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Yeshivat Har Etzion

PARASHAT VAERA

Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Vaera tells of the first seven of the ten plagues that God brought upon Egypt as punishment for Pharaoh's refusal to release the Hebrew slaves. Prior to the seventh plague, hail, God instructs Moshe to warn Pharaoh that "this time I will send all My plagues upon your person, and your courtiers, and your people" (9:14). Commenting on the words "all My plagues," Rashi writes, "We learn from here that the plague of the firstborn was equivalent to all the [other] plagues [combined]." According to Rashi, God speaks of the plague of the firstborn as "all My plagues" because it equaled in severity all the other nine plagues combined.

Later writers have noted the obvious difficulty in Rashi's comments, namely, that he speaks of the plague of the firstborn here, in the context of the plague of hail. God employs this description of "all My plagues" as part of His warning of the seventh plague, hail. How, then, could Rashi interpret this phrase as a reference to the tenth and final plague – the smiting of the firstborn? (In our S.A.L.T. series to this parasha a number of years ago, we cited numerous different approaches taken in resolving this difficulty.)

Rav Yisrael Yehoshua Hertzberg, in his "Avnei Shoham," suggests that in a certain sense, the plague of hail served as a precursor of sorts to the plague of the firstborn. A famous Midrash tells that what made the plague of the firstborn particularly devastating was a mini civil war that erupted in Egypt on the eve of this final plague. Upon hearing Moshe's warning of their imminent death, the firstborn feared for their lives and demanded that Pharaoh free the slaves. When the Egyptian king refused, the firstborn took up arms and launched a deadly attack on their own countrymen. In effect, then, the plague of the firstborn brought widespread death and destruction well beyond the firstborns themselves and firstborn animals.

Rav Hertzberg suggests that the seeds of this civil war are sown during the seventh plague, hail. In anticipation of this plague, we suddenly find different factions developing among the population: "Those among Pharaoh's subjects who feared the Lord's word brought their slaves and livestock indoors to safety; but those who paid no regard to the word of the Lord left their slaves and livestock in the open" (9:20-21). Here, for the first time, an opposition party emerged. A significant number of Egyptians once and for all trusted Moshe more than they trusted Pharaoh. This movement apparently continued to grow and develop, to the point of civil unrest and bloodshed.

With this in mind, Rav Hertzberg suggests, we can explain why Rashi applies God's description of the plague of hail to the plague of the firstborn. With the plague of hail, God began casting "all My plagues" against the Egyptians; for the first time, the Egyptians cease working as a united front opposing God. This process culminated in the bloody civil war of the plague of the firstborn, which, as Rashi deduces from this verse, marks the harshest and most severe of the plagues, as it involved not only the power of the Almighty, but internal strife among the Egyptians, as well.

*****

Parashat Vaera opens with God's famous proclamation of the "four expressions of redemption," which He orders Moshe to convey to Benei Yisrael, in order to lift their spirits that had been crushed by Pharaoh's intensification of their workload. This message, however, was not accepted by Benei Yisrael: "Moshe told this to the Israelites, but they would not listen to Moshe, out of crushed spirits and harsh bondage" (6:9).

Many different explanations have been suggested as to the precise meaning of "crushed spirits and harsh bondage," and what psychological elements prevented Benei Yisrael from accepting Moshe's words of encouragement and promise for the future. Rav Gavriel Zev Margolis (Chief Rabbi of Boston in the early 20^th century), in his "Torat Gavriel," suggests one explanation by focusing on the somewhat peculiar word "kein" ("this" or "so") in this verse. This word appears to indicate strong emphasis on one particular detail. Rav Margolis explains that Moshe perhaps emphasized the final of the four expressions of redemption: "And I will take you to be My people, and I will be your God" (6:6). As opposed to the previous three expressions – "I will free you"; "I will deliver you"; "I will redeem you" – this final expression appears to entail an obligation, more so than a promise. If God takes Benei Yisrael as His people, then they of course must accept Him as their God, an acceptance which necessarily entails numerous obligations and restrictions. Indeed, God continues, "And you shall know that I, the Lord, am your God… " In this fourth and final expression of redemption, God sets a condition for the previous three: their freedom carries with it immense responsibility and an enormous sense of obligation. God here does not announce Benei Yisrael's freedom, but rather their transition from the service of Egypt to the service of God.

"Moshe told THIS to the Israelites… " In conveying God's message to Benei Yisrael, Moshe emphasized "this" – the final component of this message, namely, the condition upon which their freedom hinged. For this reason, "they would not listen to Moshe, out of crushed spirits and harsh bondage." At this point, the nation preferred remaining in Egyptian bondage, rather than beginning a new term of slavery for a different master, even if that master is the Almighty Himself. Thus, Benei Yisrael at this point wanted the privileges associated with freedom, but were not interested in the responsibilities associated with freedom.

Rav Margolis adds that God responds to the people's negative reaction by sending Moshe again, this time with a slightly different message. Several verses later, we read, "The Lord spoke to Moshe and Aharon in regard to the Israelites and Pharaoh king of Egypt, instructing them to deliver the Israelites from the land of Egypt" (6:13). Moshe is once again bidden to inform Benei Yisrael about the redemption, only this time he is to inform them only about the redemption. In response to the people's inability to accept a freedom that entails demanding responsibilities and obligations, God has Moshe shift his emphasis from the condition to the promise. Before Benei Yisrael can willingly take upon themselves the responsibilities entailed in being God's people, they must first hear more about God's promise of redemption, and be reassured that the period of bitter slavery will soon come to an end. Only then can Moshe begin instructing them with regard to their responsibilities and obligations, the unique standards that we must maintain in order to earn this status as God's special nation.

******

Parashat Vaera tells of the first seven of the ten plagues that befall Egypt due to Pharaoh's stubborn refusal to release the Hebrew slaves. It is only after the tenth plague, the death of the Egyptian firstborn, that Pharaoh finally agrees to allow Benei Yisrael to go free. We read in Parashat Vaera that God specifically "hardens" Pharaoh's heart so that he would refuse. God tells Moshe, "And I will harden Pharaoh's heart, that I may multiply My signs and marvels in the land of Egypt" (7:3).

Many scholars throughout the centuries have struggled with the theological issue that arises from God's "hardening" of Pharaoh's heart. How could God punish Pharaoh for his defiance if God Himself made him act this way? Is it right to hold Pharaoh accountable for his obstinacy, if God intentionally made him obstinate?

The Ramban, in his commentary to this verse, brings two approaches to resolve this difficulty, and he adds, "sheneihem emet" ("both are true"). The first, which is famously advanced by the Rambam in Hilkhot Teshuva (6:3), claims that a person who repeatedly commits a grievous sin will be punished with the inability to repent. The hardening of Pharaoh's heart thus served as a punishment for his harsh treatment of Benei Yisrael. The Ramban then suggests a second approach, which appears as well – with minor differences – in other commentaries, as well, including Ibn Ezra and Seforno. This approach claims that God did not withhold from Pharaoh the ability to perform teshuva; had Pharaoh resigned himself to acknowledge his error and repent, he could have done so. However, the severity of the plagues had reached such a magnitude that Pharaoh should have set Benei Yisrael free for his own personal well being, to save himself and his country from catastrophe. The hardening of his heart affected this natural instinct of self-preservation; it caused Pharaoh to continue his oppression of Benei Yisrael even when it became obvious that he could help himself by setting them free.

(Seforno, as mentioned, adopts this general approach, as well, only with a slightly different formulation. He writes that God bolstered Pharaoh's level of tolerance so that the plagues would not compel him to surrender. God did not deny him the power of teshuva, but rather enabled him to tolerate the suffering wrought by the plagues so that he would not surrender to save himself from disaster.)

Rav Yechezkel Levenstein (as cited in "Yad Yechezkel") raises an interesting question concerning this second approach of the Ramban. At first glance, this approach appears to negate the famous principle of "mi-tokh she-lo li-shma ba li-shma" (see Pesachim 50b). We are encouraged to involve ourselves in Torah and mitzvot even for less than purely altruistic motives, for even insincere involvement will gradually lead one to perform mitzvot for the right reasons. If so, then it would appear, at first glance, that God acted "unfairly" by stripping Pharaoh of the survival instinct which would ordinarily have led him to free the slaves in order to save Egypt from destruction and ruin. Did not God deny Pharaoh the opportunity of repenting "she-lo li-shma" – for ulterior motives? Why did God not allow Pharaoh to repent at this minimum standard, if, as Chazal teach us, even this level of mitzva performance has value?

Rav Levenstein explains that in truth, the "teshuva" that God withheld from Pharaoh is really no teshuva at all. The very basis and foundation of teshuva is an acknowledgement of wrongdoing, the realization that one has acted improperly and could have acted differently. God did not prevent Pharaoh from acknowledging his wrong; He prevented Pharaoh from deciding to free Benei Yisrael in order to save his skin. This decision would not have constituted teshuva, not even at the minimum standard of "she-lo li-shma." Because teshuva, by its very definition, requires an honest, self-effacing confession of guilt. God never took this power away from Pharaoh, and, according to the Ramban's second approach, God never takes this power away from anybody.

In this context, Rav Levenstein noted one important lesson that emerges from the story of Pharaoh: the difficulty involved in admitting guilt. Throughout this narrative, Pharaoh refuses to honestly bow his head and admit his crime. By nature, the human being finds comfort in his correctness; acknowledging guilt or error makes him feel uncomfortable and insecure. But this is the very first step required for repentance – to make an honest assessment of one's self and acknowledge that he has acted wrongly.

******

Yesterday we discussed the inherent difficulty in what appears to be God's explicit acceptance of responsibility for Pharaoh's adamant, almost irrational refusal to release the Hebrew slaves. In Parashat Vaera, God informs Moshe of the onset of the plagues that would strike Egypt, and adds, "And I will harden Pharaoh's heart, that I may multiply My signs and marvels in the land of Egypt" (7:3). Seemingly, the Almighty strips Pharaoh of his free will by disrupting the normal functioning of his decision-making faculties. This appears to negate the fundamental Jewish belief in free choice, and also calls into question the justness of the plagues that God cast upon Pharaoh and his subjects. How could God punish Pharaoh so harshly – or even at all – if He himself compelled Pharaoh to stubbornly refuse His demand?

Yesterday, we presented the famous answers offered by the Rambam and Ramban. Rav Yaakov Medan (www.etzion.org.il/vbm/archive/9-parsha/17vaerah.rtf), in a VBM shiur for last year's Hebrew parsha series, poses a novel theory of his own to help further elucidate this notion of the hardening of Pharaoh's heart. He suggests that this "hardening" did not necessarily involve any divine interference with Pharaoh's emotional or rational faculties. Rather, resulted naturally from the manner in which God – through Moshe and Aharon – confronted and responded to Pharaoh. After virtually every plague, Pharaoh summons Moshe and Aharon and promises to release the slaves in exchange for the cessation of that plague. Moshe then prays to God, who immediately brings an end to the plague, which is then followed by an end to Pharaoh's promise of freedom. Already after the first plague or two, it becomes abundantly clear that Pharaoh's promises and guarantees cannot be trusted. We would have expected Moshe and Aharon to demand some form of guarantee from Pharaoh before agreeing to end a plague. For some reason, however, Moshe and Aharon never do so. Instead, they respond almost mechanically to Pharaoh's pleas after each plague, without ever issuing some form of ultimatum or demanding some item as collateral to guarantee the king's compliance.

Rav Medan suggests that it is to this approach that God refers when He speaks of the "hardening" of Pharaoh's heart. Pharaoh quickly came to the realization – so he thought – that God (or Moshe and Aharon) is not much of a negotiator; He can be outmaneuvered very easily. Moshe's immediate response to Pharaoh's appeals time and time again led him to believe that he can win this battle, that with just a little patience God will run out of "ammunition" without having freed the slaves. God intentionally posed this challenge in order to reveal His might in Egypt and demonstrate His unlimited force and dominion. But this challenge in no way undermines the tenet of free will. Pharaoh was never denied the right to choose to let Benei Yisrael go free. God merely mitigated somewhat the direct consequences of Pharaoh's refusal, such that Pharaoh would insist that he could ultimately triumph over the God of the Hebrews.

In a similar vein, Rav Medan suggests, we might explain other instances of a "hardened heart." In Parashat Devarim, for example, Moshe recalls Benei Yisrael's stunning victory over the Emori, a battle which began with their innocent request of Sichon, the Emorite king, to allow them passage through his territory. As Moshe recounts, "Sichon king of Cheshbon refused to let us pass through, because the Lord had stiffened his will and hardened his heart in order to deliver him into your power" (2:30). Sichon refused Benei Yisrael's request and attacked them, a move which resulted in his and his nation's utter annihilation. At first glance, these verses seem to indicate that God took control of Sichon's rational faculties and forced him to refuse Benei Yisrael's request. Rav Medan, however, suggests that the hardening of Sichon's heart resulted naturally from the events described earlier in Parashat Devarim. As Benei Yisrael travel in the wilderness, they pass near the borders of the nations of Edom, Moav and Amon, and in each instance God commands them to respect these nations' borders and forbade any invasion of their territory. This led Sichon to the mistaken conclusion that Benei Yisrael felt military inferior to these nations. Having already conquered half the territory of one of these nations – Moav (see Bamidbar 21:26-30), Sichon figured that he could easily overpower the threatening Israelites. Here, too, God did not interfere with the king's psyche or rational thinking, but rather allowed him to be deceived by his own sense of invincibility.

We might add that in a certain sense, this "hardening of the heart" occurs to each and every one of us, and is actually what ensures the human being's free will. Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, in his "If You Were God," elaborates on this notion in his discussion of the reason for the existence of evil in the world. He explains that the possibility of evil is necessary for the existence of free will. God does not keep man in a prison to prevent him from committing evil, for if He did, we would refrain from wrongdoing not by choice, but by force of circumstance. Since God's purpose is to allow us to choose good over evil and thereby earn reward, He could not allow us, in Rabbi Kaplan's words, "to exist in an intellectual prison," to live in a world where His presence is obvious and self-evident to the point where we could not possibly act wrongly. Rabbi Kaplan writes:

"How would man behave if God were to constantly reveal Himself? Would he really be free? If man were constantly made aware that he was standing in the King's presence, could he go against His will? If God's existence were constantly apparent, this awareness would make man a prisoner."

Ironically, then, the hardening of Pharaoh's heart enhanced his free will, rather than suppressed it. Had God forced Pharaoh's hand from the very outset, had the frogs, for example, continued to hop and croak throughout Egypt until the last Hebrew slave had crossed the Egyptian border, Pharaoh would not have had free will to act as he chooses. Only by concealing His power does God truly given man the ability to choose between good and evil, such that he can earn reward for selecting the former, and suffer punishment should he opt for the latter.

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The second of the plagues that God brings upon Egypt, as recorded in Parashat Vaera, is the plague of frogs. Moshe warns Pharaoh that the frogs would "enter your palace, your bedchamber and your bed, the houses of your courtiers and your people, and your ovens and your kneading bowls" (7:28). The Gemara famously tells in Masekhet Pesachim (53b) that many centuries later, these frogs that invaded Egypt provided inspiration for three great Jewish heroes. As told in the book of Daniel (3), the Babylonian emperor Nevukhadnetzar, who destroyed the first Temple and drove the Jews from Eretz Yisrael to Babylon, erected a golden statue and ordered all his country's officers and dignitaries to prostrate themselves before it. Three Jewish officials – Chanaya, Mishael and Azarya (referred to in this chapter of Daniel by their Babylonian names) – refused to bow to the statue and were consequently cast into a furnace. Miraculously, they emerged from the furnace unscathed. The Gemara tells that Chananya, Mishael and Azarya reached the decision to sacrifice their lives rather than bow to an idol by comparing their situation with that of the frogs in Egypt. They reasoned, if the frogs, who were not commanded to surrender their lives to sanctify God's Name, nevertheless gave their lives by jumping into the Egyptians' ovens, then certainly they, as Jews, who were commanded with regard to kiddush Hashem (sanctifying God's Name), must be prepared to do the same.

The Sha'agat Aryeh reportedly noted the difficulty with the Gemara's assumption that the frogs never received a command to give their lives. God explicitly instructs Moshe to inform Pharaoh that the frogs would enter the Egyptians' ovens. Why does this not amount to an outright command to the frogs to sacrifice their lives for the sake of kiddush Hashem?

It is told that when the Sha'agat Aryeh posed this question in a public address, a seven-year old boy named Eliyahu sat in the audience and immediately suggested an answer. This boy, who later became the Gaon of Vilna, explained that God issued this command to the frogs as a group, ordering that some of them must enter Pharaoh's bed, others into the ovens, and others in the kneading bowls. God did not, however, specify which frogs must jump where. It is indeed truly impressive, therefore, that a number of frogs accepted this responsibility upon themselves and hopped into the hot ovens for the purpose of sanctifying God's Name.

Rav Eliyahu Shulman (www.yutorah.org/showShiur.cfm?shiurID=706182) suggests that the Gaon's comments not only resolve the specific difficulty raised by the Sha'agat Aryeh, but also shed light on the meaning of this Talmudic passage generally. After all, the obligation to give one's life rather than worship idols is well established. Why would Chananya, Mishael and Azarya find it necessary to look to frogs (frogs!!) for guidance in this regard? More generally, of what concern is their rationalization to us? The greatness of their martyrdom and the importance of the miracle that occurred (Sefer Daniel describes the profound impression this incident left on Nevukhadnetzar) speak for themselves. What message does this Gemara seek to convey?

According to the Vilna Gaon, Rav Shulman explains, the message becomes perfectly clear. This story is much less about martyrdom than it is about personal responsibility. Nevukhadnetzar had conquered virtually the entire ancient world and forced its inhabitants to accept his religious beliefs and modes of worship. No one, including the Jews, who now found themselves in Babylon subject to Nevukhadnetzar's rule, dared oppose the ruthless emperor. Chananya, Mishael and Azarya could have easily asked themselves, "Why us?" Why should we, more than any other Jew in Babylon, take this initiative to stand up to the pagan monarch and defend God's honor? But they did not ask this question, because they learned the lesson of the frogs, who hurled themselves into the smoking furnaces of Egypt, rather than waiting for "the other guy" to do the job. All the more so, the three Jewish heroes reasoned, a Jew, whom the Torah commands with regard to kiddush Hashem, may not shake himself free of responsibility on the assumption that somebody else can do it instead.

The Gemara here thus teaches us to work and achieve even when others choose not to. "Why me?" is not a valid excuse with which to absolve ourselves of responsibility. If we find ourselves in a situation to do something important, our instinctive reaction must be to do it, rather than look around to see if anyone else is available to do it for us.

*****

Just before the Torah in Parashat Vaera begins the narrative of the plagues that befell Egypt, it informs us that Moshe was eighty years of age when he confronted Pharaoh with his demand to release the Hebrew slaves. Interestingly, the Torah gives us very little information concerning Moshe's life before this point. All we know of his first eighty years of life is that he was raised in Pharaoh's palace by the king's daughter, and was then forced to flee Egypt after he killed an Egyptian taskmaster. While in the wilderness outside of Egypt he met Yitro, married his daughter and worked as his shepherd, until God appeared to him and ordered him to return to Egypt. Did this relatively brief sequence of events transpire over a full eighty years?

Different views exist in Midrashic sources as to Moshe's age when he smote the Egyptian and was thus forced to escape Egypt. Rav Menachem Kasher (Torah Sheleima, chapter 2, note 81) cites nine opinions on this matter, which span the spectrum between the ages of twelve and sixty. The Ramban, in his commentary, claims that this event occurred when Moshe "grew up and became a man of intelligence," which likely refers to his late teens or early twenties. If so, and assuming that Moshe came to Yitro soon after his escape from Egypt (as the Torah strongly suggests – see 2:15-16), then it turns out that Moshe spent sixty years working as a shepherd for his father-in-law, until God appeared to him at the burning bush and ordered him to go to Pharaoh. Does this not sound a bit odd – that a man would spend sixty years working as a shepherd for his father-in-law?

This peculiarity perhaps inspired a famous legend recorded in a text entitled "Divrei Ha-yamim Shel Moshe," which tells that during this time Moshe became the king of Ethiopia and married that country's queen. (In this manner, this Midrash seeks to explain the Torah's reference in Sefer Bamidbar 12:1 to Moshe's "isha kushit" – which might be translated as, "Ethiopian wife.") Traditional sources debate the authenticity of this legend.

Beyond the question of these sixty years, another difficulty arises concerning Moshe's age when he returns to Egypt. We read in Parashat Shemot (4:24-6) that Moshe's second child was born as he and his family made their way back to Egypt. Assuming, once again, that Moshe met Yitro and married shortly after his flight from Egypt, this would mean that his wife, Tzipora, delivered this second child at a very advanced age – sixty years after her marriage to Moshe.

In light of these peculiarities, Rav Yaakov Medan (www.etzion.org.il/vbm/archive/9-parsha/18vaerah.rtf) boldly suggests that God's revelation to Moshe at the burning bush and his return to Egypt occurred much earlier, when Moshe was still a young man. When the Torah in Parashat Vaera speaks of an eighty-year-old Moshe coming before Pharaoh, it refers to the meeting that takes place several verses later, where Aharon's staff turns into a snake and devours the staffs of Pharaoh's magicians. This meeting, which triggered the process of the ten plagues, began when Moshe was eighty years of age. Moshe's initial encounter with Pharaoh, however, which is recorded in Parashat Shemot and resulted in Pharaoh's intensification of the slaves' workload (see chapter 5), occurred many years earlier. How do we account for the large gap between these two meetings?

Rav Medan suggests that the answer lies in Benei Yisrael's reaction to God's promises conveyed to them by Moshe towards the beginning of Parashat Vaera. As mentioned, Pharoah responded to Moshe's initial demand by worsening the slaves' conditions. Parashat Vaera begins with God's promises of redemption that was to serve as a source of encouragement for the downtrodden, frustrated slaves. However, as we discussed earlier this week, Benei Yisrael turn a deaf ear to these promises: "they would not listen to Moshe, due to crushed spirits and harsh labor" (6:9). The Mekhilta (Bo) explains that Benei Yisrael did not listen to God's promises because they did not want to reject Egyptian paganism. God's promises meant that He would free them from bondage so that they could be His people. But Benei Yisrael had become so entrenched in Egyptian paganism that they had no interest in such an arrangement.

How did this refusal on Benei Yisrael's part affect God's decision to release them from bondage? The prophet Yechezkel (20:8-9) tells that God initially sought to destroy Benei Yisrael in Egypt due to their unwillingness to dissociate themselves from the Egyptians' religious beliefs and practices. It was only in order to avoid a chillul Hashem (desecration of the divine Name) that He chose to redeem them despite their betrayal. It stands to reason, however, that the redemption had to wait a generation. In Sefer Bamidbar, we read of the sin of the spies, when Benei Yisrael refused to proceed to Eretz Yisrael out of fear of the Canaanite nations living there. God then decreed death upon that generation, and only the next generation – forty years later – was permitted to enter and settle Eretz Yisrael. Similarly, perhaps, though God rescinded His decree of destruction against the slaves in Egypt, the redemption process was stalled as a result of the people's intransigent refusal to abandon idolatry.

Thus, Rav Medan speculates that thirty or so years transpire from the time of Benei Yisrael's rejection of God's promises and Moshe's renewed efforts to convince Pharaoh to free the slaves. Moshe indeed returned to Egypt while still a young man, but had reached his eightieth year by the time he came before Pharaoh a second time and began the process of the ten plagues.

*****

Parashat Vaera tells of the first seven of the ten plagues that struck Egypt, the final three appearing in Parashat Bo. The Haggadah, which we recite and study each year at the Pesach seder, famously records that Rabbi Yehuda grouped the ten plagues into three categories, which he entitled based on the acrostic formed by the first letters of the names of the plagues in each group. The three categories are thus "detzakh" – the plagues of "dam" (blood), "tzfardea" (frogs) and "kinim" (lice); "adash" – the plagues of "arov" (wild beasts), "dever" (pestilence) and "shechin" (boils); and "be'achav" – "barad" (hail), "arbeh" (locusts), "choshech" (darkness) and "bekhorot" (death of the firstborn).

What is the underlying meaning behind Rabbi Yehuda's classification? Is this merely some pneumonic device he recommended for easy recall of the names of the ten plagues, or is there perhaps some conceptual significance to this grouping?

Abarbanel, in his commentary to the Chumash and in his work on the Haggadah, suggests that these three groups of plagues were intended to dispel three erroneous theological theories about God that had developed in Egypt. The first three plagues served to prove, quite simply, the existence of a Supreme Being. In warning Pharaoh of the first plague, Moshe, speaking in God's Name, proclaims, "By this you shall know that I am the Lord – see, I shall strike the water in the Nile with the rod that is in my hand, and it will be turned into blood" (7:17). Clearly, this plague served to demonstrate that "I am the Lord" – the very existence of God. In the next chapter, when Moshe issues his warning of the fourth plague – wild beasts – we find a shift in emphasis: "On that day I will set apart the region of Goshen, where My people dwell, so that no wild beasts shall be there, that you may know that I the Lord am in the midst of the land" (8:18). Apparently, after the first three plagues proved the existence of God, the next set of plagues comes to demonstrate a different point: "that I the Lord am in the midst of the land." Abarbanel explains that many people had believed in God's existence but denied His involvement in world affairs. They assumed that God delegated His power and authority to the natural forces, to which mankind must pray and worship. By drawing a clear distinction between the Hebrew and Egyptian areas, God proved that nature does not operate independently; it is rather under His control, and He alone determines what occurs, where it occurs, and how it occurs.

Finally, as Moshe introduces the third and final series of plagues, he again shifts his focus onto a different theological issue: "For this time I will send all My plagues upon your person… in order that you may know that there is none like Me in all the world" (9:14). There were those in the ancient world who believed in the existence of several divine beings who worked together or competed with one another. The final four plagues was thus geared to proving that "there is none like Me in all the world," that there not only exists a Supreme Being who controls and governs all the world's affairs, but He is fundamentally singular, without any equal or rival.

Thus, according to Abarbanel, the three categories of plagues serve very different purposes, as each conveys a unique message to a specific religious group. This approach underscores the point that the plagues served as not only a punishment to the Egyptians or as merely a pragmatic means of forcing Pharaoh to set the Hebrew slaves free. Rather, this was an educational process intended to teach the Egyptians – and, quite conceivably, Benei Yisrael, as well – the truth about the Almighty and the falsehood of idolatry in all its various forms.

(See also Rav Amnon Bazak's analysis of the three groups of plagues – www.vbm-torah.org/parsha.61/14vaera.htm.)