(One of my favorite remixes of “If I were a Rich Man” from Fiddler on the Roof.)
This moment is not unprecedented. We have never been a people totally alone.
In the American Jewish community, we often have a “Fiddler on the Roof” bias where we believe that the Broadway musical is a faithful rendition of the Jewish past. Contrary to the Fiddler narrative, we were not all once insular, observant Jews who were forced to get with the times and integrate with the greater world with the advent of modernity. The Jewish community’s approach to religious practice has always been varied, and there have always been non-Jewish people in our midst and part of our collective story.
In this week’s portion, we encounter one of the most important non-Jews in our people’s mythic history: Jethro (Hebrew: Yitro). He was Moses’ father-in-law, and also a Midianite priest. He famously gave sage political and professional advise to Moses — teaching him the importance of delegation when Moses was overwhelmed with his communal responsibilities.
In later generations, Jethro also became a Rorschach test for how Jews understood the non-Jewish members of their community. In Exodus 18:9, we encounter a verse about Jethro that serves as an interesting platform to discuss the relationships between Jews and non-Jews in Jewish families and communities:
וַיִּ֣חַדְּ יִתְר֔וֹ עַ֚ל כׇּל־הַטּוֹבָ֔ה אֲשֶׁר־עָשָׂ֥ה יְהֹוָ֖ה לְיִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל אֲשֶׁ֥ר הִצִּיל֖וֹ מִיַּ֥ד מִצְרָֽיִם׃
And Jethro (va’yichad) rejoiced over all the kindness that יהוה had shown Israel when delivering them from the Egyptians. (Exodus 18:9)
The first word of this verse can be read in multiple ways. Rashi believes that the word va’yichad does not mean “rejoice” as our JPS translation claims. Rashi looks at the Hebrew root chad — which means “sharp,” as an indication that Jethro got “goosebumps of disgust” when he heard of the puny Israelites’ dominance over the mighty Egyptians. For Rashi, even though Jethro seems like a trusted friend and father in law, he cannot be trusted. He does not share in our joy or our fear, and puts on appearances in order to lull us into a false sense of security.
For Ibn Ezra, the meaning of va’yichad is totally clear. Drawing upon a parallel usage in the Book of Job, he argues that this word means simply “he rejoiced.” Jethro was totally transparent, and as a non-Jewish member of a Jewish community, he shared in our feelings and our fates.
Rashi and Ibn Ezra show two extremes about how we imagine non-Jews in Jewish communities. For Rashi, there is always a subterranean contempt. For Ibn Ezra, there are people like Jethro who share in our joys and our pains while living in our families and in our midst. Sforno, a later Italian commentator, places himself somewhere in the middle of the debate:
ויחד יתרו, he did not rejoice over the destruction of Egypt as a major power. This is what he should have done if he had been truly concerned with the honour and glory due to his Creator. We know this from Psalms 58,11. However, he did rejoice over the well being of the Israelites. He behaved like someone whose heart is moved by the tears of the oppressed.
For Sforno, Jethro is neither a sheep in wolf’s clothing nor an unalloyed ally of the Jewish people. Jethro did not rejoice over the victory of our foes, but he did share in our pain when we were oppressed, and our joy when we were liberated. He was moved by our tears, but could not get behind the military victory that led our liberation.
In Rashi, Ibn Ezra, and Sforno, we see three different approaches to imagining the non-Jew in our midst. In every epoch, there have been non-Jews in our communities who have held multiple types of belonging to the Jewish people, and have tied their fate to ours in different ways. Likewise, in every age, Jews have imagined non-Jews’ feelings toward us in various ways.
This Shabbat, let us remember that the Jewish people has never consisted exclusively of Jews — our community has always been a mixed multitude, even/especially in ancient times. However, the mixed nature of Jewish families and communities is not simple: the intersection of one’s minority identity within a (somewhat) foreign national narrative is never predictable or uniform. That is true for non-Jews in Jewish communities, and for Jews living in other nations as well.
It behooves us the remember that the Jewish people have never been alone, and our relationships have always been varied. We should never assume that our relationships will always necessarily be a blessing or a curse — they can evolve, surprise, delight, and disappoint us. Moving through this complexity is not easy, but it has been part of the Jewish story from our very genesis. We should know that we are merely writing a new chapter in an ancient drama, not entering an existential and unprecedented reality. With that knowledge, God willing, we can engage with the sensitivity, nuance, and composure that this moment demands, and we can build stronger communities that draw upon our diversity wisely for a stronger Jewish future.
Shabbat Shalom.