Honoring the non-Jews who stand with us

Numbers 8:1 – 12:16

Jews and Jewish tradition have always paid special attention to those who stand with us. Perhaps that’s why a single verse near the end of Parshat Beha’alotecha stands out, initially raising more questions than it answers:

“Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses because of the Cushite woman he had taken [into his household as his wife]: ‘He took a Cushite woman!’” (Numbers 12:1)

Who is this Cushite woman? Where did she come from? And why are Miriam and Aaron so concerned?

Abraham Ibn Ezra, writing in 12th-century Spain, suggests that there is actually nothing to see here: It’s just Zipporah, Moses’ longtime wife, the daughter of Midianite priest Reuel (aka Jethro, aka Hever … see Rashi on Exodus 18:1). Cushite, he suggests, is a poetic way of saying “distinctive” or “different,” perhaps referring to her appearance, not her passport. But Joseph Bekhor Shor, Ibn Ezra’s French contemporary, isn’t having it, reading this verse as a full-throated objection to Moses’ marriage. He imagines Miriam and Aaron snarkily saying: “And did Moses not find a woman from the Children of Israel to take as a wife, that he went to take [one] from the daughters of Cush, who are uncircumcised?”

The irony, of course, is that Zipporah — Moses’ non-Israelite liability in the eyes of Miriam and Aaron — is the one who literally saves his life in Exodus 4:24–26. As God sought to kill Moses, it’s Zipporah who grabs a flint and circumcises their son Gershom, wiping the blood on Moses and turning away God’s wrath. That’s covenant-level commitment right there, a Midianite following God’s commands more closely than her husband, the greatest prophet that ever lived.

And Zipporah’s not alone. The sages had a not-so-subtle habit: If you were kind to the Jews, they assumed you must have become one.

Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law, is the classic case. He gives sound government consulting in Exodus 18, and our sages split over when — not if — he formally joined the Jewish people. While some say it was with his sacrifice to God in Exodus 18:12, Midrash Tanchuma (Yitro 7:1) suggests the moment happened earlier with an ideological act of identification: “do not read this word as vayichad, ‘and he rejoiced’ (in learning what had happened to Moses and the Israelites in Egypt) but rather vayihed, ‘and he becomes a Yehudi, a Jew.’”

Or take Asenath, wife of Joseph and mother of Ephraim and Menashe. Her backstory is nonexistent in the Torah, other than to recognize her as the daughter of Potipharah, priest of On, and again our sages question when — not if — she converted. The apocryphal book Joseph & Asenath imagines her renouncing her Egyptian gods and embracing the God of Israel in the sweeping monologue of Chapter 12, but Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer (38:1) imagines she’s actually the daughter of Dinah — yes, that Dinah — making her Jewish by birth in a classic rabbinic plot twist.

For our ancient rabbis, it was hard to imagine a world where non-Israelites, non-Jews, might extend kindness to our community as an expression of their values. If you were good to us, they reasoned, you must have become one of us. Unlike our ancestors, we are blessed to live in an age where kindness from outside the Jewish need not be explained away.

How fortunate are we to live in a world of non-Jewish friends. They are the first to speak out when atrocity is visited upon the Jewish people. They hold a special place in their hearts for Jews not as the precursors for their own messianic redemption but as an equal and legitimate expression of faith. And they even marry members of our tribe, committing to lives supporting Jewish people and peoplehood even if various personal reasons inhibit their personal conversion. They love us because … well, they do. They are our friends. And like the ancient friends of our people — Zipporah, Yitro, Asenath — they deserve our gratitude and respect. So let’s honor them not only as fellow travelers but as sacred partners. May we always hold open the door for those who wish to join us, but may we also cherish those who bless us from just outside the tent. Because in a world where goodness can sometimes feel in short supply, holy friendship is no small miracle. PJC

Rabbi Aaron C. Meyer is the senior rabbi at Temple Emanuel of South Hills. This column is a service of the Greater Pittsburgh Jewish Clergy Association.