Bo 5772

Those of us who grew up before the start of the era of modern Jewish music may remember the Hebrew School version of Avadim Hayinu. (Avadim Hayinu, Hayinu; Atta B’nei Chorin, Benai Chorin…) This, of course, is a corruption of the quote from the Haggadah – in turn based on Devarim 6:21 – and not an inconsequential corruption at that. By omitting the Divine Name, credit is not being given where credit is due.

But there is a second, much more subtle corruption – the omission of the reference to Pharaoh in Egypt having been our master. By presenting the Exodus as a transition from generic servitude to generic freedom, we lose sight of the true significance of those miraculous events. In actuality, Yetzias Mitzraim was not emancipation but rather a change of ownership; we were servants to Pharaoh and now we are servants of Hashem.

Yet, Pesach is called Zman Cherusaynu – the time of our freedom. But given that we are servants of Hashem, in what sense are we truly free?

The answer is simple but profound.

The essential difference between the eved and the ben chorin is not that the former is bound and the latter is free. Were this to be the case, every acceptance of responsibility – employment, marriage, parenthood – would be a reduction of our freedom. Yet, even the most ardent freedom lover does not advocate our abandonment of these commitments.

The actual difference is that everything the eved does is for the enrichment of his master; everything the ben chorin does – even within the context of a commitment to responsible action – is ultimately for his own enrichment. The servant of Hashem is the ultimate ben chorin. As Hashem has no personal needs, being omnipotent and self-sufficient, His Mitzvos are totally for the benefit of those He commands for, if we live in accordance with them, we enjoy lives of purpose and meaning in This World as well as lives of bliss and enlightenment in the World to Come. Thus, the eved of Hashem is in reality self-employed.

This discussion leads to a counter-intuitive conclusion: The more we are devoted to doing Hashem’s will, the more we are doing for ourselves. The challenge of life is to realize and accept this simple truth. Self-indulgent libertarianism only seems preferable to religious commitment; the libertarian is really digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole. But the illusion is both seductive and compelling.

As we contemplate the early history of our people, there is a question we might wish to consider: Why was it necessary that slavery be such an integral part of our formation? In light of the above discussion, we may suggest an answer: The grand strategy of the Ribbono Shel Olam was to create a set of circumstances wherein our making a total commitment to the service of Hashem would be preferable to the status quo. Thus, as servants of Pharoah, we were in the optimal position for the acceptance of the yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven.

In the Hagaddah we recite, “If the Holy One Blessed be He would not have freed our forefathers from Egypt, we, our children, and our children’s children, would still be enslaved to Pharaoh in Egypt.” Understanding this may give us a new perspective on our religious lives. The choice we face is not responsibility vs. freedom. It is enslavement to Pharaoh vs. the service of Hashem. That choice should be – as the saying goes – a “no-brainer”.

Vaerah 5772

“Rabbi Yehuda would assign them signs: D’Tz’Ch, A’D’Sh, B’A’Ch’V.”

In this well-known passage from the Pesach Hagaddah, Rabbi Yehuda introduces a mnemonic which divides the Ten Plagues into three distinct groups.

Abarbanel in his commentary to Chumash suggests that each group is meant to demonstrate a fundamental theological belief. D’Tz’Ch (blood, frogs, and lice) proves Divine Creation, that is, the existence of a Supreme Being who is the creator of all things; A’D’Sh (wild animals, pestilence, boils), not spreading to Jewish areas despite being extremely virulent by nature, demonstrates Divine Providence, and B’A’Ch’V, completing the entire array of plagues which afflicted the range of creation from the subterranean to the heavenly, demonstrates Divine Omnipotence.

Commentators to this passage also point  out that the plagues within each group follow a regular pattern. The first two plagues are preceded by a warning; the third strikes without warning. This seems to indicate that the plagues functioned as punishments; after two warnings the punishment can now be administered without prior announcement. The question, however, is why does the cycle repeat? If the third plague required no warning, why did the fourth? (Of course, the same question applies to the sixth and seventh plagues.)

In light of Abarbanel’s interpretation, the pattern is especially mystifying, for, according to his thesis, there is a progression in the ideas each group of plagues demonstrates (Divine Creation, Divine Providence, Divine Omnipotence). But if the idea which underlies the second group of plagues is somehow more advanced than that which underlies the first, how could Pharaoh be expected to pass the second test after having failed the first? Can you pass Calculus after failing Arithmetic?

We may suggest that although the theological ideas ascend, there is, in fact, a reduction in the moral expectation that each theological level demands.

The renowned ethicist, Lawrence Kohlberg, determined that there are three basic stages in moral development. At the lowest level, Pre-conventional, the moral agent is concerned only with himself. Proper action is rooted in the desire to avoid punishment and gain rewards. At the next level, Conventional, the moral agent is concerned with his being accepted and valued by family, friends, and society as a whole. At the highest level, Post-conventional, the moral agent lives in accordance with universal ethical principles.

If we apply these stages to the religious realm, we can make a curious observation. The highest theological conception – Divine Omnipotence – is the grounding for the lowest stage of moral development. Until one accepts Divine Omnipotence, why should one fear Divine Punishment? The middle theological conception – Divine Providence – is the grounding for the middle stage of moral development. Once one knows that G-d is engaged with the world, one can contemplate the possibility of seeking his approval. The most basic theological conception – Divine Creation – forms the basis for the highest stage of moral development. The mere fact that this is G-d’s world establishes the moral ideal that we should live in compliance with His plans and ideals.

The scheme of the Plagues may then be understood as follows. The first set, whose purpose as Abarbanel explains was to establish the principle of Divine Creation, pose a supremely difficult test for Pharaoh: Can he function morally on the highest Post-conventional level and release the Jews in accordance with the universal moral principles that follow from the fact of Divine Creation. Of course, Pharaoh fails this test.

At this point G-d decides to give Pharaoh enough additional information to function at the Conventional level. The second set of plagues, designed to establish the principle of Divine Providence, create for Pharaoh a conception of the world that would allow for doing the right thing to gain G-d’s favor and acceptance. Again Pharaoh fails.

Finally, the third set of plagues establishes the principle of Divine Omnipotence. As this is the basis for fear of Divine Punishment, less is expected of Pharaoh than ever. At least he should do the right thing to save his own neck. Alas, here again he fails, setting the stage for the penultimate plague, the Killing of the First Born.

Shemos 5772

Parshas Shemos recounts Moshe’s first meeting with Pharaoh at which the demand to release the Jews is made and is emphatically rejected. Not only does Moshe fail in his attempt to secure freedom for his people but their burdens become heavier than ever before; Pharaoh decides to crush the “freedom movement” by taking away the Jews’ liberty to even fantasize about the prospect of release from the Egyptian prison.

Even Moshe himself is dejected and asks Hashem why He allowed things to degenerate. Hashem cryptically answers, “Now you will see…”, as if to say that this was part of the Divine plan all along. Things had to become worse before they could become better. Only now that things have reached rock bottom can the process of redemption truly begin. But why must this be?

Commentators explain that the requisite measures of Egyptian evil and Jewish suffering were not yet filled. The persecutions were meant to last four hundred years as foretold to Avraham Avinu; the Exodus, coming after only 210 years of Jewish settlement in Egypt, was therefore premature. The requirement of four hundred years, however, could be satisfied by measures of evil and suffering that were equivalent to that which would have been expected in that longer period. Pharaoh’s intensification of the enslavement thus resulted in an acceleration of the process of liberation.

There may be another approach to this problem.

We know that the Yetzias Mitzrayim is the basis of our theological beliefs about G-d. (See Ramban Shemos 13:16 for his classic presentation of this idea.) His very existence, His knowledge of and concern for the affairs of man, and His omnipotence are all demonstrated by the miracles of the Exodus story. But belief – Emunah – is only one component of the Jewish way of thinking; it must be coupled with trust – Bitachon – practical reliance on G-d’s love and power.

There are two aspects of the Egyptian experience which are relevant here. The miraculous liberation – replete with signs and wonders – is the basis for Emunah. But it is the darkness of the enslavement and its extraordinary duration that are necessary conditions for the inculcation of Bitachon. Would the Egyptian enslavement have been of such short duration that memories of freedom would still be fresh, we would not have exercised our ability to maintain hope in a seemingly hopeless situation. By subjecting us to a multi-generational experience wherein the people who were to be liberated had been born into slavery and never knew anything else, Hashem placed us in circumstances where we would learn a lesson that would be necessary for the survival of the Jewish people in the future: As hopeless as a situation may appear, nothing – absolutely nothing – is beyond the ability of Hashem’s saving power, and thus there is always room for hope and Bitachon.

Of course, the precise measure of hopelessness needed could only be determined by Hashem himself. His decision was that every last Jew – even Moshe Rabbeinu himself! – had to reach the depths of despair before the time was ripe to learn the appropriate lessons from the redemption. Thus, the failure of Moshe Rabbeinu’s first mission and the resulting decrees of Pharaoh were necessary conditions for the realization of Hashem’s objectives.

Vayechi 5772

Parshas Vayechi is unique in that it is a Parsha Setumah – a “closed section.” As a rule every weekly portion in the Sefer Torah is separated by blank space from that of the week before. Parshas Vayechi follows Parshas Vayigash without this separation. The Midrash Rabba explains the symbolism of this being “closed” in three ways. First, the eyes and the hearts of the Jewish people were “closed” because of the advancing persecutions to be experienced in Egypt. Second, Yaakov wanted to reveal the Ketz – the predestined time of the final redemption – but it was “closed” from him. Third, all the suffering in the world was “closed” from Yaakov; his final years in Egypt – reunited with his beloved Yosef – were untroubled. (Interestingly, Rashi cites only the first two interpretations.)

Upon reflection, the first and third explanations seem paradoxical. How could it be that for everyone else these were times of encroaching darkness while for Yaakov these were happy, untroubled times?

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 97b) curses those who attempt to determine the Ketz – the predestined time of the final redemption. According to the Gemara, Chazal feared that the calculated dates could pass without Mashiach’s coming; the result would be a catastrophic loss of faith in the entire concept of redemption. The Ramban, however, writes in the Sefer HaGeulah that this is not the main reason for the proscription. There was another reason that could not be revealed to the masses in Talmudic times. Says the Ramban, Chazal knew that the time of the redemption was far into the future; revealing the precise date, even correctly, would plunge the Jewish people into a state of despair.

This raises a question on the Midrash cited above. We know that – sadly – more than 3400 years have passed since the passing of Yaakov and Moshiach has not yet come. If Yaakov knew the exact time of the Ketz, then he also knew that centuries would pass before the redemption. What did he hope to accomplish by revealing this information? According to the Ramban, knowing that redemption is far off only makes things worse!

The Talmud (Pesachim 50a) teaches that the world to come – in this context, a reference to the Messianic Age – is very different than our current world. At present, when we experience good things we praise Hashem as Hatov uMetiv (the good who bestows good); when we experience misfortune we praise Hashem as Dayan HaEmes (the true judge). In the world to come we will recite Hatov uMetiv even on misfortunes. Asks R. Yechezkiel Landau of Prague in his commentary, Tzelach to Peachim 57b: What misfortunes do we anticipate in the Messianic Age? He answers that the Hatov uMetiv at that time will be recited in retrospect on all the misfortunes of Jewish history over the centuries. When we reach the end of history we will understand that even the seeming tragedies were for our benefit and that all Hashem’s works are ultimately for the best.

We may suggest that Yaakov’s plan was not only to reveal the date of the Ketz, but rather to reveal the entire course of Jewish history until the advent of the Messianic Age. Knowing this we would be better able to bear all the sorrows and pain because we would understand exactly how each persecution would advance Hashem’s plan for history and how, in truth, all is for our ultimate benefit. We can also understand why Yaakov was not permitted to disclose this information. The decree of Galus necessitates that we not know the meaning of our suffering; were we to know it would not be Galus in the true sense. (See Maharal, Netzach Yisrael Ch. 24.)

But as Yaakov did have this information, his experience in Egypt was very different than that of his children. For them, the early years were times of advancing darkness but for Yaakov they were times of unparalleled light and joy. As The Chazon Ish writes in an often quoted letter (Igros Chazon Ish Vol. 1 No. 36), “There is really no sadness in the world for one who recognizes the light of truth.”