“Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?” – Old Man

“Throwing starfish into the ocean.” – Young Man

“I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?” – Old Man

“The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them in, they’ll die.” – Young Man

“But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can’t possibly make a difference!” – Old Man

The young man bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it into the ocean, and replied “I made a difference to that one!” – based on the Star Thrower, by: Loren Eiseley, 1907-1977

Batya. Now, how are we to understand her?

We can understand – even as we admire their sheer courage – the Jewish midwives. Ordered – personally by the Pharaoh himself – to murder the Jewish male infants they birthed, they instead assisted in hiding the children from Pharaoh and his security services. But at least we know why. They were Jewish. The children were Jewish. Together, they were a minority – and a despised and abused one at that – in Egypt. It made sense – even if it took far more guts than most others would have had.

Batya though. She was raised in the royal palace. She was Pharaoh’s own blood. And she knew it was a Jewish child (the rabbinic traditions have various threads as to how she knew this for certain, but let’s take the basic text at face value – who else would hide a child in a basket on the water?)

Still, despite her father’s decree, she rescues the child and brings him to – of all places – the palace, where she hires a Jewish wet nurse to care for him. He is raised as Mr. Spielberg would later title him, Prince of Egypt, yes, but also, equally, he is always reminded that he is a Jew. And he goes out to see the Jewish slaves in their captivity and to empathize – even, according to one rabbinic tradition, to physically assist them – in that burden.

The midwives and Batya (does anyone else notice just how many of the Bible’s heroes are heroines?) are not trying to save the world. When Moses goes out, and he helps the slaves build, he is not trying to save the world. Later as shepherd, he would try to help one sheep at a brook and the Almighty would notice.

Batya for her part did not play the mind game of what kind of child was it – and how will this affect me. She is the harshest, truest answer to those who defend an atrocity by saying they “only followed orders.” Like Saul’s Jonathan who would lay aside his own claim and raise David up to be king, Batya cared not for her own personal future, but for what was right.

Helping one person, and helping the first, closest person, is what changes worlds. The midwives knew it. Batya knew it. Moses, raised by one of the midwives and by Batya, knew it.

Government must by necessity weigh the needs of the many against the needs of the few. And individual sacrifices must be made at times. We oft times hear this – I heard it a million times at my old job in advocacy whenever the issue of school choice came up with certain folks. I’m not against helping those few who would be helped, but what about those left behind in failing, troubled, unsafe schools? By this logic (taken to its extreme, I admit), there’d never be a humanitarian mission anywhere. Never a no-fly zone. And never a blockade runner. We’d never train those who are unemployed. Or hire them. We’d never prosecute a crime. Or eliminate a terrorist. If we can’t go all in all at once, it’s a no go.

But Jocheved, Miriam, Batya teach us otherwise. Moses was living proof that they were right.

In government, politics, policy, international affairs and in our own communities and homes, it’s a lesson worth learning.

Words to consider. Ideas to ponder. Politics & the parsha.