Banish Hatred, Rewrite History
When it comes to cars, my father is extraordinarily passionate. In addition to teaching me how to change a flat tire and how to properly wash the car (“wax on, wax off”), he raised me on the mantra that I should never buy a Ford. I was taught Henry Ford was an antisemite who believed in the antisemitic canard that Jews used nefarious means to dominate the world. He republished the fabricated antisemitic The Protocols of the Elders of Zion.
To this day, I have never driven a Ford.
Among the many lessons I learned was never forget what was done to us.
It therefore came as a surprise to discover that the Torah suggests we should be more forgiving of people’s past sins and the wrongs they committed against us. “You shall not hate an Egyptian, for you were a stranger in that land.” (Deuteronomy 23) What about my father’s teachings? Forgive the Egyptians? They embittered our lives. They enslaved us!
If not for our going out from Egyptian slavery, we would not have learned what it feels like to be a stranger. The meaning of the suffering and pain we recount at our Passover seders is so that we recall how it feels to be an oppressed stranger. “Love the stranger,” the Torah repeats over and over again. Why? So that we never make anyone feel the pain we felt. So that we can help lift others out of their persecution and oppression.
But love even the Egyptians? Forgive our enslavers? Forget our tormentors?
The medieval commentator Rashi explains, “Because they were your hosts in time of need, during Joseph’s reign when the neighboring countries suffered from famine; therefore, although they sinned against you do not hate them.” Even though our years in Egypt ended with bitterness, remember the good that preceded it. Focus on the good, even if it has faded from memory and was long, long ago and even, and perhaps more importantly, if you did not personally experience this good.
Moses Maimonides, the medieval philosopher, adds, “The Torah teaches us how far we have to extend the principle of favoring those who are near to us, and of treating kindly every one with whom we have some relationship, even if they offended or wronged us; even if they are very bad, we must have some consideration for them.” (Guide of the Perplexed III:42). We are not supposed to focus on the negative. We are commanded not to dwell on the terrible things done to us but instead strive to find a measure of good in each and every person.
Is the Torah extending its love of the stranger to love our one time enemy and even oppressor? Is it possible for kindness to be so limitless? Is such unbounded kindness even achievable? At times, especially during times like these, this seems like an impossible, and unachievable, task. When we are threatened, we don’t feel much like be kind and welcoming.
Then again, if we always see ourselves as victims, if we are always intent on righting the wrongs of past injustices, our hearts will be incapable of bringing healing to others. We will be unable to see the good that is also present, albeit sometimes hidden, in the people standing before us.
Glimmers of good are too often obscured by bad. They are shrouded by the evil of prior generations. And yet good can always be discovered.
Perhaps the first step is to banish hatred from our hearts.
And in a surprising turn of events, my brother’s synagogue, Temple Shir Shalom, is now home to a Torah scroll, written in in Spain or Portugal over 500 years ago when it was forbidden to practice Judaism. The Torah was purchased and donated to the synagogue by none other than Benson Ford Jr., the great grandson of Henry Ford.
History can be rewritten by opening our hearts to good.
Addendum: Temple Shir Shalom’s Torah was recently examined by an expert scribe who determined that it is not as old as once thought or from Spain or Portugal but instead from 1860’s Hungary. In addition, my father also corrected me and said it was my grandfather z”l who advised me never to buy a Ford and that I really never mastered how to properly wash a car.