For seven days, you shall eat matzos, because of it, the bread of affliction for you departed from the land of Egypt in haste. (16:3)
Is it bread of affliction or bread commemorating the haste in which Bnei Yisrael left Egypt? Veritably, the Jewish People, as slaves to Pharaoh, ate only matzah, which is considered poor man’s bread, because it takes longer to digest and allows the person to feel “satiated” longer. This was their bread of affliction. When they left Egypt, they left in a hurry; thus, their dough could not rise long enough to become bread. Sforno wonders why the Torah gives two reasons for lechem oni. He explains that Hashem took all the afflictions of Bnei Yisrael into consideration, and, as a result, rewarded them with redemption. To paraphrase Sforno, “In exchange for the chipazon ha’oni, haste of affliction, they merited the chipazon ha’geulah, ‘Haste of redemption.’”
The manner in which we were redeemed was closely aligned with the affliction that we experienced. Nothing is left unrequited. Hashem calculates everything we endure in life and compensates us for it. As slaves, the Jews had no time to bake bread, because their taskmasters gave them little respite from their labors. Unquestionably, the people wondered why they had to endure another indignity in addition to their backbreaking labor. If they could return home at the end of the day and at least have a decent meal, their toil might have been somewhat less afflicting. Little did they realize that, as restitution for that insensitive haste to which they were subjected, Hashem redeemed them swiftly from Egypt. The matzah of freedom is the result of the matzah of affliction.
So often, we read a situation through human perspective, thinking that something has gone awry: we do not deserve this; someone is attempting to use us – only to discover that what we had thought was a negative situation was actually positive or the precursor for a positive result. As we endure what superficially appears to be one of life’s many vicissitudes, we do not know what it is that we have done to deserve this. “Why” is a human question, because humans have limitations. The word “why” does not exist in the Heavenly sphere. Hashem has a reason for everything that occurs. We must be patient.
A teacher attended a seminar in which the topic was: “Listen to your students.” The underlying concept was to train the teacher to stop and think before acting. Even what appears to be an act of defiance, chutzpah, disrespect, quite possibly has a justifiable circumstance behind it. The student may be intimating a message to us. If we would only listen. This idea applies across the board in all relationships – be they with friends, colleagues, or family. Understandably, it applies especially with regard to our relationship with Hashem. Let me expand upon this idea.
A fourth grade morah was teaching her class, when in walked one of the students – very late. The young girl appeared somewhat nervous when she handed the morah a note explaining her tardiness. The teacher continued reading aloud, while she opened the note. After reading it, the teacher’s mood changed. She became angry at the audacity of this student. No adult writes the illegible scrawl that this girl presented. This note was clearly a forgery. This was why the girl was nervous. She had forged the note, “Please excuse Esti for being late. It will not happen again.” The note had been written in an almost childish scrawl. Her father had signed it.
No teacher wants to be treated as a fool – especially by a fourth grader. This note had been written either by a brother, a friend, or even Esti. The teacher remembered the lesson she had learned at the seminar, and, against her better judgment, she allowed calmness to prevail over her anger. Obviously, this girl was nervous, because she feared being caught pulling off such a stunt. The teacher breathed deeply, maintained her composure, and told Esti, “Okay, take your seat.”
Esti began to walk to her seat – stopped, looked back, and returned to the teacher’s desk. “Morah,” she said, “I am sorry for the way the note looks. You see, my mother was not home – and my father is blind.” It goes without saying that the morah could not find a hole deep enough in which to hide. Imagine, had she expressed her true feelings towards Esti. It could have traumatized the girl for life.
This idea applies equally to life and the challenges which we confront. All too often, we are cruising along, when suddenly, out of (what appears to be) nowhere, we come up against a brick wall in the guise of a challenge. Why is this happening to me? How should I react/relate to this? As faithful Jews, we believe that nothing occurs in a vacuum. Hashem choreographs our lives. During the journey of life, we do not understand the “speedbumps” which we confront. When we reach our destination, when we arrive at the End of Days, we will see how everything in life – before, during and after – all meshes together. Two seemingly unrelated narratives will become one, as we realize that they complement one another.
David Hamelech and Yonasan, son of Shaul Hamelech, represented the paradigmatic friendship between two people. Unfortunately, Shaul had issues with David (through no fault of David). It was thus necessary, to distance themselves from one another. David asked Yonasan to give him a sign when his father was out to kill him. Yonasan replied that he would go to the field where David was hiding and practice archery. If he told his attendant, “Behold, the arrows are behind you,” it was a sign that David should lech, go – ki shilachacha Hashem, for this is a sign that “Hashem has sent him away” (Shmuel I:20:22). Horav Eliyahu Meir Bloch, zl, questioned the use of the word lech, go. When one is escaping, when he is (so to speak) running for his life, he should be told to b’rach, run – not lech, go.
The Rosh Yeshivah explained the text in order to impart a valuable life lesson to us. Brach, run, implies that one is running away from something. Lech, go, means that one is going towards a destination. David was being told, “You are on a shlichus, mission, from Hashem. The Almighty is taking you by the hand and accompanying you on this mission.” This was the Rosh Yeshivah’s message when he, together with his brother-in-law and co-Rosh Yeshivah of Telshe, Horav Chaim Mordechai Katz, zl, arrived in Cleveland. Lech, ki shilachaha Hashem. We are here on a mission, sent by Hashem, to build Torah in America – and this they did.
