In this week’s Torah portion, Bo, the tense drama of the story of Exodus continues to mount. In the middle of the night, amid the carnage and horror of the death of all the first-born sons of Egypt, Pharaoh summons Moses and Aaron to his palace one final time and tells them to go, immediately. The Israelite slaves gather what they can, put their kneading bowls on their shoulders with the dough not yet risen, and flee in haste. The Torah tells us that a whole mixed multitude of others also make a run for it with the escaping Israelites. There is no triumphal parade in the Torah’s description, no orderly withdrawal. Rather, a sense of danger and panic pervades the narrative. These are refugees running for their lives.
As we discussed this atmosphere in my Torah study class yesterday, Carol Fox Prescott shared a poem by WJC member Desiree O’Clair. The poem is entitled Run to Them. Desiree composed it for the new Haggadah that Carol and fellow WJC member Susan Rosen are creating called In the Voice of Our Mothers: A Passover Haggadah. Desiree writes “in the voice of an unknown slave.” We were moved to silence by these powerful words, and I asked Desiree’s permission to share the poem here.
Run to Them
By Desirée O’Clair
I ran so fast,
I couldn’t look over my shoulder.
I ran so fast,
I didn’t feel my legs.
I ran so fast,
the child clinging to my hip thought we,
like birds, were flying.
I ran so fast I out-ran my fear.
When we reached the sea,
I just kept running.
We were running for our lives,
with nothing more than what we could carry on our backs.
We left our homes, our community, everything we knew.
Always the stranger.
That was long ago,
but you must not forget.
When you see the refugee
washed ashore on rafts through waters that did not part,
Remember me, your ancestor, a slave.
Remember the people of your tribe.
When you see the refugee children,
hungry for the mothers and fathers who did not survive,
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looking to the sky for manna that does not fall,
Remember where you came from.
The Eternal freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand,
by an outstretched arm.
When you see the refugee today, remember this.
They are the strangers, and you are free.
The hands of free people are mighty
And yours are the outstretched arms.
Run to them.