One of the great difficulties we often have is making a clear distinction between people and the ideas that they espouse. While one might reject an idea, we may not reject the person who espouses it. This is true even of ideas that we find offensive or heretical.
Etiquette and diplomatic niceties are the hallmarks of the world of politics. Political leaders are trained to speak ambiguously and in a way that can allow for future re-interpretation (misinterpretation?) as the need arises. It is only in private, and even then quite rarely, that diplomats may express themselves with candour and frankness.
"If you really want to do me a kindness... act towards me with truth and kindness and do not bury me in Egypt" (47:29). So begins Yaakov's exhortation to Yosef as he realizes that the end is near. Though Yosef promised to carry out his father's request, Yaakov was not yet satisfied and demanded that Yosef take an oath that he would do as Yaakov asked.
After twenty-two difficult years, Yaakov was informed that his beloved son Yosef was the Viceroy of Egypt. Overcome with joy and disbelief, Yaakov hurried to travel to Egypt to be reunited with his long-lost son. Surely Yaakov could not have been happier.
Yet as Yaakov approached the Egyptian border, G-d appeared to Yaakov, telling him "Do not be afraid to go down to Egypt” (Breisheet 46:3). Outwardly, Yaakov likely radiated joy, but G-d alone knew that deep down Yaakov was nervous. Why?
The home plays a critical—if not the critical—role in the development of Jewish life. The efforts of schools, shuls, camps, Israel trips, and the like are unlikely to have major lasting impact if the messages of Jewish living are not reinforced at home. Passover, the holiday that laid the foundation for Jewish nationhood, is thus centred around the home. It is interesting to note that chapter twelve in Exodus, which describes the lead-up to the Exodus and our formation as a people, contains the word bayit (home) no less than twelve times.
That one has a natural love for one's place of birth is a truism long recognized by our Talmudic sages. Emigration is never an easy prospect, even for those who do so willingly. How much more difficult and traumatic is a forced exile? We are all aware of the great difficulties many Jews fleeing anti-Semitism had in integrating into their new-found countries. How much more difficult and painful is it for those forced to leave at the hands of their brethren?