Monday, we celebrated Rosh Chodesh, the beginning of the Jewish month of Shevat. This month, known for its holiday, Tu Bishvat, the new year for trees, has become an extended moment to focus on our relationship to the natural world, and at MWJDS, we declared the midah, character trait, of the month K’vod HaBeriyah, taking care of the world. Why, you might ask, do trees need a new year, or a birthday, as it is sometimes called? The original answer lies in the agricultural life of ancient Israel. The Torah gives us rules for produce – when it can and cannot be harvested, how much to give to the poor, to the kohanim, who have no land of their own, which produce needs to be eaten in Jerusalem – and all of these laws depend on which year the produce grows. And while this reason is the beginning, the holiday has taken many forms over the years, most recently becoming a holiday about environmental protection and awareness.
Coincidentally, this week’s parsha, Bo, is where the Israelites first receive the mitzvah to keep a calendar. Just before the final plague hits Egypt, God tells Moses and Aaron, “Hachodesh hazeh lachem rosh chodashim; rishon hu lachem l’chodshei hashanah. This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you.” (Exodus 12:2) Now that the people will be free from Egypt, they will need a calendar to help them plan, a calendar to mark time and help them keep track of obligations like those that make it necessary for trees to have a birthday.
As the parsha begins, B’nai Yisrael, the Isralites, are getting ready to leave Egypt, and through the plagues, Egypt is in the midst of an environmental crisis. In the Torah, environmental crises are often linked to God’s will, as is certainly the case in this situation.
Notably, B’nai Yisrael also went down to Egypt in the midst of an environmental crisis, that time a drought. In that case, Joseph’s ability to plan for the future allowed both Egyptians and Israelites to be saved from the environmental crisis, living on the stores of food Joseph and the Pharaoh of his time had put away.
Now, though, Pharaoh’s refusal to let B’nai Yisrael go is leading to plague after plague, each one destroying more and more of Egypt’s livelihood. With the livestock and crops already decimated by wild animals, disease and hail, this week’s parsha brings a blanket of locusts to eat everything that is left.
Pharaoh, as he has before, calls Moses and Aaron, promising to repent and begging them to make the plague stop. In chapter ten, verses 16 and 17, Pharaoh actually admits wrongdoing and asks forgiveness. He plead with Moses to pray to God, “viyaser me’alai rak hamavet hazeh, that God would take away from me just this death” While it is clear that Pharaoh is referring to the locusts as a kind of death, which arguably they are, as they are eating the last of what was left growing, the word rak, only, seems out of place. The sentence makes more sense without it.
The Hassidic commentary Be’er Mayim Chaim, by Rabbi Hayim of Chernowitz, notes the unusual phrasing and suggests that putting it this way is Pharaoh’s way of preemptively arguing that Moses should pray for him. Without this limitation, says R Chaim, Pharaoh imagines Moses would respond, “How can I pray for you, when every time you see that you have some relief (from the plagues) you don’t want to send [the Israelites away]. This time too, as soon as you aren’t in trouble you won’t want to send [them].” R. Chaim quotes the midrash that the way of evil-doers is that when they are in trouble, they humble themselves, but when the trouble passes, they go back to their old ways. Pharaoh’s request that God take away just this death is something like a guarantee that he can’t go back on his word, because the deal will be just for this one plague. If he refuses to let the people go, he has no protection from the next one.
Of course, Moses does pray, and the locusts go away, and Pharaoh, despite his guarantee, and his momentary self awareness, does go back to his old ways. Pharaoh, following the rabbis’ model, is not planning ahead to avert the next environmental crisis. He is focused only of the trouble he is in right now, and how to save himself from this death.
It is easy, from our perspective, to see how foolish Pharaoh’s approach is, and like the rabbis of the midrash, we could attribute his short-sightedness and his temporary humility, to his evil nature. But the tendency to think humbly and repent when in hot water, and return to selfish or thoughtless behavior when the trouble seems to go away is not limited to only evil people. We see it in the impulsivity of our children, who sometimes do what they know they shouldn’t because they really want to, only to feel bad about it later, suffer the consequences, and often make the same bad choice the next time the opportunity arises. But I think we can also find it within ourselves and in other mostly good people. It is easiest for any of us to choose to do the right thing when the alternative is clearly disaster.
The ability to plan for the future, to make the right choices even when the consequences of the wrong choice are not looming, to avoid crises before they overtake us, is not easy. As we enter the month of shevat, the month of K’vod haBeriyah, respect for the natural world, parshat bo brings us a reminder. We have the privilege of freedom. Our choices are our own. But they come with responsibility. Pharaoh’s failure to think beyond the needs of the present moment, led to environmental catastrophe from him and his people. Though we do not see environmental crises in our time as the direct result of God’s displeasure with our actions, we do find that human actions have caused a great deal of destruction in the natural world. We have another option. With a calendar to help us plan for and keep track of our responsibilities, we can think ahead, and do the right thing. With Pharaoh’s foolishness on display as a negative example, we can be humble not only when we are in trouble. We can save ourselves not only from this death, but from other threats, environmental and otherwise, that we might avoid in the future.