Summarized by Aviad Brestel
Translated by David Strauss
Introduction
We are at the beginning of the book of Shemot and will read this week about the beginning of Moshe's journey. Moshe receives a direct instruction from God to embark on a historic mission that will resonate for generations. Every morning, to this very day, we recite the Song of the Sea, which testifies: "And they believed in the Lord and in His servant Moshe" (Shemot 14:31).
But what happened to Moshe before he became qualified to serve as the leader of Israel? What experiences led to his taking on this prominent position?
The Flight and the Cry
In Parashat Shemot, when the curtain rises over the character of Moshe, we encounter a man of action and vigor. Moshe goes out to his brothers and sees their suffering. He is sensitive to their suffering, and he feels the need to act and save Israel. This focus on mission may be compared to the inner world of an idealistic teenager in Bnei Akiva. Moshe feels with all his being the call to go out and act. That is why he strikes the Egyptian man who struck "a Hebrew, one of his brothers" (Shemot 2:11): Moshe sees wrongdoing, and immediately works to correct it.
This approach, however, does not last long. The next day, when he tries to end a quarrel between "two men of the Hebrews who were striving together" (Shemot 2:13), he receives a cold response: "Who made you a ruler and a judge over us?" (Shemot 2:14). The encounter with the broken spirit of the Israelites, and with the internal fighting, causes him to despair, to which is also added a fear for his life after word gets out that he killed the Egyptian.
In light of this, Moshe decides to "break contact": "Moshe fled from the face of Pharaoh, and dwelt [va-yeshev] in the land of Midyan" (Shemot 2:15). The plain meaning of the text seems to be that Moshe fled due to the danger Pharaoh posed to his life. But a closer examination of the verse reveals another reason. If Moshe had fled only because of fear for his life, he would have sought a temporary haven. He would have lived out of suitcases until the day he could return to Egypt. However, Moshe did not live out of suitcases; rather, "he dwelt in the land of Midyan," as stated in the verse, and this over the course of several decades. Unlike Yaakov, who came to "live" (la-gur) in Egypt but not to settle there, Moshe went to Midyan with the intention of settling there, and in fact, he soon marries Yitro's daughter, Tzipora.
Why did Moshe decide to settle in Midyan and give up on returning to Egypt? This is where the deep despair following his encounter with the bitter reality in Egypt comes into the picture: Moshe understood that not only was Israel's servitude difficult, but there was also a problem of divisions among the Israelites. In the wake of this grim insight, he decides to withdraw from involvement in the affairs of the people of Israel. Basically, he decides to retire from history.
Moshe finds a particularly suitable partner for this move in his father-in-law, Yitro. We learn much about the character of Yitro from the following midrash, which describes the attitude of three of Pharaoh's advisors to the decree to kill all the Hebrew babies:
Rav Chiyya bar Abba said in the name of Rav Simai: There were three in that plan, namely, Bilam, Iyov, and Yitro. Bilam, who devised it, was slain; Iyov, who silently acquiesced, was afflicted with sufferings; Yitro, who fled, merited that his descendants would sit in the Chamber of Hewn Stone, as it is stated: "And the families of scribes which dwelt at Yaavetz; the Tiratites, the Shimatites, the Sucatites. These are the Kenites that came of Hamat, the father of the house of Rechav" (I Divrei Ha-Yamim 2:55); and it is written: "And the children of the Kenite, Moshe's father-in-law" (Shoftim 1:16). (Sota 11a)
Yitro is depicted in this midrash as a moral figure of the first order: while Iyov acts selfishly, sitting on the fence and remaining silent, and while Bilam appears to be a classic antisemite, Yitro clearly recognizes the evil in the decree and opposes it. In practice, however, Yitro's active resistance does not last long. It is true that he cares and feels their pain, but in his eyes, the die has been cast and the decree has been issued, and there is no point in continuing to fight. The decree is indeed evil and cruel, and therefore it is impossible to cooperate with it, so Yitro flees from Egypt; Yitro decides to retire from the game.
This is what Moshe does, too. Like Yitro, Moshe does not give up his sense of justice. When he arrives in Midyan, he sees the shepherds harassing Yitro's daughters: the shepherds use their physical strength to oppress the poor little girls who came to draw water, presenting a world where only the strong survive. In response, Moshe immediately rises up and saves Yitro's daughters. He is certainly still committed to the pursuit of justice, in action as well as in words.
But all this remains at the community level, at the local level – not at the national level, at the level of the entire nation of Israel. Moshe makes sure that his immediate environment is just, but he despairs of humanity. He retires to the desert.
At this point, we hear once again about the suffering of the Israelites:
And it came to pass in the course of those many days that the king of Egypt died; and the children of Israel sighed by reason of the bondage, and they cried, and their cry came up to God by reason of the bondage. And God heard their groaning, and God remembered His covenant with Avraham, with Yitzchak, and with Yaakov. And God saw the children of Israel, and God took cognizance of them. (Shemot 2:23-25)
While Moshe goes to Midyan, marries, and joins Yitro, "many days" have passed in Egypt, very many days. Many days of suffering passed for the Israelites, his brothers, whose afflictions he once went out to see. And the situation deteriorated while he was gone: the Israelites no longer pray to God, but cry out to Him, and it is not their prayer that goes up to God, but their cries. Rav Soloveitchik explained that they could no longer speak, but only cry. They cried out because of their burdensome servitude, because this was all they could do.
There is an answer to that great cry: God remembers his covenant, and "knows" what is happening to His people. But where is Moshe? He continues to be a shepherd in Midyan, as described in the next verse: "Now Moshe was keeping the flock of Yitro his father-in-law, the priest of Midyan" (Shemot 3:1). There is nothing new in Midyan, and routine continues as usual.
The Burning Bush
Routine continues, but at the same time, Moshe seeks closeness to God; he seeks a spiritual life, a life of devotion. He seeks to understand the world, to understand the metaphysics of the world, as seen in the burning bush:
And the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush; and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed. And Moshe said: I will turn aside now, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt up. (Shemot 3:2-3)
For hundreds of years, humans have searched for God in nature, and so did Moshe. He is in the wilderness, and wants to meet God there: in the wilderness, he is cut off from the corrupt human world, from the world of oppression, from the world of genocide, and even from the world of shepherds who oppress innocent young girls. What you find in nature is you, nature, and the Creator. Since Moshe seeks closeness to God in nature, he turns to see the amazing sight of the burning bush that was not consumed. Moshe seems to be exceedingly sensitive from a religious perspective – but he withdraws from human society. This feeling parallels Yirmeyahu's cry: "Oh that I were in the wilderness, in a lodging-place of wayfaring men, that I might leave my people, and go from them! For they are all adulterers, an assembly of treacherous men" (Yirmeyahu 9:1).
Immediately after turning to look at the bush, Moshe receives a revelation from God, with a clear message:
And when the Lord saw that he turned aside to see, God called to him out of the midst of the bush, and said: Moshe, Moshe. And he said: Here I am. And He said: Draw not near; put off your shoes from off your feet, for the place where you stand is holy ground. Moreover, he said: I am the God of your father, the God of Avraham, the God of Yitzchak, and the God of Yaakov. And Moshe hid his face; for he was afraid to look upon God.
And the Lord said: I have surely seen the affliction of My people that are in Egypt, and have heard their cry by reason of their taskmasters; for I know their pains. And I am come down to deliver them out of the hand of the Egyptians, and to bring them up out of that land to a good land and a large, to a land flowing with milk and honey; to the place of the Canaanite, and the Hittite, and the Amorite, and the Perizite, and the Chivite, and the Yevusite.
And now, behold, the cry of the children of Israel is come to me; moreover I have seen the oppression wherewith the Egyptians oppress them. Come now therefore, and I will send you to Pharaoh, that you may bring forth My people the children of Israel out of Egypt. (Shemot 3:4-10)
God makes it clear to Moshe that he must return from Midyan: Moshe is part of a people, part of a national and family identity. That is why God reveals Himself to him as the God of his ancestors: to clarify that He is committed to that family and that people. Moshe reacts with fear, and hides his face. God's further message is then conveyed with the words: "I have surely seen the affliction of My people that are in Egypt." God makes it clear here that, although He is the King of kings, holy, sublime, and transcendent, nevertheless, he hears the pains of His people. God, as it were, leaves heaven; He leaves the Throne of Glory; He leaves the world of the angels, of what philosophers call the separate intellects – and descends into the dirty world of man, into the world of evil and wickedness. God, as it were, descends from the upper world to our corrupt world. Why? Because He has a people to save.
This is what God says to Moshe: If the King of kings acts in this manner, all the more so a man of flesh and blood. Moshe will no longer sit in Midyan, and he will not continue to graze the sheep in the wilderness, while the pain of his brothers goes up to heaven. In other words, the story of the "crying baby" did not start with the author of the Tanya, for God already explained the matter to Moshe: when there is a cry, one must act.[1]
After clarifying the appropriate attitude toward the suffering of the Israelites, God tells Moshe that he will be sent to rescue the people of Israel from Egypt. God "descended" to save the Israelites, as it were, and Moshe was to go down with Him.
In essence, what we have here is a statement not only about the duty to rescue the oppressed from his oppressor, but also a profound statement about service of God and closeness to Him. Moshe went out to the wilderness to seek God in nature. He went alone, solo: but that is not how you get to God. God makes it clear to Moshe that if he really wants to meet Him, he will – but only later, when he leads the people of Israel into the wilderness.
The wilderness is the right place to meet God, and Chorev, the mountain of God, is the proper place for revelation; however, Moshe cannot meet God alone, but only together with all the people of Israel who will come out of Egypt. One does not come to Mount Chorev alone. In order to reach Chorev, one must be a person who is ready to assume responsibility and lead, not someone who is looking for an answer to his personal aspirations.
This being the case, God assigns Moshe a mission: to save the people of Israel. To save the babies, to save the people. Moshe is certainly a great man with a developed spiritual personality. But this is not enough: the response "Here I am" requires that one not only listen to the words of God, but that he respond to them. In order for Moshe to truly say "Here I am," he must stand up and serve – and indeed, he is immediately given instructions about how to act: "Come now therefore, and I will send you to Pharaoh, that you may bring forth My people the children of Israel out of Egypt" (Shemot 3:10).
"Who am I?"
Though Moshe is told that he will lead the Israelites out of Egypt, he does not immediately accept the mission. Instead, he argues. Why is the argument important? So that the recognition of his responsibility will come to Moshe from within.
Moshe claims that he cannot go: the mission does not suit him; he is not the right man to deal with it; there are other people. There are all kinds of rationalizations here to explain why Moshe is not the right fit to save the people of Israel; he admits that it is certainly very important that someone do it, only that according to him, he is not the right man for the job. It should be someone else. He says: "Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh?" (Shemot 3:11). Who am I? I am a simple Jew; I am not at that level. There are politicians, people with leadership skills. I am just a simple person. "Shall I bring forth the children of Israel from Egypt?" (ibid.). That is too much for me, says Moshe. Find someone else. His claim may be true, but it is just an excuse.
There are good excuses, and sometimes the excuse is true, but ultimately, an excuse is still an excuse. To each of Moshe's questions, there is an answer. Moshe asks: "Who am I?" and immediately God answers: "Certainly, I will be with you" and "I have sent you" (Shemot 3:12). Afterwards, a new problem arises: "And they shall say to me: What is His name? What shall I say to them?" (Shemot 3:13) – in the name of whom do I come? What is the message? What shall I tell them? And once again, God answers him: Do not worry. The message is: "I am that I am" (Shemot 3:14). I reveal Myself to you by way of the name of A-h-y-h, and not the name of H-v-y-h. God will accompany you in every situation you encounter. Therefore, God says to Moshe, is there no message? You have a message; you have backup and support. And what now?
Despite the answers, Moshe continues to argue, and finds a new problem: "But, behold, they will not believe me, nor listen to my voice, for they will say: The Lord has not appeared to you" (Shemot 4:1). The people will not listen, the nation will not heed. Why should I bother with them? The situation is lost! Nowadays, we would say as follows: "Why go into education; why go to teach? In any event, the students will not listen; I am not good enough, I do not have the appropriate charisma – and they will not listen to me."
In response, God equips Moshe with signs, through which he will be able to prove to the people that he was sent by God. Still, Moshe continues to raise objections: "I am not a man of words, neither yesterday nor the day before, nor since you have spoken to your servant; for I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue" (Shemot 4:10). Maybe there is potential for the people to listen. Nowadays we would say: "Today's youth are really wonderful." But, adds Moshe, despite everything, I am not the right person to be a teacher, leader, and guide for this people, because I have a personal problem. Someone else may succeed in this task – but not me.
Here God responds sharply: Enough with the excuses – the time has come to act. "And the Lord said to him: Who has made man's mouth? Or who makes a man dumb, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I the Lord? Now therefore go, and I will be with your mouth, and teach you what you shall speak" (Shemot 4:11-12).
Despite all this, Moshe still does not give up: "And he said: Oh Lord, send, I pray you, by the hand of whom You will send" (Shemot 4:13). I have run out of explanations and excuses – but surely you have other agents; there are idealists who will do it. There will be someone who will undertake the task. But I am not the right one.
Why does Moshe continue to argue? The Ramban explains as follows:
The reason for all this obduracy on the part of Moshe was his great humility, above all the men that were upon the face of the earth, as he could not see himself assuming importance and speaking to the king and [taking] glory in saying: "The Lord has sent me," nor [to speak] to Israel to bring them out from Egypt and be king over them. (Ramban, Shemot 4:13)
Ostensibly, there is no better appointment than the one Moshe receives from God. Of course he would want it – who wouldn't want such a position? And yet, he refuses. The Ramban explains that he shied away from the mission due to his great humility. Everything that seems to us to be excuses, he said seriously and honestly; Moshe truly felt this way. This is a very impressive humility. We can just look around and see how many people yearn for positions of leadership, rule, and power. And in contrast to them, Moshe was humbler than any other person and drew back from positions of authority.
A Time to Lead
And what is God's response? "And the anger of the Lord was kindled against Moshe" (Shemot 4:14). There is no place for such humility. For everything there is a time and a season: a time to be humble, and a time to be bold in the path of God. When people are submerged in the slavery of Egypt, screaming, moaning, yearning for salvation – this is not the time for humility. Now is the time to take on the task, and go out and lead the people of Israel.
In the end, Moshe accepts the mission: he returns to Egypt, talks to the people, and goes to Pharaoh.
There is a complete divergence between the Ashkenazi and Sephardi customs regarding the haftara for Parashat Shemot. The Ashkenazi custom is to read: "In the days to come shall Yaakov take root" (Yeshayahu 27:6), whereas the Sephardim read from the beginning of the book of Yirmeyahu.[2]The two haftarot express two different perspectives on the focus of the parasha: the Ashkenazim focus on slavery and suffering, whereas the Sephardim focus on the challenge of leadership – the challenge that Moshe must face.
The haftara in Yirmeyahu, which deals with the challenges of leadership, teaches us a great lesson. The decision to read the haftara in public implies that this haftara, with its central statements about the challenge of leadership, addresses each of us, every year. Both the parasha and the haftara go beyond telling us about a particular prophet who had to be convinced to accept his mission, and speak to each and every one of us: to everyone sitting here today; to everyone sitting in this room and in similar rooms, in this yeshiva and other yeshivot, and in general, to everyone who hears them. They call out to each person and say to him: You are serious, you want to develop from a Torah point of view, you want to grow in Torah and encounter God. All of this is wonderful – but not alone.
You will not meet God with the sheep in the wilderness, but "when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall serve God upon the mountain" (Shemot 3:12). In the beit midrash, you learn and develop. You grow in Torah and in character. You deepen your conceptual world. You grow. But alas if you leave it only to yourself. You must build a spiritual world that gives back to the public, one that hears the babies who are crying, one that hears the cries raised against today's Egypt. Today, there are many types of Egypt: Egypt does not have to be physical slavery; it is also spiritual desolation. Egypt can also be difficult socio-economic circumstances. It can be ignorance and obscurantism.
There are many exiles and many of our brothers and sisters who need help getting out of their own Egypt. Each one from his own Egypt. And of course, not only abroad, but also in Israel: there is an Egypt on the main streets of Tel Aviv and Haifa, and there is an Egypt even in Jerusalem. People need to be taken out of Egypt in order to worship God on the mountain. You must not worry only about yourself; you must worry about the people of Israel. God descends from his Throne of Glory – "for I know their pains" (Shemot 3:7). Let us not forget that, again, the idea of the "crying baby" is not an innovation of the author of the Tanya, nor of Rav Amital, who valued its message so profoundly; God Himself taught this lesson at the beginning of the book of Shemot, and He points His finger at each and every one of us. Only in this way, out of concern for others, is it possible to truly advance in the service of God.
"Here I am"
The book of Shemot comes and says to each of us, "Come now and I will send you" (Shemot 3:10). A person should understand that if he is here or in any other beit midrash, it is not in order to lead the flock in the wilderness and benefit himself, but in order to benefit the people of Israel. And again, there are many "Pharaohs" and many "Egypts," and God has many messengers to counter them. Different professions offer many different ways to dedicate yourself to others. Every person in every profession must look for a way he can contribute. In the family, in the community, in the synagogue, in the workplace, and in society as a whole.
The fulfillment of "come now and I will send you" is especially important when choosing a profession or career. At such a time, it is expected that the considerations will not be purely economic, or limited to the potential of personal development, but will also take into account the ability to influence and do good. Not where can I graze my sheep in the wilderness, but how can I help ensure that "when you have brought forth the people out of Egypt, you shall serve God upon this mountain" (Shemot 3:12)? How do I create a world of Torah, holiness, and kindness? These are the questions that must be considered when choosing a profession.
This is a weighty task, one that requires great honesty. A person must ask himself, and answer carefully: Have I thoroughly examined myself, and come to the conclusion that it is precisely there that I can contribute in an optimal way – or am I interested in a certain direction because of personal convenience?
A certain boldness is also necessary. A man should not think, "Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh?" (Shemot 3:11) – How much can I teach? Can I say that my Torah is what God wants? A person is liable to think that if he turns to the world of education, people will not listen to him, or that they will listen to him but that he himself cannot stand up to the task. There are many excuses, and Moshe utters them all, and his humility hovers over all of them. And yet, God does not accept his excuses, but sends him to redeem Israel.
What can we do against all the excuses? As the Sages say: serve God "with both of your inclinations" (Mishna Berakhot 9:5) – the good inclination and with the evil inclination. The opposite situation is also possible, God forbid: his good inclination may cause a person not to serve. Out of great humility, I might think that I lack the intelligence or the zeal of my own teachers, or that I will not teach as well as they did. Many excuses can be found – and we must know how to identify them and to avoid them. To that end, we must mobilize both our inclinations.
A person must look in the mirror every day and ask himself: Did I choose this path because here I can contribute the most, or is it a situation of "send, I pray You, by the hand of whom You will send" (Shemot 4:13)? Even if all the explanations – to myself, to my wife, or to my teacher – stem from humility, the response to the excuses is "and the anger of the Lord was kindled" (Shemot 4:14). If the mission is not carried out, if there are no teachers, no leaders, no rabbis – no excuse in the world will help.
This is how one gets to the mountain of God, to Mount Chorev. One who wishes to climb up the mountain should not do so alone, but out of a life of giving and contribution. In the end, he will also grow, and thereby join the chain of generations. Queen Esther is a character who has been mentioned in this beit midrash on more than one occasion. At first it is said about her that "she has no father or mother" (Esther 2:7). But after she answers Mordechai's call, commands him to gather all the Jews, and saves the people of Israel, it is stated: "Queen Esther, the daughter of Avichayil, wrote" (Esther 9:29). We suddenly see that she has a father and a mother. When she comes to write, based on the power of her responsibility and leadership, she is suddenly "the daughter of Avichayil." She has a tradition, she has a family.
In such a situation, when a person responds to the cries of the people of Israel, he connects back to the most fundamental points of his personality, and in particular, to his connection to all the generations. A person who says "Here I am" responds to this command, and thus continues another link in the chain of generations. This beit midrash was founded on the ethos of the crying baby,[3] an ethos that accompanies the people of Israel for generations. It was founded by people who heard the crying baby, and the demand and the expectation from us is that we will continue to hear that voice. Like Moshe, the savior of Israel, we will obey God's command, hear the cry, and thus merit to reach Mount Chorev.
[This sicha was delivered by Harav Mosheh Lichtenstein on the 24th of Tevet 5780.]
[1] Editor's note: The author is referring to a famous story about the author of the Tanya, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi. He was once learning Torah when he heard a baby crying and went to go tend to the child. Afterwards, he rebuked his grandson, who had also been learning Torah nearby, that if one's Torah study deafens him to the cries of a baby, something is wrong with his Torah study. Rav Yehuda Amital z"l, as will be mentioned below, took this story very much to heart and saw its message as a foundation of Yeshivat Har Etzion.
[2] This divergence is exceptional: There are minor differences between the two main customs regarding the haftarot (that of the Ashkenazim and that of the Sefardim), mainly concerning the question how much to expand the story and add background, and how much to remain focused and concise. But almost always the haftara is taken from the same prophecy. In contrast, in Parashat Shemot we are dealing with an absolute divergence and completely different haftarot.
[3] https://etzion.org.il/en/philosophy/great-thinkers/harav-yehuda-amital/hear-baby-cry.
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