The WebYeshiva Blog

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Learning to Be Cherubic

Usually when purchasing a container, one views the container’s cover as something ancillary to the container. But this doesn’t seem the case when it comes to Ark and its Cover. The Kapores, the Ark Cover (by the way, the English word “cover” derives from the Latin “cooperire,” which curiously resembles the word Kapores), is given prominence by the Torah as an important object on its own. Not only are the specifications for the Cover spelled out, but the Torah commands that two statues should be hammered out of the same gold that is used to manufacture the Kapores. In fact, the most visible and distinctive feature of the Aron is the Cover and its two Cherubim. Much has been discussed about the Cherubim, why they are not idolatrous icons and what their function is, but a commentary by R’ Yissochor Berish Eichenstein of Ziditchov provides fodder for what we might wish to extract as a moral lesson from seeing these two statues upon approaching the Holy of Holies. Rashi (25:18) tells us the Cherubim were sculptures of small children with wings. Furthermore, the Torah emphasizes that the statues were positioned on both “ends” of the Ark Cover (25:19): “כְּר֨וּב אֶחָ֤ד מִקָּצָה֙ מִזֶּ֔ה וּכְרוּב־אֶחָ֥ד מִקָּצָ֖ה מִזֶּ֑ה”. In fact, the Torah states this positioning on both “ends” no less than three times. What’s the lesson?

Cherubim as metaphor

When looking at these Cherubim, I can be inspired to think about myself. These sculptures are metaphors for each of us who is struggling to understand the meaning of life and the beautiful Torah that Hashem gave us with which we might have greater understanding about our existence and purpose. The Cover represents the fact that despite our best efforts at understanding the Torah, we’ve “barely scratched the surface.” Even when we think that we understand a Torah message, we’re only receiving the surface message. There’s so much more depth and infinitude that is inaccessible to us, just as the Cherubim stand atop the Cover, never being able to truly access the contents of the Aron. Secondly, the image of the small child on both “ends” of the Cover represents that as much as I think I may have attained wisdom over the course of this life, I am still but a child, even in my advanced age, when it comes to truly understanding the meaning and purpose of life. As much as I think I’ve advanced from one “end” of my life to the other, when I compare my accumulated knowledge to the knowledge of G-d, I realize that I’ve moved the wisdom needle ever so slightly in an infinitely deep and vast sea of wisdom.

Face to face humility

This is why the Torah states that the faces of the Cherubim are (25:20) “אִ֣ישׁ אֶל־אָחִ֑יו” – facing each other. This communicates that when I’m a young person I look forward to attaining the wisdom of an older person, and look forward to the older version of myself, anticipating that as I get older I’ll become much wiser and capable. But as I get older, I look back to the younger version of myself and realize that I had so much more energy, vitality, and idealism, devoid of the cynicism and scars of a beleaguered life. This is the difference between King Solomon as a young man, when he wrote Shir HaShirim, the love song between the Jew and G-d, and the King Solomon as an older man, who wrote Koheles, filled with its wistful nihilism of looking back on life and saying, “הכל הבל”, everything is meaningless, because we’re all headed to the same demise.

Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev

The image of the Cherubim doesn’t just teach humility; childishness has its advantages, too. Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev is quoted teaching that there are three lessons you learn from babies: (1) When the child needs something or is in pain, it cries to its parent. (2) A baby is always busy -- you never see a baby just sitting there doing nothing. (3) When a baby falls down, it always gets up. Furthermore, despite the fact that we’ve only reached the surface of the Torah, and that we are but children even after an entire lifetime, the Cherubim are still portrayed as having wings, wings that are (25:20) “פֹּרְשֵׂ֨י כְנָפַ֜יִם לְמַ֗עְלָה” – spread out to the above. This reminds me that despite all my shortcomings as a mortal human being I can still spread my wings and try to fly. I may have feet of clay, but I also have wings which I can spread toward Heaven and do my best to reach whatever is attainable in this short lifetime. Looked upon this way, the Cherubim’s message is one of both humility and optimism about the human condition. Entering the Temple and seeing these majestic sculptures could help every single Jew visualize how he or she is to use their Judaism to propel them to the next level of living.

Bringing Divine Presence down

From the Cherubim, we can learn that as much as we think we know, as much knowledge and wisdom that we think we’ve accumulated, we still know nothing. But we can also draw optimism and hope from the Cherubim that the Jewish people were given the greatest gift when Hashem gave us the Torah. Not only a set of laws and practices with which to live our lives, but also a philosophy of optimism, that we have the great ability to spread our wings upwards to the open skies and reach for Heaven. And where does Hashem rest His Divine Presence? “וְנוֹעַדְתִּ֣י לְךָ֘ שָׁם֒ וְדִבַּרְתִּ֨י אִתְּךָ֜ מֵעַ֣ל הַכַּפֹּ֗רֶת מִבֵּין֙ שְׁנֵ֣י הַכְּרֻבִ֔ים” (25:22) – between those two Cherubim. When a Jew lives his life based on the Cherubim, the Divine Presence comes into his world. This is the Jewish people, especially in Israel today. We should all be very grateful that we are alive to bear witness. May these days of great hope and success for Israel continue to propel us to the Messianic Age, may we see it bb”a.

Parshas Mishpatim-Shekalim – Be The Angel By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Sending an angel

Everything was beautiful. The Jews were gathered around Mount Sinai. They had just heard the Ten Commandments, and then were given additional laws (“Mishpatim”) about how to structure their society which they would build upon entry into Eretz Israel. The people were inspired and uplifted. In continuing this inspirational moment, Hashem then told them (23:20): הנה אנכי שלח מלאך לפניך לשׁמרך בדרך ולהביאך אל־המקום אשׁר הכנתי Behold, I am sending forth an angel in front of you, to protect you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared. The commentaries grapple with the meaning of this verse. In a few weeks we will read about the sin of the Golden Calf. After this sin, Hashem was so upset with the people that He told Moshe that He could no longer directly travel with them. Instead, He would send an angel to guide them. Moshe protested and told Hashem that if He wouldn’t be directly engaged with His people, then there was no point in moving forward. Hashem finally assented and forgave them for the Golden Calf and agreed to be in their midst once again, sans the angel. If so, then why, during this glorious moment before the Golden Calf debacle, did Hashem tell them that He was sending an angel? Doesn’t an angel’s presence, instead of G-d Himself, imply a soured relationship? At this point, though, they hadn’t yet sinned, and there was no reason for Hashem to employ an angel instead of being in their midst directly!

Types of Angels

A number of commentaries seek to answer this question by suggesting that there are two different kinds of angels: There’s an angel which is accompanied by G-d directly and is synonymous with the “Shechinah,” the Divine Presence, and there’s another type of angel who is dispatched by Hashem, but Hashem remains at a distance. These are all esoteric ideas, and discussions of “how many angels can dance on the head of a needle” and other such angelic discussions often prove to be unfruitful. So let’s bring this all down to earth. Rav Yoseph Zvi Duschinsky (1867-1948) explained that “traveling with an angel” means, very simply, that there would no longer be overt miracles. That is, the word “angel” simply means an intermediary force, in this case, nature. After all the miracles of the Exodus, the parting of the Sea, the giving of the Ten Commandments, Hashem was now presenting to the Jewish people that from now on, the plan was for them to lead a prosaic existence without miracles. As they would imminently be entering the Land of Israel, Hashem was explaining to them that inheriting the Land would take hard work, because they could no longer rely on the miracles they had witnessed when leaving Egypt. This kind of existence is what was intended for man all along. We cannot live with continuous overt signs of G-d, for if we do, we lose our free will. This is why Yaakov, when blessing Ephraim and Menashe, told them (Gen. 48:16), “הַמַּלְאָךְ֩ הַגֹּאֵ֨ל אֹתִ֜י מִכָּל־רָ֗ע יְבָרֵךְ֘ אֶת־הַנְּעָרִים֒” – “The angel who has always saved me,” that is, Hashem who has always been there for me in a natural, covert way, “should bless these youths” similarly, in that they should be protected by G-d in a non-miraculous way. This way, we are able to serve Hashem amidst doubts and lack of clarity. The goal is to place our trust in Hashem even when we can’t see Him clearly.

Moshe's protest after the golden calf

After they sinned with the Golden Calf, however, Moshe realized that the Jews were still too new to this entire experience of free people living on their own in the desert. They needed additional miracles on a daily basis in order to prevent them from creating any new Golden Calves or other departures from their devotion to Hashem. That is why, when Hashem told Moshe after the Golden Calf that He would continue guiding them in the desert without miracles, Moshe protested: “It’s too soon – we’re not ready! Without miracles, You are setting us up for failure. Please Hashem, guide us miraculously at least through the desert, so that we can become accustomed to this new reality of being Your chosen people.” Hashem appreciated Moshe’s protest and assented to continue providing miracles while they were in the desert. The Manna and all the other miracles, the cloud and fire pillars, etc., resumed. Parents can relate to this message. As our children begin to grow, we slowly allow ourselves to pull away from them so that they can make their own mistakes. If we hover over them excessively, we run the risk of suffocating them and inhibiting their growth as adults. But if we withdraw too quickly from their tutelage, we set them up for failure. The wise parent assesses each one of his or her children to know what the right degree of oversight is right for the individual child.

Where are we today?

We have certainly matured over the millennia as a nation of Jews. We have seen the greatest triumphs and the greatest calamities befall us in our long history. Most of our history has been filled with Hashem’s intermediary “angel” accompanying us throughout our long sojourn. We have been called upon to continue placing our trust in Hashem throughout, even during our darkest periods. This has not proven to be easy, but for that segment of Klal Yisrael which has persevered in this difficult task, we have emerged whole and even more fortified with every historical iteration. This Shabbos is Parshas Shekalim. The holy sefarim tell us that the significance of “Shekalim” is not only to remind us of the half-shekel that Jews were required to donate to the Temple annually. On a more esoteric level, the word “Shekel” is a reminder of how G-d created the physical universe. As the Book of Creation notes, Hashem carefully “weighed” (“שקל” in Hebrew) how much of His Divinity would infuse the physical world. The measurement had to be very precise, in order to allow mankind to possess free will. Too much overt Divine light, and man loses his free will. Too little Divine light, and man descends into chaos and depravity.

Relying on miracles or angels?

Hashem’s angel still travels with us. True, we cannot rely on overt miracles. We cannot assume that just because we are davening and doing mitzvos that we are protected from natural disasters or mishaps. We live within the natural world, and we must comport ourselves accordingly. But we also take faith in the fact that the angel of G-d has been with us, through thick and thin, throughout our history. Hashem’s angel was with us in Auschwitz, and Hashem’s angel was with us when we founded the State of Israel. And, Hashem’s angel is with us as we endure difficult times in our own lives. Don’t give up on the angel. As Hashem told the people (23:21): “Be careful in its presence, heed its voice, and don’t go against it.” It’s hard to find Hashem these days, but our calling is to try our best to hear the voice of His angels. They are all around us, you know. They are the kind person who tries to help you while you anxiously wait in the doctor’s office. They are the person who calls you to check in and make sure you’re alright. They’re the person who slows down to give you the right of way when driving. And sometimes, the angel is you. As we relive creation in these days leading up to the new dawn of Spring, let’s all try to be an angel for someone. May we live to see those days of overt miracles once again, at the time of our Redemption, bb”a. Shabbat Shalom and Chodesh Tov.

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Each Child is Number One

We’ve gotten to know Moshe Rabbeinu over these last several parshiyos. We’ve seen his character as a man of great integrity who is sensitive to the plights of others and wishes only to help those less privileged. We briefly met his wife, Tziporah, in Parshas Shemos. But for some reason, we need to wait until our parsha, quite late in the story, to learn that Moshe had two sons. The Torah states that when Yisro came to visit Moshe after hearing of the great miracles, he brought not only Tziporah, Moshe’s wife, but also her two sons, and that their names were Gershom and Eliezer. Moshe’s children have no apparent bearing upon the narrative; why are they mentioned, and moreover, why by name? Furthermore, in providing their names, the Torah states, (18:3), “אֲשֶׁ֨ר שֵׁ֤ם הָֽאֶחָד֙ גֵּֽרְשֹׁ֔ם” – “the name of the one was Gershom,” as Moshe stated, “I was a stranger (‘ger’) in a strange land.” In the next verse the Torah states that “וְשֵׁ֥ם הָאֶחָ֖ד אֱלִיעֶ֑זֶר” – “and the name of the one was Eliezer,” as Moshe gave thanks that “G-d came to my aid (‘ezri’), and saved me from Pharaoh’s sword.” When naming a list of two things, one usually states, “the name of the one… and the name of the other/second…” But here, the Torah states about the second son, “the name of the one.” Why is that?

Gershom the pagan

A number of commentaries observe that Gershom and Eliezer were very different from each other; accordingly, each was “one” of a kind. The 13th century Tosafist, Rabbi Chaim Paltiel, quotes the Mekhilta to explain just how different they were. When Moshe first came to Midyan and met the beautiful Tziporah, he asked Yisro for her hand in marriage. Yisro agreed on one condition: “Agree that your firstborn son will be committed to the pagan religion of my people, and any sons born afterward will be committed to the G-d of your people.” Moshe agreed and even swore to Yisro that he would keep to his side of the deal. This Midrash explains why each of Moshe’s sons was “the one.” Gershom was singularly designated for idol worship, and Eliezer was singularly designated for worshiping G-d. We now understand why these sons were introduced at this point. Yisro’s bringing them both back to Moshe in the desert demonstrated his willingness to surrender even Gershom to the G-d of the Jews. He absolved Moshe of the original contract between them, because he saw the great power of Hashem. It’s shocking at first glance to read that Moshe consented to this bargain. But the Midrash is teaching us that before he had the revelation at the Burning Bush, even the great Moshe did not really understand the G-d of the Hebrews. He knew that his people had their own god, but didn’t understand the idea of monotheism and what it means to “serve” G-d.

Moshe before the sneh

Moshe was no different from anyone else of his time. In the pre-Torah world, man viewed religion as a means of garnering favor from the gods. The deal with Moshe was merely Yisro’s way of blending two cultures with two different religions and deities. People in the ancient world believed that their deity was the key to receiving benefits, and Yisro simply wanted his grandchildren to have the best possible future, by having the gifts of both cultures’ gods. The reason why Moshe agreed was because he was still in his pre-revelatory stage, where he, too, understood religion the same way Yisro did. But once Hashem revealed Himself to Moshe as the unitary Y-H-V-H, Moshe completely adjusted his paradigm. The dilemma now was: how would he deal with his wife and her family? Could they, too, adjust to this new religious perspective? And what about his father-in-law, who was a high priest of Midian?!

Moshe after the sneh

Moshe tried to explain the new concept of monotheism to his father-in-law. In v. 8, Moshe related to Yisro all the different travails they’d encountered after leaving Egypt, and how Hashem had saved them from each situation. Moshe was trying to communicate that there was one G-d who controls all the forces of the world and takes care of all our needs. The Midrash expresses this by stating that Moshe described to Yisro how the Manna could taste like anything one wanted. With a G-d like that, why hedge your bets with multiple deities? The Torah records that (v. 9) “וַיִּ֣חַדְּ יִתְר֔וֹ”, Yisro rejoiced over hearing the news. But the word “וַיִּ֣חַדְּ” is a strange language to describe happiness. Rabbeinu Bechaye suggests that it comes from the word “אחד” – “one.” That is, Yisro tried to envision what Moshe was describing, a G-d who was so all-encompassing that He could address any situation and control any force of nature. Yisro’s comments to Moshe (in v. 11), that he now saw that the G-d of the Jews was the most powerful of all the gods (“עַתָּ֣ה יָדַ֔עְתִּי כִּֽי־גָד֥וֹל יְקֹוָ֖ק מִכָּל־הָאֱלֹהִ֑ים”), demonstrated to Moshe that as much as Yisro tried to adapt, he was simply too set in his ways to appreciate this new concept. He mused: Yisro believes in my G-d, and that He is more powerful than the other gods. But he still views a pantheon of different divine beings with different powers, and he just wants to curry favor from my G-d along with the rest of them.

Yitro recognizes God

The verses document that after Yisro heard about all the miracles, he offered sacrifices to Hashem. But in reality, this was not a real “offering” in the way Jews bring korbanos. Rather, the Torah states that (18:12) “וַיִּקַּ֫ח יִתְר֨וֹ” – Yisro “took” offerings to Elokim. The sacrifices weren’t “offered” but “taken;” they weren’t given to Y-H-V-H, which is the normative term when dealing with korbanos, but rather to Elokim. Moshe’s observation of Yisro’s attitude is the reason why Aaron and the elders partook of Yisro’s sacrifice (ibid.), but Moshe is not mentioned in the verse. Realizing that Yisro was still a pagan priest, he could not bring himself to enjoy a “sacrifice” brought in that spirit even though it was being offered to Hashem. For the same reason, Moshe sent his father-in-law away before the giving of the Torah (v. 27), since Yisro would not have been able to appreciate the experience.

Yitro now, before matan Torah

This is why this story is especially relevant before the giving of the Torah. We now gain a new perspective on the way Hashem addressed the Jewish people before Matan Torah. The novelty of this new religion being introduced at Mt. Sinai was that it called upon the nation to worship G-d not as a means of currying favor, but rather of elevating man into conjunction with the G-d of heaven and earth. In introducing Judaism to the nation, Hashem thus did NOT say: “I will become your G-d,” but rather (19:5) “You will become to Me a treasure from among the nations,” and (19:6) “You will be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” There is not a quid pro quo offered here, such as, “If you worship Me, I will give you blessings and gifts in this world.” While all that is true, that was not the foundation upon which Judaism is predicated. We became G-d’s children, and that itself was the ample reward.

The void of Gershom & Eliezer's story

What can we learn from the story of Moshe’s two sons? We don’t know much about them, but we do know that in a pre-Torah world, where mankind had a primitive and purely utilitarian view of religion, even one’s children were used as pawns in order to find favor with the gods. I think each of us should ask ourselves the following: (1) Is my view of religion like that of Yisro and pre-Torah man? Do I view my observance as a means of currying favor with G-d and deflecting pain and suffering? Or do I recognize the ennobled function of post-Torah Judaism, which is to cleave unto Hashem, to emulate Him and to have a meaningful connection to Him? (2) Is my G-d in “competition” with the gods of other religions? Do I view other faiths with suspicion and xenophobia because they worship differently from me? Look at what happens when people of other faiths look at Jews with suspicion and scorn. Let’s try and embrace a more sophisticated religious lesson: As long as man is trying to narrow the gap between heaven and earth, between himself and the Creator, we should accept each other despite our differences, and live and let live. (3) Finally, for those of us blessed with children, we all have a Gershom and an Eliezer, but sometimes in the same child. It’s very difficult raising children in today’s world, with the conflicting values and messages between the Torah and secular society. It’s very hard for a child to know if they will belong to paganism or Judaism. The Golden Mean of finding some reconciliation between the good within modern man and the Torah is not beyond our grasp, but we must be careful not to give up on any of our children in order to make a deal with Yisro, or any other person in our lives. Make sure your child is “the one.” May our efforts to live the Torah’s enlightened religious message bring us to the Redemption, bb”a.

Let the Angels Sing By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

The Exodus & Egypt's pursuit

The triumphant exodus was short-lived. Shortly after they journeyed into the desert, Bnei Israel lifted up their eyes, and behold, the Egyptian army was hot in pursuit. Instead of the feeling of exhilaration they had moments before, they were now filled with great fear. Moshe reassured the people that they would all witness Hashem’s salvation. In setting up this salvation, even before the Sea split, Hashem created a barrier between Bnei Israel and the pursuing Egyptians. As Rashi and others explain the verses, Hashem placed both the fire pillar and the cloud pillar behind the Jewish camp so that it would create a barrier between them and the approaching army. The Torah relates (14:20): וַיָּבֹא בֵּין מַחֲנֵה מִצְרַיִם וּבֵין מַחֲנֵה יִשְׂרָאֵל וַיְהִי הֶעָנָן וְהַחֹשֶׁךְ וַיָּאֶר אֶת־הַלָּיְלָה וְלֹא־קָרַב זֶה אֶל־זֶה כָּל־הַלָּיְלָה The [barrier] came between the Egyptian camp and the Israelite camp. There was the cloud and darkness [facing the Egyptians], and [the fire pillar] illuminated the night. Neither [camp] approached each other the entire night.

The angels and singing

This phrase, “וְלֹא־קָרַב זֶה אֶל־זֶה כָּל־הַלָּיְלָה” – “Neither approached each other the entire night,” is curious. It would seem that this is belaboring the point, since the first part of the verse already stated that a barrier was placed between the two camps. Why is it necessary to additionally state that the two camps didn’t approach each other? Our Sages infer an important lesson from this phrase. The term “זֶה אֶל־זֶה” is used by Scripture to refer to groups of angels. In a few places in our liturgy, we quote the verse from Isaiah (6:3), which portrays the angels as calling out “זֶה אֶל־זֶה” – “each one to each other” in order to recite the triple statement of “Holy, Holy, Holy” in praise of G-d. The Talmud concludes that the same words “זֶה אֶל־זֶה” are used here, because the angels, upon seeing the events at the Red Sea, wished to sing G-d’s praises. Hashem responded to the angels (TB Megillah 10b): “מעשה ידי טובעין בים ואתם אומרים שירה?” – “My handiwork is sinking in the Sea, and you wish to sing?!” The function of our added phrase is thus to allude to Hashem’s preventing the angels from singing. When it says, “וְלֹא־קָרַב זֶה אֶל־זֶה כָּל־הַלָּֽיְלָה”, it doesn’t just mean that the Egyptians and Israelites didn’t mix. It also means that the angels were denied permission to approach each other as they normally would when singing G-d’s praises.

Singing at the Yam Suf

The simple understanding as to why Hashem forbade the angels from singing is because He took no pleasure in seeing His creations drowning, and so certainly didn’t want a song of joy to be recited. The obvious question, though, is that in the very next chapter of our parsha, the Jewish people DID sing over the demise of these very same Egyptians with the “Az Yashir” song, and Hashem did not object! However, the Jewish people were singing about their OWN salvation, and G-d deemed that acceptable. When one experiences their own miracle, it’s appropriate to thank G-d even if others were harmed in the process. By contrast, Hashem denied the angels this opportunity because it wasn’t their own miraculous salvation. What I still find troubling about this Midrash is that if the angels wanted to sing upon seeing the Egyptians drowning, why was this verse chosen to allude to this, when it is situated BEFORE the Sea was split? It should have been several verses later (verses 27-28), which discuss the actual drowning of the Egyptians. Our current verse discusses the events that lead up to the splitting of the Sea. Why allude to the angels’ desire to sing over an event that hadn’t yet even occurred?

Benei Yisrael and Egypt separated - take 2

I would like to suggest something novel, but before I do, let me share one more Midrash. On the words, “Neither approached each other the entire night,” the Mekhilta says it means that “the Egyptian camp did not approach the Israelite camp, and the Israelite camp did not approach the Egyptian camp.” This Midrash is truly bizarre. What information is it providing that is not already expressed by the actual text? Furthermore, why make a point of stating the obvious, that not only did the Egyptians not approach the Jews, but the Jews did not approach the Egyptians? Would I ever, in my wildest dreams, imagine that any Jew running away from the Egyptians would stop, turn around, and start running toward the Egyptians?!

This is war

I believe there’s a much deeper message here than first meets the eye. Consider the attitude that the Egyptians harbored toward the Jews, and the attitude that the Jews harbored toward the Egyptians. When you are in the midst of a war, you tend to view the enemy one-dimensionally. There are no individual people, just a singular “enemy” that you must defeat. How sad it is that we human beings fight with each other. We really ought to be taking our cue from the angels, who put aside any differences that they might have with each other, out of their realization that the only important task in life is to serve Hashem faithfully. Why in our prayers do we invoke this imagery of the angels turning toward each other and saying, “Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh”? It is because we are affirming that the angels have it right, and that we, as Hashem’s people, should emulate this angelic behavior, put aside our differences, and turn toward each other and sing to Hashem in unison.

Perspectives of the other

When the Talmud relates that the angels sought to sing to G-d, it wasn’t that they wanted to sing a song of joy over the demise of the Egyptians. Rather, it was simply time for performing their regularly scheduled praises to Hashem. Hashem stopped them and said, “This is not a time for you to turn toward each other and model brotherly behavior.” Just look at my handiwork, these two nations, the Israelites and the Egyptians. If only the Egyptians had seen the humanity in the “other,” they would have learned to get along and not exploit the Jews. But alas, my creations have “sunk” into the Sea. That is, the Egyptians cannot see the Israelites as anything other than objectified slaves. By the same token, the Israelites cannot see the Egyptians as anything other than their cruel captors. Both sides have figuratively “sunk” to their baser xenophobic instincts. In this sense, the word “טובעים”, translated as “sinking,” can also be derived from the word, “טבע,” meaning “nature.” Human beings left to their own devices tend to “sink” to their baser “nature” of not empathizing with or humanizing the “other.” This is the deeper meaning of the Mekhilta we quoted earlier, about the reciprocal lack of drawing near between the Egyptians and Israelites. The Egyptians could not “approach” the Israelites; they were unable to connect with them empathetically as fellow members of the human race; the Israelites in kind could not bring themselves to “approach” their cruel captors since they viewed them as monsters. Sadly, there was too much bad blood between these two peoples, and so both sides found themselves at the Red Sea with no other solution other than the death and destruction of the oppressor. It was too late for reconciliation at this point, since “neither side could approach each other for the entire night.”

Seeing beyond the “other”

Certain relationships in life are, unfortunately, beyond repair. So much bad blood and time has already transpired; it’s too difficult for one side to “approach” the other and try to see their point of view and humanity. Fortunately, though, those situations are rare, and most relationships can be repaired, provided that each party is willing to “approach” the other, and remove the opaque cloud pillar that lies between the two parties. The necessary key, of course, is to see beyond the “other” and instead find the “brother.” If we truly wish to emulate the angels, we have to learn to turn toward each other and focus on all that we can accomplish together. Instead of pointing to all the issues that divide us, we should instead come together as brethren with unconditional acceptance of each other, and work on forging joint efforts and projects that are bigger than our own self-interests. This is true of individuals and it is true of communities. Remember, Hashem cannot accept the angels’ song when there is disunity among His creations. In order for G-d to enjoy the angelic music, we must assist the angels and come together as one people, and indeed, as one human race. May the day come when mankind recognizes this larger project of unification, bb”a.

Parshas Bo - I Can See You By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Egypt's admiration of the Jews

The Egyptians were at the end of their rope. They really couldn’t withstand the Plagues much longer. Their agriculture was in ruins, their livestock was devastated, and all the wealth of the Nile had been depleted. Even Pharaoh’s own servants begged him to release the Jews (10:7). One would have expected that there would be great resentment against the Jews for being the cause of all of this suffering, loss, and death. And yet, not once, but twice, does the Torah state that Hashem caused the Egyptians to harbor the exact opposite, great admiration and affection for the Jewish people, before they left Egypt. The first citation of this was right after the Plague of Darkness. In explaining to Moshe what was about to transpire, Hashem told Moshe that the Jews would request items from the Egyptians before their departure. The Torah then states (11:3), “וַיִּתֵּן יְקֹוָק אֶת־חֵן הָעָם בְּעֵינֵי מִצְרָיִם” – “Hashem placed the nation’s ‘חן’ (favor or appeal) in the eyes of Egypt.” Even Moshe, says the verse, became a hero in the eyes of all of Egypt, including Pharaoh’s own servants. The second time we read about this “חן” is when the Jews actually leave and they ask the Egyptians for parting gifts (12:36): “וַֽיקֹוָק נָתַן אֶת־חֵן הָעָם בְּעֵינֵי מִצְרַיִם וַיַּשְׁאִלוּם וַינַצְּלוּ אֶת־מִצְרָיִם” – “Hashem placed the nation’s ‘חן’ in the eyes of Egypt, and so the Egyptians granted their requests; the Jewish people thus despoiled Egypt.”

Why turn Egypt against it's ruler?

I would have understood the Egyptians giving parting gifts to the Jews out of fear, intimidation, and a desire to abate their own suffering. But that was not their motivation; as the Torah states, and as Hashem had promised to Moshe at their first meeting by the Burning Bush (3:21), the Egyptians would be so filled with admiration for the Jewish people, they’d actually feel good about giving the Jews parting gifts. As the commentaries ask, how could this be, that the very people who were responsible for bringing the Plagues and all the suffering upon the Egyptians, would now be the object of their admiration and affection?! A slew of commentaries suggest that this was part of the miracle of the Exodus. Just as Hashem manipulated Pharaoh’s emotions and hardened his heart, Hashem also melted the hearts of the Egyptian people, forcing them to like the Jews for the first time. But if this was truly a miracle, I don’t see why it was at all necessary for Hashem to perform this miracle. The Egyptians could have just as easily given the Jews great wealth out of intimidation and fear, and the resulting benefit would have been the same. Why was it so important for G-d that the Egyptians actually like the Jews before the Exodus?

Egyptian soul searching

Secondly, why was it necessary for the Torah to state this phenomenon twice, firstly after the Plague of Darkness, and secondly as they were leaving? The Ramban (to 11:3) does not believe that this newfound affection was a miracle. Rather, it was a reflection of the Egyptians’ soul-searching and coming to the realization that they were the bad guys. They realized for the first time how truly cruel they had been to the Jews. They unfairly exploited them and persecuted them. The Plagues spurred the Egyptian to come to terms with their own guilt and their crimes against humanity. Their affection for the Jews was compassion for their own victims. There’s a syndrome called “Lima Syndrome.” It is “the phenomenon in which abductors develop sympathy for their captives, named after the abduction of the Japanese Ambassador's Residence in Lima, Peru in 1996 by members of a terrorist group. Within a few days, the hostage takers set free most of the captives, including the most valuable ones, due to sympathy.” Essentially, it is the inverse of Stockholm Syndrome. It would seem that the very first case of Lima Syndrome occurred in ancient Egypt.

The "other"

Rabbi Shmuel David Luzatto (19th cent.) takes this one step further (in his Torah commentary to 11:3). He observes that at the same time that the Egyptians came to terms with their own evil, they also recognized that these Hebrew slaves were actually human beings. They came to this realization by seeing that one of the “gods” took a concern in their welfare to the point where He was willing to move heaven and earth in order to save them. This raised the esteem of the slaves in the eyes of the Egyptians. Whereas before, they had viewed their slaves as sub-human, they now saw them as their peers, as fellow human beings, who were deserving of compassion and fellowship. The Shada”l concludes that this is true of the human condition everywhere. The lower class is usually viewed as being “other” and ”less than” because of their poverty. But when it is shown that this lower class of people have intrinsic value, they become more visible to the upper class as fellow human beings. This is why, for example, after Yoseph proved himself to be of value in Potiphar’s house, that Potiphar’s wife started to view Yoseph not just as a slave, but also as a real “man,” and that is why she became so attracted to him.

The light of humanity

Perhaps we can now understand why this concept of “חן” appears in the Torah right after the Plague of Darkness, even though that “חן” would not become manifest until the Jews were ready to leave Egypt several days or weeks later. In this Plague of Choshekh, the Torah states (10:23) “לֹא־רָאוּ אִישׁ אֶת־אָחִיו” – “No man could see his brother” due to the great darkness. How was this Plague appropriate for the Egyptians? It was a result of their blindness to the Jewish people as being truly fellow human beings. They failed to recognize the humanity of the Hebrew slaves, despite their inherent value. That is why the Torah states in the same verse, “וּלְכָל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל הָיָה אוֹר בְּמוֹשְׁבֹתָם” – “But the Jewish people possessed light in their dwellings.” It was this light of humanity, this tremendous benefit that the Jewish people brought to society, that the Egyptians tragically failed to see, because they were shrouded in the darkness of their own selfishness and cruelty.

Lack of humanity & the Holocaust

This is how the Nazis were able to justify treating the Jews of Europe with such cruelty. Take away their humanity, treat them like vermin, and you can justify any atrocity against a fellow human being. This is how slave owners treated their black slaves in the Southern U.S. during the 19th century. Fortunately for the Jews, reparations came quite swiftly after WWII. The world, after witnessing the horrors of the Holocaust and Germany’s great defeat and humiliation, had great affection and sympathy for the Jewish people, and this triggered the founding of the State of Israel. Germany itself has paid tens of billions over the years in war reparations, as a way of paying “moral and material indemnity” for the “unspeakable crimes…committed in the name of the German people” during World War II. Sadly, it took a lot longer for the US to recognize the humanity of the black man, and that is why this injustice has lingered to this day.

Human suffering -our reaction

Finally, I believe that Hashem specifically desired for the Egyptians to have great admiration and affection for Bnei Israel, because without it, the objective of having a Chosen People would have been defeated. If the world does not look upon the Jewish people positively, then how can we possibly fulfill our role as a “light unto the nations” (Is. 42:6 and 49:6) whose role is to positively influence mankind to recognize G-d? If Jew hatred and resentment runs rampant, we have no hope of helping mankind. This narrative of the Jewish people’s “חן” is therefore a portent for future redemptions in Jewish history. When it is time for our ultimate redemption, the world will once again admire the Jewish people and desire attachment to us. We are already seeing this phenomenon in our days, and we can only pray for brighter days ahead. Human suffering may not be in our control. But how we react to that suffering is up to us. Those with a stronger and broader spirit have used challenging times to have greater compassion for the family of man, and to reduce those artificial barriers which divide us. The benefit and often the very objective of suffering is to help reorient our vision, and to realize that the “other” is also a person. Only by taking a concern for others will we be able to emerge from suffering as better people. I can see you. Can you see me? May our improved vision bring us to the Redemption, bb”a.