S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT SHEMOT

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei

            The Torah in Parashat Shemot tells of the enslavement of Benei Yisrael in Egypt, which began when Pharaoh became concerned about the foreign people’s rapid growth.  He expressed to his advisors his fear that should the country be faced with war against an enemy nation, the Israelites may turn against Egypt and join the enemy forces.  And so, Pharaoh decided to enslave Benei Yisrael in an attempt to curb their population growth and keep them powerless.

            The Gemara in Masekhet Sota (11a) comments that since Pharaoh was the first to propose the idea of persecuting Benei Yisrael, he was the first to suffer the punishment visited upon Egypt: “He was the first introduce the idea… Therefore, he was punished first, as it says, ‘[the frogs shall rise] upon you, your nation and all your servants’ (Shemot 7:29).”  When warning Pharaoh about the plague of frogs, Moshe predicted the frogs’ assault on Pharaoh before their invasion of the rest of Egypt.  Pharaoh was the first to receive this punishment, the Gemara asserts, because he was the first to recommend the enslavement of Benei Yisrael.

            What connection might there be between the particular plague of frogs and Pharaoh’s introduction of the idea of enslaving Benei Yisrael?  Why did his initiation of this concept render him worthy of being the first to be punished specifically by the frogs?

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, suggests that the Gemara here seeks to draw a comparison between the noise produced by the frogs and the “noise” made by Pharaoh in his unfounded suspicions.  The Midrash Tanchuma (in Parashat Bo) comments that the most intolerable aspect of the plague of frogs was the incessant, boisterous croaking that the Egyptians heard at all hours, day and night.  Pharaoh was the first to suffer this noise because he was the first to make “noise” about Benei Yisrael, baselessly questioning their allegiance to the empire.

            If so, then the Gemara here emphasizes not Pharaoh’s cruelty or suspicion per se, but rather the fact that he made unnecessary “noise” in a period of “silence.”  The arrangement of having Benei Yisrael living as a separate tribe within Egypt’s borders was working well.  The situation was a “quiet” one; Benei Yisrael did not bother or threaten the Egyptians, and they lived in peaceful harmony alongside the native population.  Beyond his other crimes, Pharaoh “disturbed the peace”; he sounded a siren unnecessarily.  He invented a problem in a situation that was not problematic, and turned an acceptable arrangement into a burning crisis that demanded drastic action.

Of course, Pharaoh was guilty of many far more severe offenses, subjecting an entire sector of law-abiding citizens to unspeakable brutality and death.  But Chazal found it worthwhile to draw our attention as well to the relatively minor misdeed that triggered the process of the Egyptian bondage.  The Sages instruct us to avoid making unnecessary “noise.”  People sometimes have the tendency to promote themselves by finding problems in a generally acceptable situation, by inventing a crisis that they can then burst on the scene to solve.   The Gemara teaches us to allow “quiet” situations to remain “quiet.”  There are plenty of real problems that demand our attention, and we therefore shouldn’t be looking for problems that do not exist so we can solve them.

Sunday

            We read in Parashat Shemot of Moshe’s return to Egypt after God had appeared to him in Midyan and instructed him to lead Benei Yisrael to freedom.  The Torah writes, “Moshe took his wife and sons and mounted them on the donkey, and he returned to the land of Egypt” (4:20).  Rashi, citing the Midrash (Pirkei De-Rabbi Eliezer, 31), comments, “The special donkey – this is the donkey which Avraham saddled [as he journeyed] to akeidat Yitzchak, and is the one upon which the Messianic King will reveal himself, as it says, ‘a poor man, riding upon a donkey’ (Zekharya 9:9).”

            It seems clear that the Midrash seeks to answer the question of why the Torah bothered to mention this seemingly insignificant detail, that Moshe mounted his family on the donkey in preparation for travel.  Why is this worthy of mention?  The Midrash responds by noting that this donkey was “special” – the same donkey on which Avraham rode to Mount Moriah to sacrifice his son, and the donkey on which Mashiach will arrive to announce the final redemption.

            Needless to say, this comment requires explanation.  Why did Chazal draw a connection between these three events – akeidat Yitzchak, Moshe’s trip to Egypt, and the arrival of Mashiach?

            One explanation (as Rav Menachem Kasher cites in his notes to this verse in Torah Sheleima) views the “donkey” as symbolic of a human being’s physical drives.  The Hebrew word for “donkey” – “chamor” – relates to the term “chomriyut” (“physicality”), and is thus often taken as an allusion to people’s base desires and lust for physical indulgence.  Accordingly, the image of Avraham, Moshe and the Mashiach riding upon a chamor symbolizes the need to harness our physical drives and direct them toward the service of God.  The Midrash teaches that this is true both for akeidat Yitzchak – showing our devotion to God throughout our lives – as well as for the realization of redemption, as represented by Moshe and Mashiach.  These require “riding the donkey,” seizing control over our base instincts and harnessing our physical qualities for the purpose of serving our Creator.

            We might also suggest that Chazal here view the donkey as a more general symbol for the necessary trivialities of life.  In all three contexts mentioned by the Midrash, the individual in question prepares for an undertaking of immense historical, spiritual significance.  And regarding all three, the Torah makes mention of the donkey used in reaching the goal.  Chazal perhaps saw the mention of the donkeys in these contexts as a reminder of the significance of even the minor details involved in a major undertaking.  People who involve themselves in lofty pursuits should not undermine the importance of the “nuts and bolts,” the minor, technical details required for the successful completion of the project.  Many small pieces must come together for a major undertaking to succeed, and thus even the “donkey” is significant.  Chazal thus perhaps advise us not to overlook the significance of the not-so-trivial trivialities that we must get through along the way to success.  Just as Avraham, Moshe and Mashiach needed a donkey to reach their destination, similarly, all lofty pursuits require addressing the pragmatic details that must fall into place for the goal to be achieved.

Monday

Parashat Shemot tells of the birth and early life of Moshe, who, upon reaching adulthood, goes out to observe the oppression of the Hebrew slaves, and kills an Egyptian taskmaster who was beating a slave (2:12).  Word of the incident eventually reaches Pharaoh, forcing Moshe to flee from Egypt (2:15).

The Midrash (Tanchuma Yashan – Vayetze, 5) notes this incident, Moshe’s flight from Egypt, as well as other instances of great people who fled in the face of adversity, and comments:

At a time when you see that the time is irrepressible, do not stand in its way, but rather give it space… Whoever allows the time space – the time falls in his hand… Moshe gave the time space, as it says, “Moshe fled from Pharaoh,” and the time returned and fell into his hand, as it says, “And the man Moshe, too, was great in the eyes of Pharaoh and in this eyes of the nation.”

Although the syntax of the Midrash is not entirely clear, it conveys the message that there are times when a person must temporarily surrender rather than fight a battle that cannot be won at the present moment.  The Midrash here cites a verse from Sefer Yeshayahu (26:20) in which the prophet urges, “Go, my nation, enter your rooms and close your doors behind you; hide for just a moment, until [God’s] wrath passes.”  When the situation is “irrepressible” (“chatzufa,” in the words of the Midrash), we are bidden not to fight it, but rather to wait patiently for conditions to change in our favor.

A similar comment appears in the Midrash Lekach Tov (to Bereishit 27:43), in the context of Yaakov’s flight from Canaan to escape from his brother, Esav: “All the righteous people allow the time space: Yaakov fled, Moshe fled, and David fled – for whoever presses the moment, the moment presses him.”  The Midrash here draws our attention to the fact that these three tzadikim – Yaakov, Moshe and David – were all unjustifiably pursued, and correctly chose to flee rather than resist.  And all three eventually returned, and when they did, they came back in a far more favorable position than they were in before the crisis surfaced.  Yaakov fled from his brother and ultimately returned to Canaan with a large family, with enormous wealth, and having reconciled with his brother.  Moshe fled from Pharaoh, and later returned to Egypt and toppled the Egyptian empire.  And David fled from King Shaul, after which he ascended the throne in Shaul’s place.

All three men likely felt tempted to remain and confront their adversary.  In the case of Moshe, for example, as a young idealist, he felt enraged by the injustice and cruelty he witnessed, and probably would have preferred to openly oppose Pharaoh and his brutal regime.  But Moshe understood that the current situation did not allow for a successful confrontation.  This was not the time to fight against Pharoah.  As in Yeshayahu’s advice, Moshe “hid for just a moment,” he fled from Egypt, hoping that with time, conditions would change and allow for resistance to the Egyptian monarch.  David, too, may have felt tempted to confront King Shaul.  He enjoyed widespread support and popularity, and was pursued for no justifiable reason.  There was no question that he was right and Shaul was wrong.  But he fled, recognizing that this was not the time for confrontation.  Eventually, Shaul met his downfall and David earned his rightful place on the Israelite throne.

Pirkei De-Rabbi Eliezer (28) relates that when the wicked Queen Izevel of the Northern Kingdom of Israel ordered that the prophet Eliyahu be put to death, Eliyahu turned to God in prayer.  The Almighty then said to him, “Are you any better than your forefathers?  Esav sought to kill Yaakov…and so he fled from him, and was saved…”  Eliyahu assumed that as he was being pursued because of his religious beliefs and his efforts to disseminate them, he should confront the pagan regime of Achav and Izevel head on, and, with God’s assistance, he would undoubtedly prevail.  He prayed to God to help him in his just campaign to oppose the idolatrous policies of the Israelite kingdom, and likely assumed that his prayers would be willingly accepted.

God, however, rejected his prayer, and urged the prophet to follow the example of Yaakov, Moshe and David.  The resistance Eliyahu had planned was undoubtedly just, but it was ill-timed.  The situation called for escaping, for “hiding for just a moment” until the time was ripe for revolution.  Indeed, a generation later, God called upon Eliyahu’s student and successor, Elisha, to prepare the soldier Yeihu for what in the end was a successful revolt against the family of Achav.

These Midrashic sources underscore an aspect of the Exodus story that often goes unnoticed, namely, that it took a long time to unfold.  We can imagine a disgruntled, resentful Moshe eager to lead a revolt against Pharaoh immediately upon seeing the injustice perpetrated against the Israelites.  The Sages found it noteworthy that Moshe instead fled, and allowed time to run its course.  The message conveyed is the delicate balance that must be maintained between bold ambition, on the one hand, and, on the other, patience and pragmatism.  Not every just and worthwhile struggle should be waged at the present moment.  There are periods of “sha’a chatzufa,” when the situation does not lend itself to favorable change.  In such times, patience must temper idealism and ambition, and we must wait until the groundwork is laid for the desired changes to unfold.

Tuesday

            We read in Parashat Shemot of Pharaoh’s decree that newborn Israelite boys would be put to death immediately at birth.  The Israelite midwives defied the edict, and when Pharaoh questioned them, they responded that the Israelite women are unlike Egyptian women, as they are “chayot,” and “they give birth even before the midwife comes to them” (1:19). 

            The commentators offer different interpretations of the ambiguous term “chayot” in this verse.  Rashi notes that the Aramaic word for “midwife” is “chayata.”  (Presumably, this word is used in reference to midwives because it relates to the word “chai” – “life” – and midwives bring new living beings into the world.  See Torah Sheleima, vol. 8, appendix 7.)  The midwives told Pharaoh that the Israelite women were themselves “chayot” – midwives – and thus did not need the services of the professional nurses.  They delivered the babies independently, and did not depend upon the midwives.

            Rashi then cites the Gemara’s comment in Masekhet Sota (11b) explaining the word “chayot” to mean “animals.”  The midwives told Pharoah that Yaakov blessed his sons, he compared them to different animals (e.g. Yehuda is likened to a lion, Dan to a snake, Binyamin to a wolf), and thus just as animals deliver their young without the assistance of midwives, Benei Yisrael similarly did not require the services of midwives.

            Interestingly, Targum Onkelos translates the word “chayot” as “chakiman” (“intelligent”).  Onkelos’ translation is likely the basis of Saadia Gaon’s interpretation of this word as “pikchot” (“wise women”).  It is unclear how, etymologically, the word “chaya” assumes the meaning of intelligence and wisdom.  In any event, according to Onkelos, it seems, the midwives told Pharaoh that the Israelite women were knowledgeable in the area of childbirth and were thus capable of delivering independently, without the involvement of midwives.

            The Midrash Lekach Tov explains the word “chayot” to mean “beri’ot” – healthy.  This is likely Ibn Ezra’s intent, as well, when he comments on this word, “Yeish lahem ko’ach chayim ba-lev” (“They have the power of life in their heart”).  The midwives claimed that the Israelite women were exceptionally strong and healthy, which enabled them to deliver their babies independently.  In a somewhat similar vein, Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch explained the term “chayot” in this verse as referring to vitality and energy.

An earlier source for this meaning of the word (as noted by Rav Yosef Shaul Nathanson, in his Divrei Shaul, and by Rav Menachem Kasher, in Torah Sheleima) is Rashi’s commentary to Divrei Hayamim I (11:22).  King David’s general Benayahu ben Yehoyada is described there as a “ben ish chayil” (loosely translated, “a courageous soldier”), but Rashi notes that in the corresponding verse in Sefer Shemuel II (23:20), the phrase is written, “ben ish chai.”  Rashi explains, “For it is customary for people when they see an energetic person, they say, ‘This person is completely alive.’”  In other words, the term “chai” (“alive”) is sometimes used to denote energy and vitality, and it was thus used in reference to Benayahu ben Yehoyada to describe his exceptional strength and dynamism as a warrior.  By the same token, then, the term “chayot” in the context of the midwives’ response to Pharaoh can perhaps refer to the Israelite women’s unique strength and vigor which enabled them to give birth without outside assistance.

Wednesday

            The Torah in Parashat Shemot tells the famous story of God’s first revelation to Moshe at the burning Moshe at Chorev (Mount Sinai).  It was in this revelation that God assigned Moshe the role he would serve as redeemer of Benei Yisrael who would lead them to freedom from their Egyptian oppressors.

            Different explanations have been given for the symbolic meaning of the image that Moshe beheld, of “a bush burning with fire, but the bush was not consumed” (3:3).  Most commonly, perhaps, the image of the burning bush is taken as a symbol of the Israelite nation that “burned with fire,” was subjected to persecution and torture, and yet “was not consumed,” somehow managed to survive and to retain its unique identity and ongoing determination.

            Rav Soloveitchik (as cited in Rav Herschel Schachter’s Mi-peninei Ha-Rav, pp. 281-2), however, suggested that the image of the burning bush might symbolize the “fire” of religious devotion that burns within the nation.  The Torah describes the fire as burning “mi-tokh ha-sneh” – inside the bush.  It appears that the fire burned in the interior section of the bush, and yet it did not – as brush fires normally do – spread to the outer layers.  This is what Moshe meant when he asked, perplexed, “Why does the bush not burn?”  He wondered why the fire remained confined to the inner portion of the bush and did not spread outward.  Rav Soloveitchik suggested that the image represented the “fire” of religious commitment that burns within each Jew, yet often fails to “spread” and affect his or her conduct.  Several Midrashic sources detect beneath the surface of the story a certain tension regarding the question of Benei Yisrael’s worthiness for redemption.  They suffered unspeakable torment under the taskmaster’s whip, but they were not necessarily deserving of God’s assistance.  God therefore showed Moshe the image of a fire that raged furiously in the inner recesses of a shrub, symbolic of the spiritual yearning that burns deep within every Jewish soul.  He wanted Moshe realize that even if Benei Yisrael outwardly appear unworthy of redemption, God sees the “fire” that burns within, and that longing itself rendered them deserving of freedom.

            The Torah does not provide a clear answer to Moshe’s question, “Why does the bush not burn?”  It is unknown why the “fire” of religious devotion at times remains concealed within us and does not, like ordinary fire, spread forth to the rest of our beings.  Whereas wood naturally catches fire, people do not.  The “fire” within us does not spread by itself; it requires work, effort, attention and focus.  Even if we have the right motives, a sincere desire to do the right thing, and a genuine feeling of commitment to God, this “fire” will not “spread” by itself, it will not automatically affect the way we act.  We must constantly work to spread the “fire” from within to without, to harness our spiritual energies and apply them to our day-to-day activities.

Thursday

            We read in Parashat Shemot of the efforts made by Moshe’s mother, Yokheved, to save her infant from the royal edict calling for the death of all newborn Israelite males.  She places the child in a basket in the river, where he is discovered and rescued by – ironically enough – Pharaoh’s daughter.  Although the princess immediately recognizes the boy as an Israelite, she nevertheless defies her father’s edict, brings the child into the palace and raises her as a son.  The Torah adds that it was the princess who gave the boy the name “Moshe,” which is derived from the word “meshitihu” (“I have drawn him from the water” – 2:10).

            Several writers have raised the question of why this name, which was given by the princess of Egypt, became Moshe’s permanent name, the one that God Himself uses in reference to Moshe, including later in this parasha (3:4).  The use of this name becomes even more puzzling in light of the fact that Moshe seems to have already been a toddler when he received this name.  Moshe’s biological mother was hired to nurse Moshe, and the Torah writes, “The child grew, and she [his mother] brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, and he became her son.  She named him ‘Moshe’…”  Presumably, Moshe had a different name before he was weaned and brought to the princess.  And yet, he is forever known by the name he was given at that point.

            One possible answer emerges from Seforno’s comments to this verse: “The reason why I named him ‘Moshe’ is to demonstrate that he will rescue others.  For I have indeed drawn him from the waters after he was cast in them, and this was only by the ‘decree of the guardians’ so that he may then rescue others.”  Seforno implicitly addresses the question of why the princess did not name the rescued infant in the passive form – “mashui” (“drawn”) – but instead used the active form – “Moshe.”  After all, he was the one who was “drawn,” not the one who “drew.”  Seforno therefore explains that Pharaoh’s daughter sought to commemorate through this name not her rescue of Moshe, but rather Moshe’s role as rescuer of others.  She intuitively understood that if Moshe was rescued from her father’s edict through such improbable circumstances, this must have happened so that he could rescue others.  If he managed to survive while countless other Israelite infants were drowned in the Nile, he must, undoubtedly, have been charged with the responsibility to rescue and save others.

            This very likely explains the designation of “Moshe” as his permanent name.  Chazal teach that Moshe was given other names (Vayikra Rabba 1:3), but the one that best characterizes him is “Moshe,” the one who rescues and delivers.

            Rav Dovid Gottlieb develops this approach to the significance of the name “Moshe” and notes the lesson that this conveys for all of us – even those who weren’t necessarily “rescued” like Moshe was:

We may not have been pulled from the Nile or saved from the crematoria, but we have all been blessed in so many other ways. And while we may not be privy to a divine revelation in a burning bush, we are confronted with the same challenge that was presented to Moshe: what do we do with our blessing?

Rather than succumbing to the natural tendency to become complacent, we must realize that what is called for is just the opposite. The berachos in our own lives should create a feeling of responsibility to build and to accomplish and not to waste the opportunity of our good fortune.

We have all been granted the blessing of life, as well as countless other blessings.  It behooves us to recognize our gifts and to accept the responsibility to use them to the very best of our ability, to utilize all we have been given for the right purposes.

Friday

            Yesterday, we raised the question as to the possible significance of Moshe’s name, which was given to him by Pharaoh’s daughter and signifies his having been “drawn from the water” (“ki min ha-mayim meshitihu” – 2:10).  Based on the comments of Seforno, we noted that the miraculous circumstances whereby Moshe was rescued from Pharaoh’s decree perhaps cast upon him the obligation to rescue others.  As a survivor, Moshe bore the responsibility to help others survive, and thus became the leader who brought the Israelite slaves to freedom.

            The Maharal of Prague (as cited and discussed by Rav Yehuda Amital zt”l – http://vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot/shemot/13-63shemot.htm) proposed a much different explanation for the significance of Moshe’s having been “drawn from the water.”  He suggested that “water” in this context represents the material world, from which Moshe, during his lifetime, succeeded in “withdrawing.”  Unlike other prophets, Moshe was capable of experiencing prophecy at any time, even while fully awake with his senses alert.  This was because the physicality with which he came in contact through his senses had no effect on him; he was capable of focusing his mind exclusively on God even while his senses were exposed to earthly stimuli.  Whereas other prophets needed to be asleep, to have their senses shut down, for them to receive prophecy, Moshe had the unique ability to “withdraw from the water,” to separate himself from his physical existence to hear the word of God.

            Why is water used as a symbol for the physical world?

            The Maharal explained that although spiritual concepts initially strike us as unstable and ungrounded, they are actually permanent and enduring, whereas physical matter is ephemeral.  Physical matter is constantly undergoing change and transformation, while the world of the spirit is stable and unchanging.  The raging current of a river is thus used as a symbol of physical existence, which never stays the same, and always undergoes change.  The message conveyed is that our spiritual ideas and goals must lend shape and stability to our physical lives.  The way we gain control of the “raging waters” of our physical existence is through the framework of spiritual aspirations.  Just as water assumes the shape of the container that holds it, similarly, we give our physical existence meaning, purpose and stability through the spiritual framework in which we live our lives.

            We might also suggest that spirituality means removing oneself from the powerful “current” of physical existence.  All people are propelled by certain trends and instincts, in the form of forces such as physical drives, societal norms, and raw intuition.  The image of Moshe being drawn from the river represents the need to pull ourselves out of the powerful current of natural instinct and impulse.  Kedusha, at least in one sense, means exerting control over ourselves and our lives, rather than simply flowing with the current, acting freely on impulse.  A life of physicality resembles a log flowing along the river’s current, moving wherever it is driven, whereas a life kedusha is like walking on dry land, with the freedom and independence to chart one’s course.  The greatness of Moshe exemplifies the ideal of pulling ourselves out of the “river,” conducting ourselves on the basis of reason, thought and conviction, rather than allowing ourselves to be driven by instinct.