אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה | (‘ehye ‘ăšer ‘ehye) | I will be who I will be.
There is something miraculous about the fact that it is precisely Exodus 314 that contains this oddly elliptical name for G*d. Pi is the number where finite and infinite meet. It’s the simplest of mathematical concepts: the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter, approximately 3.14.
But it’s also a number that knows no end.
3.14159265358979 and on and on and on.
As of last year, it’s been calculated to one hundred trillion digits.
When G*d says G*d’s name is ‘ehye ‘ăšer ‘ehye, I will be who I will be, G*d is essentially saying, “I’m like Pi. I too am where finite and infinite meet. I am the most fundamental property of existence. And…I am limitless.”
There are many names for G*d in the Torah: Adonai, Elohim, El Shaddai, and so on. So why is this the one that G*d tells Moses to offer our ancestors at this particular moment in our story?
The 13th Century French Commentator, Chizkuni has an answer. He suggests that because the children of Israel had suffered so greatly, it was important to give them a name that emphasized both G*d’s reality and G*d’s eternity.
Our ancestors needed to be told that G*d was reliable, that G*d had witnessed their plight, had heard their agony, and would be there for them, in their circle, for good.
‘ehye ‘ăšer ‘ehye. I am real. I am here, and I always will be.
What a critical message for our time as well. With all the pain and misery of the present moment, most especially the harrowing cries we hear from Israel and Gaza, it’s easy to find ourselves overwhelmed by the horror of it all. Overwhelmed to the point of numbness.
This numbness has a name. In an OpEd in this week’s NYT, organizational psychologist, Adam Grant, diagnoses this shared feeling of defeat and desensitization as “empathic distress.” Hurting for others while feeling unable to help.
Grant writes, “Empathic distress explains why many people have checked out in the wake of today’s tragedies. The small gestures we could make seem like an exercise in futility. Giving to charity feels like a drop in the ocean. Posting on social media is poking a hornet’s nest. Having concluded that nothing we do will make a difference, we start to become indifferent.
That paragraph feels painfully accurate right now.
So what are we to do?
Grant explains that when we’re struggling with empathic distress, empathy – usually one of those great human strengths – has actually become our enemy. We’ve absorbed others’ emotions to the extent that we can no longer function. What we really need is more compassion.
Compassion, as Grant defines it, is different from empathy in that instead of feeling others’ feelings, we notice them, and we name them.
We say, “I see that you’re hurting, and I’m here for you.”
Grant explains that in its most basic form, compassion is not assuaging to stress, but acknowledging it. When we can’t make people feel better, we can still make a difference by making them feel seen.
Compassion, we’ll learn later in Exodus, is one of G*d’s defining characteristics. After the sin of the golden calf, as G*d passes before Moses and proclaims the 13 attributes of mercy, the first attribute is compassion.
Adonai, Adonai, el rachum. Adonai, Adonai, is a compassionate G*d. And in this week’s Torah portion, the first time Moses stands in G*d’s presence, what does G*d say about the plight of our ancestors? Raoh raiti et oni ami.
I have surely seen the affliction of my people who are in Egypt.
G*d doesn’t say I have felt their pain. G*d says “I have seen it. So tell them: ‘ehye ‘ăšer ‘ehye, I am here for you, and always will be.”
These are the same words we need to say to each other right now. Words as simple as Pi and as powerful as the Divine Presence. We need to acknowledge that we see each other in our suffering and that we are here for each other. Not to help, just here.
Now is the time to send that text message, to make that phone call, to write that note – to fill our circles with G*d’s boundless compassion. To tell someone – anyone who needs to hear it – ‘ehye ‘ăšer ‘ehye. I am here for you. And I always will be. – Rabbi Dan Ross, 5 Jan 2024
