The WebYeshiva Blog

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.

Parshas VaEra – I Have Lips But Cannot Speak By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

A speech impaired redeemer?

Why did Moshe have a speech impediment? Many of us are familiar with the Midrash that states that Moshe had burned his tongue on a hot coal when he was just a small child in Pharaoh’s court (See Shemos Rabbah 1:26). Others understand that Moshe did not have an actual physical impairment; rather, he was either painfully shy or he didn’t possess a full command of the language needed to communicate his message properly (See Rashbam and Sforno to Ex. 4:10). But our question isn’t how he became speech impaired, but rather why did Hashem want the redeemer to be speech impaired? After all, Moshe was endowed with so many other physical attributes of strength, height, good looks, etc. Why was the person dispatched to redeem the people specifically disabled in speech? Rabbeinu Nissm of Gerona (14th cent.) suggests that Hashem was quite deliberate in choosing a redeemer with impeded speech. The problem with a silver-tongued leader is that many times he succeeds in persuading the people not because his arguments are just or correct but rather because he has the power of rhetoric and knows how to sway people (think Adolph Hitler). Hashem specifically wanted Moshe to not have the “gift of gab” in order to demonstrate that his words were accepted not on the basis of rhetoric but because of their justness and truthfulness. This is an example of how sometimes being gifted with a charismatic trait can sometimes be a liability.

Moshe's view of himself

But let’s look at how Moshe describes his speech impairment. In Parshas Shemos, when Hashem first asked Moshe to be the redeemer, Moshe’s response was (4:10)

לֹא֩ אִ֨ישׁ דְּבָרִ֜ים אָנֹ֗כִי גַּ֤ם מִתְּמוֹל֙ גַּ֣ם מִשִּׁלְשֹׁ֔ם גַּ֛ם מֵאָ֥ז דַּבֶּרְךָ֖ אֶל־עַבְדֶּ֑ךָ כִּ֧י כְבַד־פֶּ֛ה וּכְבַ֥ד לָשׁ֖וֹן אָנֹֽכִי

I have never been a man of words… for I have a heavy mouth and a heavy tongue.

Yet, when Moshe tried to reason with Hashem in our parsha as to why going to Pharaoh was futile, he expressed his inability to speak in a different way by calling himself an “עֲרַ֥ל שְׂפָתָֽיִם”, literally, a man of “uncircumcised lips.” Why the different language? What is the difference between having a “heavy” mouth vs. an “uncircumcised” one? And why did Moshe refer to his “mouth” and “tongue” originally, and now refers to his “lips”?

The sound of silence

Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, in describing how people can persuasively communicate with each other, noted an interesting phenomenon of noise. When I’m trying to speak with someone, if my ambient surroundings are quiet, if the wind is calm and there’s no noisy machinery or music operating in the background, it’s quite easy for the other person to hear me. But when there’s a lot of background noise or it’s very windy, the other person won’t be able to hear me no matter how articulate or loud I may be (just think about all the times you’ve had to ask someone to mute themselves on Zoom!). This, he explained, was the problem with communication in the Diaspora. We know, based on the prophets, that in the end of days, the world will come to recognize the G-d of the Jewish people. We even say in our High Holiday liturgy, in the prayer known as “ויאתיו כל לעבדך”, that in the Messianic Age, the entire world will clamor to Eretz Israel to hear the word of Hashem: “וישמעו רחוקים ויבאו” – “Those far away will hear and come.” But how will this happen? How will the world hear the voice of Hashem amidst the turbulent wind and all of the distracting noise of the Exile? No matter how clear that call is, the background noise and chatter will all but drown it out! Rabbi Nachman concludes that the only way for a message of holiness to break through to those far away is to first stop all of the background noise. The only way to accomplish that, he says, is through acts of lovingkindness. By showing love and acceptance to others, we cause the noisy winds to abate. This then allows the world to hear the messages of Hashem and His Torah (This is all presented beautifully by Rabbi Hillel Zeitlin in “על גבול שני עולמות”, 353-360, citing from Likutei Moharan 17).

The mouth in exile

Perhaps this is what Moshe was trying to express to Hashem: Before I returned to Egypt and You asked me to become the redeemer, I didn’t feel I was adequate because of my own internal speech disadvantages. That which is inside me, my “mouth” and my “tongue,” are impeded either physically or psychologically, so I don’t think I’ll do a very good job at being Your spokesperson. But after Moshe came to Egypt and interacted with the Jewish slaves, he noted an additional liability: Here in the Galus (Diaspora), my words cannot get across. That’s not even because of my inherent speech problems, but rather because of the turbulent and noisy air of Galus. My “lips”, the external-most part of my speech faculty, is “uncircumcised,” that is, covered over and impeded by all the background distractions of living a life in Galus. For the Jewish slaves, that distraction is in their servitude. For Pharaoh, that distraction is in his great wealth and power, and his view that he’s in absolute control. Either way, my message, even if articulated in my mouth effectively, will never get past my lips to reach the ears of those who most need to hear it. That is what he meant by describing himself with “uncircumcised lips.”

Aharon's calming nature

What was Hashem’s response? “אַהֲרֹ֥ן אָחִ֖יךָ יִהְיֶ֥ה נְבִיאֶֽךָ” (7:1). Go to Pharaoh with your brother Aharon. You will be the one to provide the message, but Aharon will be the one to clear the noisy air between you and Pharaoh. How so? Aharon represents the man who “loves peace, pursues peace, loves all people, and brings them to the Torah” (Pirkei Avos 1:12). Aharon’s soothing voice and demeanor will enable Pharaoh to hear your message. It will only be out of a hardened heart that he will refuse to let the people go, but at least he will hear what you have to say. Rabbi Hillel Zeitlin, a great scholar of Chassidus in the early 20th century, utilized this teaching of Rabbi Nachman to attempt to address the rise of Communism in Russia and Nazism in Germany that were on the horizon during his lifetime. Rabbi Zeitlin saw within these two evil movements the potential for great holiness to emerge in their aftermath, when their noisy winds would finally be abated. And what of us, in this very noisy and turbulent 21st century? Things have gotten so noisy that we can’t hear each other anymore. Even our fellow Jews are sometimes so distant from us and we from them, that we can’t understand each other, and it sometimes seems like we’re speaking a foreign language. The noise has gotten so bad, that it’s sometimes even hard to hear ourselves think. Our social media, our entertainment venues, our voice and text messages, drown out the real messages of truth and purpose.

Stop the noise, let Divine reason in

Ultimately, we should first make the effort to abate the noise. Here’s what I’d suggest: Turn off your social media, your WhatsApp, your Instagram, etc., and ignore the alerts and updates that are pinging from your smartphone. Better yet, turn off all the alert options so that you can allow yourself some peace and quiet. Make a conscious effort to decrease your frequency of reading the news; don’t worry, the world won’t blow up if you’re not watching. Don’t get caught up with the latest ideology or political movement. Try to stay focused on loving your fellow man and performing random acts of kindness to each other. That is how we can abate the noise, and how we can allow our voices of Torah and Divine reason to be heard. Yes, there will always be the Pharaoh’s whose hearts will still be hardened. But for all the others, we will be able to make a difference and influence the future. May our efforts at trying to make the world a better place bear fruit so that we too are witness to the Redemption, bb”a.

Tzimtzum and Pulling Ourselves Out of Exile By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Tzimtzum - "Reduction"

In his introduction to the Book of Exodus, the Ramban calls this section of the Torah the book of Galus and Geulah, of Exile and Redemption. But what do these terms mean? “Exile” from what? Rabbi Yaakov Lainer (d. 1878) offered a completely novel idea about what it really means to be in “exile” on an existential level, something that all of us experience at different stages in life. You may be familiar with a kabbalistic concept called “tzimtzum,” which literally means “reduction.” It describes an action that G-d employed when creating our universe. Because nothing truly exists outside of G-d, it became necessary for G-d to “reduce” Himself at the time of Creation in order to make room for our universe and its contents to exist independently of this all-encompassing G-d. According to the kabbalists, just as we are meant to emulate G-d in a variety of ways, we’re also meant to emulate G-d’s trait of “tzimtzum.” That is, I should strive to “reduce” myself, especially in the presence of others, to make room for them and allow others to have a presence, even though my tendency, as a being created in G-d’s image, is to be all-encompassing. Tzimtzum happens when man encounters the Divine. Not only does man seek to emulate Divine reduction; the closer he encounters Divinity, the more he realizes that “אין עוד מלבדו”, that one has no true independent existence outside of G-d. In his effort to attach himself to the Divine, man also seeks to diminish himself. Tzimtzum is thus a natural reaction to a Divine encounter. When a person feels distant from G-d, namely, one feels in “exile,” this instinct for tzimtzum begins to disappear.

Yosef's Death & Exile

When looking at the opening to the whole story of our ancestors’ slavery, the Torah lets us know that (1:6) “וַיָּ֤מָת יוֹסֵף֙ וְכָל־אֶחָ֔יו וְכֹ֖ל הַדּ֥וֹר הַהֽוּא:” – Yoseph, his brothers, and their entire generation passed away. Only after Yoseph died did true exile begin, because even in Egypt, Yoseph was able to represent the idea of tzimtzum. Not only did he provide his people with the clarity of vision to discern G-d in their everyday lives. The entire story of Yoseph being the great conservationist, in that he collected and saved food during the years of plenty in order to have what to eat during the years of famine, represents that very wise trait of tzimtzum. One type of “reduction” is to freely choose to deny oneself available pleasures and indulgences, in order that one can save up for a rainy day. One limits one’s consumption of goods, and in so doing, makes room for there being a future when those goods will come in handy. Exile begins when one no longer sees any point in doing anything for tomorrow, and instead focusing only on the joys and needs of today. These two features of tzimtzum – reducing oneself and planning for the future – are negated in existential “exile.” When one feels distant from Hashem, one no longer feels the need to reduce oneself in order to make room for G-d to enter in. One also lacks the clarity of vision to anticipate and plan for the future. The two features of “exile,” then, are rapid expansion (instead of reduction) and living only for today (instead of having a long-term plan). Immediately after reading about Yoseph’s death, we read about how Bnei Israel’s population exploded exponentially. We also read how Pharaoh was able to trick the Jews into becoming his slaves, realizing that upon Yoseph’s death, the Jews lost their clarity of vision and their power of conservation, and could not see what was happening to them.

Population Explosion

While at face value, expanding the Jewish population with lots of babies is a great thing. But on a deeper level, it represents a horizontal growth of a nation which has lost its vertical connection to the Divine. This is why we can note a fascinating contrast in population growths. For the 210 years that the Jews were in Egypt, they grew from 70 families to 600,000 families. In the following 40 years, when the Jews were traveling in the desert, the population remained essentially unchanged. Why? Because in Exile, one compensates for the lack of Divine connection with terrestrial expansion. Once the Jews left Egypt and lived the next 40 years in Hashem’s presence with daily miracles, they no longer felt the need to expand, but instead reduced their growth aspirations in order to bask in Divine light. When we go into exile, it’s easy to forget who we are and why we are here. This is one reason why this book is called Shemos – “Names.” One only needs a name when they need to identify who they are. If I’m in danger of losing my identity and forgetting who I am, my name acts as my “name tag” to remind me that I’m me. This is one of the features of Exile, to require a name so that I don’t completely lose myself. In fact, we have a tradition then once we die, we’ll be asked to identify ourselves by name, which is why we recite verses after our daily prayer that remind us of our name. Heaven wants to make sure that we didn’t forget ourselves during this life. Finally, when considering that Bnei Israel experienced this growth in Egyptian exile, we note that Egypt was a place where Pharaoh and his subjects believed that they could expand as much as they wanted. As masters of their own destiny, their ambitions were completely unrestrained. This attitude rubbed off on the Jewish people. Hashem instructed Moshe, through a series of warning and plagues to Pharaoh, to re-educate Pharaoh and all of Egypt about the need for “tzimtzum” in everyone’s life. One can read the entire Exodus story in this light.

Personal Exiles, Personal Redemptions

My takeaway from this very esoteric discussion is that we all go through periods of Exile and Redemption in life. We have our hungry years, when we are ambitious to grow and make a name for ourselves. This hunger is borne from a deep-seated desire to connect with something much larger than ourselves, and when we fail to clearly see that Divine source, we compensate for it by trying to fill the void with as much expansion of ourselves as possible. This void can be addressed quite directly through overeating, which leads to a literal expansion of one’s body. But there are other ways to fill that void, sometimes in even more harmful ways. The pursuit of fame, of fortune, or even the pursuit of alcohol, cannabis, and other mind-altering drugs to deaden the pain of that void are all symptoms of exile. When we go through these iterations of exile, it’s easy to forget who we really are. But then, we have periods in life, usually as we get older and start to gain more clarity of vision, when we realize that there is greater glory to our lives when we reduce ourselves so that we can receive the Divine light. We don’t eliminate our ambitions entirely, but we’re able to put them into the perspective they deserve of being a secondary priority to the real objective, which is to walk humbly before G-d. The goal, of course, is to work towards redeeming ourselves from exile. At times we undergo experiences in life that help to shake us out of our exilic state. The experience can be of a very personal nature, such as an illness or a breakdown of a relationship. Other times, the experience can occur on a societal level, impacting an entire population. During the pandemic, we were forced to undergo some level of “tzimtzum” despite being in Exile. Our material freedoms and luxuries were curtailed, and we were forced to take stock of social systems and structures that we had taken for granted for decades. We were shaken awake from our stupor and confusion so that we could regain clarity about our very purpose. Rav Lainer concludes his thought with a consoling prospect: The prophet Zechariah calls the Exile a “planting” of the Jewish people among the nations (Zech. 10:9). When you plant a seed, you expect it to rot and decompose before germinating and growing into something much larger and grander than the original seed. Being placed in exile is a necessary preparatory stage that will bring us to Redemption. Although we may expand and lose our connection with G-d, it is ultimately to allow us to reconnect and reduce ourselves before Him in the future. Let’s repair the acrimony borne amidst the stresses of daily living. Let’s all become reconnected with the Divine and experience Redemption. May we all see it writ large, bb”a.