Our perasha, Emor, ends with a peculiar episode about a man born to a Jewish woman and an Egyptian father who gets into a fight with a fellow Jew and, in the course of it, curses G-d’s Name (Vayiqra 24:10-12). The questions surrounding this episode are many, but let us focus on why the Torah never names the blasphemer, identifying him only through his parents.
Rashi (citing Vayiqra Rabbah 32:4) notes that the Torah’s specific phrase “אִישׁ מִצְרִי” (Egyptian man) is the same phrase used in Shemot when Moshe witnessed an Egyptian taskmaster brutally beating a Jewish slave (Shemot 2:11). That slave’s wife was none other than Shelomit bat Divri, the blasphemer’s mother. The Egyptian had taken advantage of Shelomit, and when her husband discovered what had happened, he confronted the Egyptian, who beat him. Moshe intervened and killed the Egyptian. The man in our perasha was the product of that encounter and he knew it. He lived in the shadows, hiding his origins, trying to pass himself off as just another member of Dan. He was Jewish, but his place in the nation was unclear, and his family history carried pain and shame.
Rashi gives us further insight into what led this man to the breaking point. He wanted to encamp within the tribe of Dan, as his mother was from Dan. The people of Dan turned him away, citing that tribal affiliation follows the father (Bemidbar 1:2), and his father was an Egyptian. Yet his mother was Jewish, making him Jewish too. So he had a connection but no place, and nobody stepped in to bridge that gap. Perhaps had someone made room for him, or at the very least helped him find where he belonged, the argument never would have started, and he may have never sinned.
Rabbi Chaim Shmulevitz notes (Sihot Mussar, pg 338) that a person rooted in a stable Torah environment is far less vulnerable to his worst impulses. When that foundation is missing, the barriers fall and the unthinkable becomes possible. Perhaps that is why the Torah says he “went out (Vayiqra 24:10)” not only physically, but emotionally, as though he stepped outside the steadiness that should have held him in place. From his pain and anger, he lashed out at people and at G-d.
This episode is not as out of place as it seems. Earlier in the perasha, the Torah lists (Vayiqra 21:1) which relatives a Kohen may become ritually impure for in the event of their passing, G-d forbid. Then, in a separate pasuk (Vayiqra 21:2), the Torah adds one more, his unmarried sister. Why single her out? Rashi explains that she has no one else. The Torah sees her and insists that someone must be there for her.
The Torah consistently singles out those who are easily overlooked, such as orphans and widows. We see a similar pattern in Ki Tese with the rebellious and wayward son (Debarim 21:18-21). How does a child reach that point where he no longer listens or abides by any rules? Someone along the way stopped paying attention. The man in our story had no one either, no tribe, no father, no place, and nobody stepped in. He was treated as an outsider and responded as one. As a community, our responsibility extends beyond those closest to us, to those who don’t quite fit, and to those who aren’t popular or well liked. When we fail to see those people, we risk losing them. It can be uncomfortable to reach out, to draw someone in with love instead of indifference, but when we do, their whole outlook changes. They no longer feel like an outsider. They feel like they belong. That’s because they do, thanks to you.