A seemingly insignificant phrase can carry immense weight, altering the course of destiny. Let's dive into a curious observation from Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, that highlights just that.
The passage centers around Moses, poised on the brink of his world-altering mission. Remember, he's been in Midian, living as a shepherd after fleeing Egypt. But God has appeared to him in the burning bush, commanding him to return and liberate his people. Understandably, Moses wants to tell his father-in-law, Yeter (also known as Jethro), about his plans. As Exodus 4:18 tells us, "Moses went and returned to Yeter his father-in-law, and he said to him: ‘Please, let me go and return to my brethren who are in Egypt and see if they are still alive.’ Yitro said to Moses: ‘Go in peace [lekh leshalom].’”
Now, pay close attention to those last two words: lekh leshalom, "Go in peace." The Rabbis in Shemot Rabbah notice something fascinating about this phrase. They point out a pattern: "You find that everyone in whose regard ‘go in peace [leshalom]’ is stated, he went and returned..." It's like a good luck charm, a verbal guarantee of a safe return.
But there's a catch! The text continues, "...and everyone in whose regard beshalom is written, he went and did not return." Here, the word beshalom is used, which also translates to “in peace,” but with a slight difference in the Hebrew. It's a subtle variation, but the Rabbis see it as carrying a different weight, a different destiny.
They illustrate this with an example from the story of David and his rebellious son, Avshalom (Absalom). As we read in II Samuel 15:9, David says to Avshalom: “Go in peace [beshalom],” and, tragically, Avshalom never returned.
So, what are we to make of this? Is it just a linguistic coincidence? Or is there something deeper at play here?
The Shemot Rabbah isn't suggesting a magical formula, of course. Rather, it’s drawing our attention to the power of words, the intention behind them, and perhaps even a divine orchestration that works in mysterious ways. The nuance between lekh leshalom and beshalom, while seemingly small, becomes a lens through which we can examine fate and free will.
In the case of Moses, Yeter's blessing of lekh leshalom paved the way for his triumphant return, his confrontation with Pharaoh, and the Exodus from Egypt. It was a mission fraught with peril, but the blessing, perhaps, offered a layer of protection, a subtle assurance of success.
The Rabbis are inviting us to consider the weight our words carry. What kind of blessings are we offering the people in our lives? Are we speaking words of encouragement and hope, paving the way for their success and safe return, metaphorically speaking? Or are our words, even unintentionally, setting them on a different path?
It's a powerful reminder that even the smallest phrases can have profound consequences. So, the next time you offer a blessing, consider the power you wield, and choose your words wisely. You never know what journeys they might help shape.