Purim 5772

One is obligated to become intoxicated on Purim to the extent that he can no longer differentiate between “Cursed is Haman” and “Blessed is Mordechai”. (Megillah 7b)

In discussing this well-known statement of Chazal, there is no need to point out the difficulties. Judaism places a premium on rationality and, consequently, on sobriety. Even conceding the topsy-turvy nature of the day, it is hard to understand that we should be commanded to lose our minds!

In addition, the metric that Chazal applied in defining the standard of intoxication requires understanding. How could the celebration of Purim necessitate that we confuse the hero and the villain? At that point, what would we be celebrating?

In various Halachic works (Eliyahu Rabbah and Chayei Adam cited in Biur Halacha Siman 695), we are told that the basis for drinking wine at the festive Purim Seudah is to commemorate the fact that many of the episodes in the Purim story took place in the setting of a drinking party at the royal residence. While this is certainly true, as an explanation, it seems inadequate. Drinking may have been the background of Purim, but that hardly justifies moving it to the foreground!

“On the seventh day, when the King’s heart was merry with wine…” Until now, the King’s heart was not merry? Said Rava, that “seventh day” was the Shabbos. When the Jews would eat and drink, they would begin speaking words of Torah and songs of Divine praise; when the idolaters would eat and drink, they would begin with words of foolishness. (Megillah 12b)

So, what is the answer to the original question? Until now the King’s heart was not merry? R. Tzadok HaKohen (Pri Tzadik, Purim 3) offers an insightful explanation based on the tradition that whenever the title King appears in the Megillah – without the name Achashverosh attached – it is a veiled reference to the Supreme King.

During the first six days of the party, Ribbon Shel Olam was not very happy. (In fact, the Jews’ participation in the feast of Achashverosh was one of the sins for which Hashem allowed Haman’s decree of annihilation to pass.) Only on that seventh day, which coincidentally was Shabbos, was the underlying virtue of the Jewish people revealed. On that day, the Supreme King’s heart was merry with the wine of the Jewish people.

Let us take this one step further. The events of that day actually laid the groundwork for the salvation of the Jewish people that was to come nine years later. The execution of Vashti created the opportunity for Esther to become queen and, of course, to be in the right place at the right time to foil the plot of Haman. This, as Chazal say, was the healing that was put into place long before the illness.

But Hashem does not play favorites. We know that when the Jews stood at the Yam Suf and G-d contemplated splitting the sea to save the Jews and drown the Egyptians, the angels raised an objection, “These are idolaters and these are idolaters.” If the Jews are no better than their enemies, they cannot be saved.

The justification for that initial Divinely-guided process which paved the way for the ultimate salvation was the revelation of Jewish merit in that to which their drinking of wine led – words of Torah and songs of praise – by contrast to the idolaters whose drinking leads to nonsense.

We may suggest that our drinking at the Purim Seudah is not simply a commemoration of the fact that the Purim story took place against a background of wine, Rather, our Purim Seudah, with the drinking that leads to words of Torah and joyous songs of praise, is a replication of the merit which allowed for the first step in the process of salvation to take place.

Taking this again one step further, our drinking wine reveals something very special about the fundamental nature of the Jew, as Chazal say (Sanhedrin 38a), “When the wine goes in, the secrets come out.” The essential Jew is not primarily focused on his own comfort and pleasure; he is focused on the Ribbono Shel Olam, His Torah, His commandments, and the sanctification of His name. And here is the key to the puzzle with which we began.

The Midrash (Shemos Rabbah 7:4) says, “Just as the praise of Hakadosh Baruch Hu emerges from the righteous in Gan Eden, so it emerges from the wicked in Gehinnom.” In other words, just as the blessings which the righteous enjoy reinforce our resolve to live proper lives, so the punishments of the wicked have the same effect. Everyone contributes to the ultimate Kiddush Hashem. Our choice is only how we are going to make our contribution.

To the Jew who thinks of himself and his own well-being, his feelings toward Mordechai and Haman will be quite different. To Mordechai, our saviour, he will bestow blessings; to Haman, our mortal enemy, he will bestow curses. But to the Jew who has taken his wine on Purim and rises above personal score-keeping, the picture is not so clear at all. The Kiddush Hashem that took place on that Purim so many hundreds of years ago required the contributions of Mordechai and Haman. When we realize this we are not in such a rush to curse Haman. Yes, he certainly was a flawed person and his intentions were diabolical. But his “contribution” to the world, unintended as it was, was real.

Tetzaveh 5772

It is a well known fact that the name of Moshe Rabbeinu is not to be found in Parshas Tetzaveh. While there are many explanations for this, the simplest is that Tetzaveh is focused mainly upon Moshe’s brother Aharon. It is in this Parsha that the instructions are given for the Bigdei Kehuna (priestly vestments) and for the ceremonies through which Aharon is to be inducted into the priesthood. Accordingly, Moshe recedes into the background.

The significance of this “disappearance” may be rooted in the very concept of the Bigdei Kehuna. Ramban explains (Shemos 28:2) that these garments were regal in nature; undoubtedly their function was to present the priests to the nation as exemplars of the highest religious and ethical values and thus, as worthy role models. Strangely, Moshe Rabbeinu, who served as Kohen for the week of the Sanctuary dedication, did not wear the Bigdei Kehuna. The Talmud (Avodah Zara 34a) teaches that Moshe served instead wearing a plain, unadorned white robe. We may suggest that Moshe Rabbeinu could not serve as an effective role model; his spiritual level was light-years beyond the capacity of any other human being. So there was no point in “dressing him up”; nobody could follow his example. Aharon was closer to the people and his level was more accessible.

There may be an additional factor involved in Aharon’s unique ability to inspire others. The Mishna in Pirkei Avos (1:12) tells us, “Be a student of Aharon, a lover of peace, a pursuer of peace, one who loves people, and brings them close to Torah.” The Maharal observes in his commentary to Pirkei Avos, Derech Chaim, that there is no direct evidence from the Torah to the proposition that Aharon loved people. Yet, there is evidence that he did not have a specific personality flaw that often interferes with our ability to love other people – jealousy.

When Moshe Rabbeinu was commanded at the Burning Bush to liberate the Jewish people from Egypt, he asked Hashem to send Aharon instead. (See Rashi, Shemos 4:13.) According to the Midrash Rabbah, Moshe’s reluctance was rooted in concern for the possibility of hurting Aharon’s feelings. After all, Aharon was the older brother and he could have expected to be selected for the mission. At this request, however, Hashem was angered. He told Moshe (4:14), “Behold Aharon will come to meet you; he will see you and rejoice in his heart.” Aharon did not have a jealous bone in his body. Not only would he not be resentful, he would actually rejoice at the honor his brother was given.

(The Yalkut Shimoni commenting on the above verse, says that Aharon’s joy would be in his heart only but would not be expressed in words. The Magen Avraham in his notes to the Yalkut, Zeis Ra’anan, explains that Aharon’s joy would be so great that it could not be put into words!)

The ability to rejoice in the achievements of another is a unique, but unfortunately, rarely found character trait. (Even Moshe Rabbeinu could not imagine Aharon’s being such a person until Hashem told him!) But this quality makes one especially effective as a role model, mentor, and inspiration. Many would rise to great heights – intellectual and spiritual – if there was someone that loved them and who they loved who would take notice and revel in those achievements. What one is not motivated to do altruistically, he may do to give others satisfaction.

The Choshen breastplate, its twelve stones inscribed with the names of the B’nai Yisrael, was placed on Aharon’s heart. According to Chazal (cited in the above mentioned Rashi) this was a reward for having rejoiced in his heart. The deeper meaning is obvious. Aharon carried the names because, in everything he did as Kohen Gadol, he was an advocate for the Jewish people. There is no better qualified advocate than the one who truly cares, whose greatest satisfaction is the well-being and success of those he represents.

Terumah 5772

The opening verses of the Parsha discuss the various materials that were to be collected for the construction of the Mishkan. Certainly the true significance of these items is symbolic; in Chassidic works, based on Kabbalistic sources, gold is associated with fear of G-d and silver with love of G-d.

This association, however, leads to some difficulties. For example, the Torah relates that the structure of the Mishkan was comprised of vertical wooden boards covered with gold (Kerashim) supported from below by sockets of pure silver (Adonim). But is it conceivable that love of G-d should function as the base that upholds fear of G-d?

There appears to be a contrary presumption in our classic Torah literature – that fear is the foundation upon which the higher level of love is built. To cite one example, the Ramban (Shemos 20:8) writes that rationale for the well-known ruling that a Positive Commandment supersedes a Negative Commandment (Aseh Doche Lo Taaseh) is that performance of positive commandments is a function of love and thus a higher attainment than fear which underlies the observance of the negative commandments.

Yet, there is an intriguing statement in the Talmud (Sotah 31a) that may resolve the difficulty:

It has been taught: R. Meir says: It is said of Job that he feared G-d, and it is said of Abraham that he feared G-d.  Just as 'fearing G-d' regarding Abraham indicates (fear) from love, so 'fearing G-d' regarding Job indicates (fear) from love.

The Maharal (Nesivos Olam, Nesiv Yiras Hashem, Chapter 1) explains that the highest level of fear of G-d is rooted in love: A person can attain such a deep, profound love of G-d that he is overtaken by the fear of doing something that might damage that precious, intimate relationship. The Maharal further explains that there are certain extremely difficult tasks that one could theoretically refuse to do even for a loved one; yet the person will perform them for fear of losing the relationship. The illustration of this would be the Akeida, which according to the Talmud (Sanhedrin 105b) was a function of Avraham’s loving devotion to G-d, and yet in the Torah it is described as a demonstration of his fear of G-d (Bereishis 22:12).

Thus, the Adonim of silver, representing love, served as the foundation of the Kerashim of gold representing fear.

The above understanding may resolve an additional difficulty.

We know that the contributions for the construction of the Mishkan were voluntary and this is hardly surprising. The initiation of a relationship cannot be coerced. The Mishkan, which symbolizes the “home” that G-d and the Jewish people share, could only be built through the generosity of the nation. Yet there was an exception. The silver for the Adonim – the very foundation of the Mishkan – was raised by the half-shekel tax (See Shemos 30:16) which, of course, was mandatory. How can we account for this anomaly?

It may be that our assumption is mistaken.

The difference between the silver and the other materials is not that the one was coerced and the other was freely given. Undoubtedly, the Jews, who so enthusiastically contributed gold, copper, wood, and other materials, gave their mandatory half-shekel of silver willingly. The difference is that the gift of the other materials expresses individuality and the gift of silver expresses commonality.

The Sfas Emes (Parshas Shekalim 5649) explains that fear of G-d is a function of our intellectual understanding of G-d, His omnipotence, etc. To the extent that everyone’s level of understanding differs, everyone’s level of Yiras Shomayim is different. Love of G-d, however, is a function of the metaphysical reality that our souls are created by G-d, and that, by nature, all things yearn to be unified with their source. Thus, the root of Ahavas Hashem is common to all Jews.

As a consequence, the gift of silver, representing love of G-d, is fixed for all donors. The other gifts, especially those of gold, representing fear, are a function of intellectual understanding of the worthiness of the cause. Those gifts must be structured in a way that allows for individual differences.

Mishpatim 5772

When you lend money to My people, to the poor person with you, you shall not behave toward him as a lender; you shall not impose interest upon him. (Shemos 22:24)

The prohibition of charging interest only applies to loans between Jews; a Jewish lender may take interest from a Gentile borrower. This distinction lends itself to misunderstanding. One could mistakenly assume that the Torah only demands fairness and integrity in dealings with other Jews. Gentiles are fair game for deceit and abuse.

This error has become enshrined in the conventional reading of Shakespeare’s classic play, The Merchant of Venice. Shylock – the Jewish moneylender but not the Merchant of the title – has become a virtual archetype of interfaith treachery and ruthlessness. (Although in fairness, we must admit that this may not have been Shakespeare’s intention; in modern productions of the play, Shylock is often depicted in a sympathetic way.)

The correct understanding of this law is provided by Ramban (Devarim 23:20), who explains that a Jew is obligated to treat non-Jews in accordance with the principles of justice. Theft, deception, and fraud of any kind are prohibited. But there is nothing morally wrong with charging interest. It is simply the cost of money, and those who provide money should have the right to charge for it. Nevertheless, one would not charge a family member for a loan for this is a courtesy that relatives routinely extend one another. Jews are meant to regard one another as family and therefore they must lend money gratis.

This concept is perhaps best expressed by a famous Mishna in Pirkei Avos (3:14):

Beloved is man, for he was created in the Divine image; it is a sign of even greater love that it has been made known to him that he was created in the Divine image…

Beloved are Israel, for they are called children of G-d; it is a sign of even greater love that it has been made known to them that they are called children of G-d…

All human beings are meant to be treated with the dignity due to a being created in the Divine image. But Jews – all being children of G-d – are brothers and that special relationship is expressed in ways that transcend considerations of justice.

One added point: The prohibition of interest is not only a refection of group solidarity but it actually promotes group solidarity.

When capital for investment is provided through the traditional channels of usury (the practice of lending on interest), lenders become enriched at the expense of the true creators of wealth – entrepreneurs and laborers. These lenders have no genuine interest in the success of the enterprises to which they lend except to the extent that their loans are secured; their relationship to the enterprises can even be characterized as parasitic (This is one aspect of the Marxist critique of capitalism.)

A system that proscribes usury compels capitalists to become investors in an enterprise rather than lenders to an enterprise. As a result, they now have a vested interest in the ventures in which they invest. The resulting mutual concern strengthens the fiber of the group and ultimately, the entire nation.

Yisro 5772

The story of Yisro is comprised of two parts. The first tells of Yisro’s arrival at the encampment of B’nai Yisrael and his reception; the second tells of the advice that Yisro gave Moshe, his son-in-law, to appoint subordinate judges, thus sparing him the burden of dealing with the entire nation’s litigation. Whether Yisro’s arrival took place before or after the revelation at Mount Sinai is a matter of dispute (Avoda Zara 24a; Zevachim 116a), but the second part of the story, in which Yisro is prompted to make his suggestion by the sight of Moshe judging from morning to night, must have taken place after the Torah was given; otherwise, on what basis was Moshe doing the judging? (See Rashi Shemos 18:13.)

Yet, this part of the story is also written before the account of the Sinai revelation. Of course, the rule אין מוקדם ומאוחר בתורה – the Torah does not follow a strict timeline – can be applied here, but the rule must be properly understood. It cannot mean that the Torah is in disarray. It must rather mean that the Torah is not in chronological order but rather in thematic order. This leads us to the inescapable conclusion that the story of Yisro’s advice is in some way the thematic introduction to the story of the giving of the Torah. How is this to be understood?

The concept of מתן תורה – the giving of the Torah – is not simply G-d’s sharing His wisdom with us; it is actually the conveyance of a proprietary right. With the giving of the Torah, it became our possession. This can be well illustrated by a famous story recorded in the Gemara (Bava Metziah 59b):

On that day R. Eliezer brought forward every imaginable argument, but they did not accept them. Said he to them, “If the halachah agrees with me, let this carob-tree prove it!”  Thereupon the carob-tree was torn a hundred cubits out of its place — others affirm, four hundred cubits. “No proof can be brought from a carob-tree,” they retorted.

Again he said to them: “If the halachah agrees with me, let the stream of water prove it!” Whereupon the stream of water flowed backwards — “No proof can be brought from a stream of water,” they rejoined.

Again he urged: “If the halachah agrees with me, let the walls of the schoolhouse prove it,” whereupon the walls inclined to fall. But R. Joshua rebuked them, saying: “When scholars are engaged in a halachic dispute, what have ye to interfere?” Hence they did not fall, in honour of R. Joshua, nor did they resume the upright, in honour of R. Eliezer; and they are still standing thus inclined.

Again he said to them: “If the halachah agrees with me, let it be proved from Heaven!” Whereupon a Heavenly Voice cried out: “Why do ye dispute with R. Eliezer, seeing that in all matters the halachah agrees with him!” But R. Joshua arose and exclaimed: “It is not in heaven.” What did he mean by this? — Said R. Jeremiah: That the Torah had already been given at Mount Sinai; we pay no attention to a Heavenly Voice, because Thou hast long since written in the Torah at Mount Sinai, “After the majority must one incline.”

R. Nathan met Elijah and asked him: What did the Holy One, Blessed be He, do in that hour? — He laughed saying, “My sons have defeated Me, My sons have defeated Me.”

Upon refection we can understand that this Divine grant of ownership is an absolutely necessary element in the entire scheme of Judaism. As no human being could possibly fathom the inscrutable, impenetrable wisdom of G-d, how could he be expected to comply with the Divine Will? How could we ever have confidence in the correctness of our legal and moral judgments? There are only two possible answers to these questions: Either we would require ongoing access to Divine Revelation and thus be provided with the necessary corrections, or that the Divine Will would be defined by the interpretations of the mortal earthly authorities.

This is the issue which underlies the story of Moshe and Yisro. Moshe initially believed that he would have to be the sole judge of the people; as a prophet with whom G-d communicates, there would be assurances that his judgments are correct. No one could possibly replace him. (But what would happen when Moshe was no longer present?)

Yisro understood the concept which lies at the very basis of the giving of the Torah – it is no longer in heaven and that it was given to man. Thus, even in the lifetime of Moshe, legal issues could be adjudicated by subordinate judges whose rulings would be valid and authoritative. As this principle is the correct understanding of the “Giving of the Torah”, the story in which the concept is revealed is the most appropriate introduction possible to the account of the Sinai revelation.

Beshalach 5772

And Moshe said to Yehoshua, “Choose for us men and go out and battle Amalek…” (Shemos 17:9)

“Choose for us”: For me and for you; Moshe equated Yehoshua to himself. From here the Sages concluded that the honor of your student should be as precious as your own honor. (Rashi)

Needless to say, honoring students is extremely important. But why did the Torah choose to transmit this lesson through the story of the war against Amalek?

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 91b) teaches: If one withholds teaching from his student it is considered as if he robbed him of his ancestors’ legacy. In other words, the Torah that a Rebbe teaches to his student is not a gift which he bestows from his own assets. The Rebbe’s Torah may have been given to him specifically for the sake of the student he is destined to teach; he is merely holding it in trust until the appropriate time. Thus, the failure to transmit is tantamount to an act of theft. This is the rationale of the imperative to honor one’s students. If the Rebbe treats his students lightly for their lack of knowledge, he is making a mistake: His Torah is really theirs!

This has some practical consequences. When a Rebbe contemplates accepting a potential student, he must properly conceptualize the issue. The question is not whether the Rebbe should give Torah to the student as a gift. The question is, rather, are their grounds for denying and withholding this person’s entitlement. When put the first way, the answer may be an emphatic “No”; when put the second way, the answer may be an equally emphatic “Yes”.

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 99b) tells an amazing story about the lineage of Amalek: Timna was a royal princess…Desiring to become a proselyte, she went to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, but they did not accept her. So she went and became a concubine to Eliphaz the son of Esav, saying, “I would rather be a servant to this people than a mistress of another nation.” From her Amalek who afflicted Israel came. Why so? They should not have rejected her.

This is nothing short of astounding. The hatred of Amalek was a consequence of a mistaken decision on the part of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov regarding the acceptance of a potential convert!

We certainly should not second-guess their decision, but undoubtedly it was a difficult one and perhaps the verdict to deny admission might have been rooted in a failure to see the Torah as the candidate’s entitlement rather than a gift that she was seeking to acquire.

When Moshe and Yehoshua discussed the plans for the war against Amalek, undoubtedly the discussion turned to the root cause of the conflict – the rejection of Timna. Moshe undoubtedly stressed the importance of not withholding Torah from students,the recognition that Torah knowledge is their entitlement, and, as explained above, that this is the very basis of the obligation to honor students. These ideas which Moshe put into action in his choice of words in instructing Yehoshua to muster the army against Amalek were thus especially relevant to that war.

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.”