Miriam's Cup Pt. 2: El Na, Refa Na La | Passover haggadah by Noraa Kaplan

Search Library

Of course, not even a prophet is free of all wrongdoing. Towards the end of her life, Miriam was involved in one of the Torah’s most deeply personal episodes. Miriam and her brother, Aharon, were jealous of Moshe’s special relationship with Hashem. Though they were both great prophets, they didn’t have the same kind of intimacy with Hashem that Moshe had. In their resentment, they bad-mouthed Moshe for marrying a Cushite woman. The term “Cushite” refers to people from Nubia, the ancient kingdom south of Egypt where Sudan is today. In other words, Miriam judged her brother for marrying a Black woman.

Miriam’s comment is not only racist, it comes off as extremely petty, as if she was grasping at straws to find a fault in Moshe’s character that would justify her jealousy. She couldn’t find an actual flaw of his to pick on, so she targeted his wife, and merely for her appearance. Hashem knew that this was ridiculous, later saying, “Can a Cushite change their skin?” (Jeremiah 13:23) Black people were created be-tzelem Elohim, in the image of the divine, just like everyone else. As Hashem said, “To me, o Israelites, you are just like the Cushites.” (Amos 9:7)

As punishment for her jealousy and her racist comments, Miriam was struck with leprosy. The Torah tells us her skin became “as white as snow.” (Numbers 12:10) Aharon begged his brother to intercede for her. Despite Miriam’s jealousy and her prejudice against his wife, Moshe was moved to offer a simple, earnest prayer for her without hesitation. He said, “el na, refa na la—please God, please heal her.” (Numbers 12:13)

Many of us would be hard pressed to do the same. There is no shame whatsoever in that. For many of us, praying for white supremacists, for oppressors, for abusers would be unhealthy, even self-destructive. Like Moshe, we are under no obligation to pray for those who harm us, let alone educate them, forgive them, or love them. Jews never lent too much credence to the Christian doctrine of “love your enemy.” There are those who would use that against us to say Judaism is a vindictive, backwards religion with a cruel “Old Testament God.” Considering our people’s history of oppression, it’s pretty obvious that the reason we never embraced “love your enemy” is that our ancestors feared that if we let our guard down we’d be exploited, exiled, or exterminated.

“Love your enemy” is a pillar of faith in the religion of liberalism—Democrats “reach across the aisle” to appease Republicans who support domestic genocide, moderates push for more ‘sensitivity training’ for bloodthirsty cops, liberal Jews dream of “peace” in the state of Israel, longing for the day when colonized Palestinians and their colonizers can “just get along.” Today’s liberal Jews are less hypervigilant than their grandparents, so they assume violent oppressors will recognize the humanity of the oppressed through nonviolence (and ultimately, nonaction) alone. The liberal impulse to turn the other cheek, to forgive our oppressors and abusers ad infinitum, to avoid taking action and trust that everything will work itself out through vague symbolic gestures or the will of God is not saintly. It is reckless, and it opens the door for needless death, harm, and suffering.

So no, we should not expect the oppressed, the downtrodden, and the abused to pray for the ones who cause them harm, and the Torah does not expect us to do so. After all, Moshe’s prayer was unsuccessful. Hashem determined that Miriam would have to bear her leprous skin and be quarantined for a week outside the camp like any other Israelite. But perhaps his prayer was successful in another way: perhaps his humility and compassion got through to Miriam, and her eyes were opened to the power of teshuva and transformation. Perhaps, though her sins were as scarlet, like her skin “they could turn white as snow.” (Isaiah 1:17) The Torah does not tell us what happened next, but it does offer this clue: “the people did not march on until Miriam was gathered in.” (Numbers 12:15) Perhaps some people are worth waiting for.

Some of us may choose to follow Moshe tonight in praying for the disease of white supremacy to be lifted from bigoted skin, for oppressors to see the error of their ways and decide to do the difficult work of change: listening, unlearning, taking accountability for their actions and an active role in their own creation. These are practices we all must learn if we are ever to live in a world without prisons. By praying for everyone to have the chance to heal, even our oppressors, we place our trust in the infinite redemptive possibility of transformation.

אֵל נָא רְפָא נָא לָה
El na, refa na la.
Please, God, please heal her.

haggadah Section: Bareich

Source: Min Ha-Meitzar: An Abolitionist Haggadah from the Narrow Place by Noraa Kaplan