Thought for Shavu'ot

by Rabbi Alexandra Wright

“I am the Eternal One your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.”

The first of the Ten Commandments, or Ten Words (aseret ha-dibbrot), as they are known in Hebrew, is no commandment, but a statement, an introduction, a greeting even.  Some count the second of the Ten Words “You shall have no other gods besides me” as part of the first, but if they are intended as a separate commandment, then how shall we interpret the opening words of God’s revelation to humanity?

For Maimonides (1135-1204), the great rationalist, this opening sentence constitutes a formal mitzvah incumbent upon every Jew to know that God exists.  To acknowledge then, that God is Creator of heaven and earth is primary and comes even before the intimate, personal relationship that God might have with the slave brought out of Egypt.  The “I’ who speaks in this verse, is the One who commands. Perhaps we should read this verse, not “I am the Eternal One your God”, but rather “I, the Eternal One, am your God…”

But compare Maimonides’ view with the poet of the twelfth century, Judah Halevi (died 1141).  Halevi focuses on the second half of the verse: “who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.”  This is how we know God, says Halevi, through personal experience.  And yet Halevi wants to particularise this first commandment, to say that it is a command that relates to the Jews alone.   If it were universal, surely the commandment would begin with the words: “I am the Eternal One your God, Maker of heaven and earth.”

Abraham ibn Ezra (died 1167) offers a compromise that accommodates the universal God of creation and the particularistic God who brought the Israelites out of Egypt.  There are two voices, two listeners, he says.  The commandment addresses both – those who can reason their way intellectually to a creator God, and those who require the direct experience of the Exodus from Egypt to create that particular and intimate relationship with God.

But we must be careful that this reading doesn’t create an intellectual hierarchy or division – between the philosophically astute rationalist on the one hand, and the mystic who requires the personal and relational approach of a God who must be felt and experienced.

To step away for a moment from the complexities of these interpretations of one verse, is to remind ourselves of the scepticism and disillusion around faith in God who compels us towards the observance of a moral code, or the God whose presence is often sensed in moments of heightened sensitivity.

The likes of Dawkins and others have punctured the notions of trust and patience, of faith and belief and yet surely above all, Judaism teaches that God is a presence who cares and is concerned for humanity and for the world.  That is the meaning of the Hebrew word emunah  (“faith”) – a feeling that we can somehow entrust ourselves to a God who feels concern for us. 

Without that knowledge, without that intuition and tentative faith in God, then we can come very close to despair and hopelessness.  We cannot know what will happen to us, what will become of those closest to us.  Without faith, the danger is that a kind of neurosis can take its place, an interminable worry that terrible things will happen to us.  Actually, terrible things do happen, that is the tragedy of our world, unimaginable sadness and desperate losses happen to those close to us and we cannot imagine how it must be for those who have to confront their worst nightmares. Our faith and trust in God is not of the kind that says: God wanted this person because she or he was too good for the world; it is not the faith of fatalism or divine reward and punishment. It is much gentler, much less dramatic, perhaps more simply an eventual acceptance and trust that in our losses and in our despair, God is with us and God is deeply concerned with human affairs and feelings.

Is that the meaning of this opening ‘word’?  I am the Eternal One your God, precisely because I brought you out from your oppression, I ended your slavery and helped you to win your freedom.  I brought you out of yourself, released you from your fears and anxieties and gave you a confidence to move out in the world and embrace a necessary and vital moral code.

Rabbi Alexandra Wright

Liberal Jewish Synagogue