Rabbi Megan GoldMarche
This week’s Torah portion is Bo: Exodus 10:1 — 13:16
After the plague of hail, it seems Pharoah is close to giving in to Moses’ demands. A threat of an eighth plague, that of locusts, leads Pharoah’s courtiers to beg him to let at least the male Israelites go worship their God. Pharoah inquires of Moses and Aaron, “Who will go?” And they reply, “We will all go, young and old, men and women.” Pharoah is not having it. The men? OK, but once he lets the women and children go, he knows he will have lost all control of his labor supply.
In our world where change is incremental and rarely are human rights battles won in one fell swoop, I wonder what might be missing from our Exodus recounting. There must have been at least one person who urged Moses and Aaron to consider Pharoah’s offer. From the original demand from Moses to “Let my people go” to the evening of the final plague, what potential compromises were considered and ultimately rejected? Were Moses and Aaron tempted to accept freedom just for the men? Perhaps the men could safely hatch a plan to come save their wives, mothers and children? After years of backbreaking labor, perhaps some men may have been willing to take a chance on this version of freedom, assuming the next group to be freed might fare better if Pharoah could claim this win. And yet, our text does not mention them even considering this offer.
In this week’s portion, we see a moment where the Israelites recognized that their freedom was intertwined with one another; I feel proud of Moses and Aaron’s refusal to accept incomplete justice. They had God on their side, and miracles and a track record of seven plagues — perhaps they did not feel it necessary to give in to a partial victory. But this is not always how social change movements work.
Earlier this month, I went to see the Broadway show “Suffs.” At the start of the show, Alice Paul, the newest radical to grace the National American Woman Suffrage Association, approaches the president, Carrie Chapman Catt. Paul proposes a march on Washington, D.C., on the day of President Woodrow Wilson’s inauguration, to pressure him to support a federal amendment for suffrage. Catt, representing the “old guard,” wants to work within the system, not upset the power structure, and wait for the states to “Let Mother Vote.” We also see both Paul and Catt pushing aside women of color to “wait their turn.” I won’t spoil the whole show for you (but spoiler alert: women get the vote in 1920 and we are still waiting in 2026 for the Equal Rights Amendment to pass), but there is a scene at the end, 50 years later, where Alice Paul meets a young activist who tells Paul her demands are not going far enough — the next generation of feminist leaders do not want to wait for the justice they deserve.
Every fall I run a Feminist Seder for Shemini Atzeret, the second to last day of the fall holidays. We read feminist texts from the 1800s to the present to look at the evolution of feminism over time. Every year someone asks, what does feminism have to do with the eighth day of a seven-day holiday that wraps up the high holiday cycle? One answer that had rung more true for me each year connects the seder to the date on the Israeli calendar (and most American Reform communities): Simchat Torah, which falls the following night in the diaspora. Every year we celebrate restarting the Torah. Even though the Torah does not go far enough to protect women, is not an LGBTQ+ affirming text, and the rabbis whose commentaries have aided my Torah study would likely be up in arms at my existence as a lesbian rabbi, I celebrate the chance to learn Torah over and over again. And the same is true of my feminist ancestors, who did not push hard enough, widely enough or inclusively enough for my 2026 intersectional sensibilities. But I would also not be here without them.
This year, as we recount the Exodus narrative, I feel a deep sense of gratitude to those who pushed the boundaries and those who made quiet compromises, the radicals and the liberals, those who came before who are struggling to keep up with the changes around them and those who will come after me and shock us with how they will change our world.
This Shabbat, I hope you will open your heart to those perspectives that might challenge your own and know that we can’t make our way to freedom without each other.
Rabbi Megan GoldMarche is the executive director of Tribe 12, a local organization that connects people in their 20s and 30s to Jewish life and community today so they will choose to stay connected tomorrow.