Defeating Pharoah’s Descendants (Yitro)

We are living in a time of immense pain and urgency. This week’s parasha offers uplift and inspiration that we cannot leave behind. But, after seeing the conditions in which our three brothers — Eli Sharabi, Or Levy and Ohad Ben Ami — were released by the terrorists last Shabbat, after learning what they endured in captivity, that is where my scarred eyes remain. We are in an intense period, and so I implore you: pay attention, be loud and proud in your Jewishness, and demand dignity for our people more loudly than you ever have. That demand must begin, continue, and end with the 76 hostages still held in captivity. This is our sacred obligation.

Parashat Yitro tells of a powerful reunion — Yitro, Moses’ father-in-law, a Midianite priest, meets Moses after the Israelites’ escape from Egypt. When Moses fled Egypt after killing an Egyptian taskmaster, he found refuge with Yitro, married his daughter Tziporah, and built a life as a shepherd. Later, after leading the Israelites out of Egypt, Moses reunites with Yitro, recounting all that God had done — every hardship, every miracle, every moment of salvation (Ex. 18:9).

Yitro rejoices, but how do we understand that joy? How do we hold the complexity of celebrating salvation while acknowledging the destruction that preceded it? Egypt was not merely defeated; it was devastated. Plague after plague, Egypt crumbled because, in the biblical paradigm, the only way to achieve freedom was through utter destruction of the oppressor.

It is impossible not to see a parallel with today.

But unlike Yitro’s jubilance, in our moment, we do not see a parted sea. We do not expect divine intervention. The world is not built that way. Perhaps it never was. In our mythic telling, God intervenes, but we know — deeply, painfully — that salvation does not simply arrive. It must be fought for. And yet, I struggle with how my heart feels. These last 493 days have changed us. For so long, many of us insisted that the Torah’s violent narratives had no place in our world. And then, on October 7th, 2023, and again last Shabbat, we saw evil with our own eyes. We saw what it does.

I assume, my friends, that you have seen the faces of Or, Eli, and Ohad. Gaunt, haunted, like Then. Then… We have witnessed their suffering, the cruelty of their captors. We have learned — again — the price of powerlessness.

In the Torah, salvation is in God’s hands. But there is something else for us to see: the terrible truth that some things have not changed. Archetypal evil still exists. Egypt’s Pharoah, whose hatred of our ancestors knew no bounds, has spiritual descendants too. They wear masks and torture our sisters and brothers. I do not believe in “children of light” and “children of darkness.” We are all so much more complicated than that. But I know this: my brothers were tortured for the crime of being Jewish, for daring to believe that Jews have the right to a home and the right to be safe.

And what do we see from their captors? Hamas taking pride in their cruelty. A father learns from his three-year-old son that his wife has been murdered — because the child had more time to process it than he did during 16 months barefoot and malnourished in a dark tunnel. A man looks forward to embracing his brother, only to be told in front of cameras by his terrorist captors that his brother was murdered.

Moses told Yitro of the hardships that had befallen the Israelites, and I find myself wondering: what did the Israelites look like after 210 years of slavery? I imagine they looked better than Or, Elie, and Ohad do now. And that says something.

So, take a moment. Say their names.

Or. Eli. Ohad.

Pray for their bodies and their souls.

Pray for their families.

They are free. Healing can begin. But 76 others remain in captivity. Some are waiting for proper burial. Some are alive. Pray for them and their families.

We must learn from our Torah. It speaks of destruction as a necessary prerequisite to freedom. But we do not learn this to celebrate it. We do not learn this to seek devastation. We learn this because the Torah is telling us something true: powerlessness has a price.

Evil exists. No matter when, no matter where. We are not perfect people. But we are not evil people.

Look at the contrast: Palestinian murderers are released in exchange for Israeli civilians. The murderers are well-fed. Yahya Sinwar, the mastermind of October 7th, had brain surgery performed by an Israeli doctor to save his life while a prisoner for murderous crimes he had already committed against Israelis. That is who we are.

And we are entering a season where we confront this truth in our history. This week, we will receive the Torah as part of Parashat Yitro’s narrative. And soon, we will reach Purim — a holiday that reminds us of archetypal enemies, of Haman’s decree, of our survival.

Until October 7th, I did not use the word ‘evil’ to describe people. I used it for the past. But now, I feel it in my skin. Looking at Or, Eli, and Ohad, I know it is real.

There is too much happening. But let me leave you with a story.

Elie Wiesel, of blessed memory, once taught a student at Boston University. The student asked: “Professor Wiesel, there is a march against South African apartheid on Sunday, and a march for Soviet Jewry also on Sunday. Which should I go to?”

Wiesel looked him in the eye and said: “Both, of course. But I will tell you why you must go to the march for Soviet Jewry — because if you don’t, who will?”

We cannot wait for divine intervention. That is not how this will work. We cannot wait for others to act. We must use our voices, our power, our presence. May it not come to utter destruction of others.

But Am Yisrael, my people, will be free — no matter what it takes.