”. Another two-letter word, lech, means “go”. Bo means “come”.

God says, “Come to Pharaoh; I will be with you!” And with this assurance Moses can carry out his task. He will not be alone!

There is a question we all need to ask ourselves. Do we say “go” or “come” when others are facing a challenging moment?

Do we say to a fellow Jew, “Go – be a better Jew” or “Come – let us work on our Judaism together”?

Do we say to a communal cause, “Go – if you’re short of funds cut down on your activities!” or “Come – let us work together to find means for you to keep going”?

When Shabbat comes do we tell our children, “Go to synagogue on your own!” or “Come – let us come to shule together as a family”?

When our children become adults do we say, “Go – run your lives decently and honestly!” or “Come – let’s join forces and commit our whole family to do what is right”?

When someone is plunged into illness, despair, doubt or bereavement, do we say, “Go – it’s your problem!” or “Come – let me be with you and share your load”?

Saying “come” and not “go” is the beginning of being a mensch.