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14. Uncircumcized Lips: Parashat Vaeira (Exodus 6:2–9:35)
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80 fourteen Uncircumcized Lips Parashat Vaeira (Exodus 6:2–9:35) Jhos Singer Behold the children of Israel have not listened to me, so how will Pharaoh listen to me??? And I have uncircumcised lips!! —Exodus 6:12 What a provocative image—uncircumcised lips. What could it possibly mean? To my imagination, this verse both sexualizes and constrains Moses. He is poised to speak, to deliver a message that could change the world, and he falters. He is either going to remain silent, be misunderstood, or have to slice away the foreskin of his mouth. I imagine him holding still, unspeaking, keeping his truth inside, eyes darting, heart racing, breath shallow. I imagine him mumbling, straining to be heard, but met with furrowed and confused brows. I imagine him with a ruby wound around his freed lips, speaking in agony, his beard streaked crimson. I can feel his frustration, desperation , and anger at having been chosen to deliver God’s message of liberation. After all, it is not so unlike having to come out, again and again and again. . . . Parashat Vaeira details the early days of Moses’s leadership and the dramatic beginning stage of the liberation of the Israelite slaves from bondage in Egypt. The opening dialogue begins after Moses’s initial (and unsuccessful) attempts at liberating the Israelites. God is giving him a reassuring pep talk.1 But Moses snaps back, “Behold the children of Israel have not listened to me, so how will Pharaoh listen to me??? And I have uncircumcised lips!!” (Ex. 6:12). The phrase Moses uses is “Ani aral s’fataim,” which literally translates as “I am [of] uncircumcised lips.” Aral means “foreskinned” or “uncircumcised,” though it can also mean “blocked,” “sealed,” or “impeded.”2 This same word occurs in other places in the Torah to mean: unyielding (Lev. 26:41), restricting (Ex. 19:23), or a foreskin itself (Gen. 17:10–11). Aral is alternately defined as restrict power/lose control.3 S’fataim literally means “lips,” though it can also mean “speech” or “edge.”4 Blocked speech, sealed lips, unyielding edge, restricted power, lose control . . . As a queer person, I find these images altogether too familiar. How many times have I found myself in an awkward social situation or encountered a homophobic joke or listened to a sexist remark only to feel myself go silent, feel my power drain out of me, or lose my voice? How is it that I can know myself so well, be so firmly at home in my gender freakiness , and yet find myself back in the closet in the blink of an eye? Parashat Vaeira 81 I have officiated in some very high-end, blingy, glitzy, expensive weddings. It is always a bit odd for me, having grown up poor; I am often torn at fashionable events. One part of me loves being in the midst of such luxury, marveling at the myriad ways an orchid can dress up a plate, sipping fine wine, indulging in exquisite cuisine, and dancing the night away. The sheer extravagance and delicacy of it is truly thrilling and totally beyond my own means. Unfortunately, I never quite feel I belong. There is always some twitchy part of me thinking, “Hmmm, wonder when someone is gonna notice I’m a queer street rat and throw me outta here?” Like Moses, I have found myself in circumstances in which my sociological roots clash wildly with my good fortune. I usually look for some other outlier to chat with just to play it safe. During the reception at one such wedding, I engaged in a conversation with the born-in-Poland-in-1928, escaped-to-Argentina-in-1938, emigrated-to-Israel-in-1950, and retired-in-the-United-States-in-1980 grandmother of the well-heeled, Prince Charming–esque groom. It was a storybook wedding, dazzling with gems and beautiful people, the Pacific Ocean stretched out below us, the temperature made perfect by a balmy midsummer zephyr. Dreamy. Grandmama was very happy with the wedding , and she took my elbow while saying, “Rabbi, rabbi . . . Ach, in all my days, zis vas zeh most beautiful vedding ceremony, so, rabbi, tell me about yourself.” Of course I was charmed. I told her how I had come to perform her grandson’s wedding, where I studied, where I lived, how many goats I tended. . . . “Ach, you are a vonder, such a beautiful ceremony. I am zo grateful.” She sipped her martini and regaled me with tales...