Parashas Vaera
וגם אני שמעתי את נאקת בני ישראל
Moreover, I have heard the groan of Bnei Yisrael. (6:5)
Listening is a fundamental value in many aspects of life – be it relationships, communication or spiritual growth. Listening goes beyond mere hearing; it means internalizing and comprehending what the other person is conveying to us and acting upon it. Active listening fosters a sense of connection to and validation of the speaker, that you are hearing and respecting him. This, in turn, builds trust and fortifies relationships.
We can break listening down into different forms. When someone shares his struggles and pains, he is often seeking validation more than solutions. By simply listening, without the ability or wherewithal to help him, you are acknowledging his emotions and experiences, which, in and of itself, validates his feelings. This reassures him that his pain is real (and significant), even if he cannot immediately resolve it.
The Klausenberger Rebbe, zl, related the following story which supports the notion of listening just to show that you care. Following the Holocaust, the broken shards of humanity who had survived and were now in displaced person camps were compelled to cope with their devastating losses. The overwhelming pain and anguish which these survivors sustained took its toll, not only physically and emotionally, but spiritually as well. They had questions, and the answers could only be provided by Hashem. As a result, some of these poor souls could no longer maintain their original religious affiliation. One fellow whose despair led him to drop Yiddishkeit altogether was no better off, but he was still not prepared to return. His friends felt his pain, and they did everything to convince him to return to Yiddishkeit. They were unsuccessful. One of them suggested that he go speak to the Klausenberger Rebbe, and let it all out. At first, he was resistant to the idea, but, after a little nudging, he reconsidered and agreed to visit the Rebbe.
He left the Rebbe after an hour, a totally transformed person. He immediately began to pick up where he had left off, and he started observing Shabbos once again. His friends were shocked. What could the Rebbe have said that impressed him so? He told them.
“I went into the Rebbe, and I began to tell him about all my family members who were brutally murdered. As I spoke, I was overcome with weeping. The Rebbe turned to me and said, ‘I also lost my family. Before the war, I had a wife and eleven children. Now I have no one.’
With those words, he took my hand in his and began to cry with me. We sat like that for an hour, two broken-hearted individuals mourning what we had lost. Finally, I felt that my tears had dissipated, and I had gotten all my pent-up grief out of me. I felt that someone cared about me, more than about my forsaking Yiddishkeit. I now felt that I could get over it and continue living as a Jew should live.”
What did the Klausenberger Rebbe do that was different than what this man’s friends had attempted? He listened. He did not lay blame; he validated the man’s grief. He understood his pain, because he, too, was suffering.
A Yid was bowed in prayer in the Kotzker Rebbe’s shul. From beneath his tallis there emerged the mournful sound of a krechtz, sigh. The saintly Rebbe, zl, who was standing nearby, heard and remarked, “Every Yiddishe krechtz is precious and holy in Heaven.” A few moments passed, and the Jew sighed again, but this time a little longer and more painfully than the previous time. The Rebbe said, “But it must be a true, sincere krechtz. A false krechtz has no value.” Hashem hears the pain – not the words, the accompanying noise – just the cry emanating from the deepest recesses of his soul.
The pasuk addresses the groans emanating from the Jewish slaves as V’gam; “Moreover, I have also heard the groans.” What is the meaning that Hashem “also” heard the groans? Who else but Hashem should hear the pain of the Jew? The Chasam Sofer explains that it refers to each Jew; each brother heard the anguish of his brother. They felt bad, not only for themselves, but for their brothers as well. This compassion led to Hashem’s “remembering” the covenant.
In the Haggadah of the Gerrer Dynasty, authored by Rabbi Yisrael Besser, the author relates that, at times, the saintly Pnei Menachem would have visions of deceased tzaddikim in his dreams. (Obviously his dreams were unlike our dreams, but then his sleep was unlike our sleep.) One night, the Rebbe came upon his uncle, Horav Menachem Mendel of Pabinetz (who had been murdered by the Nazis), in a dream.
He asked his uncle, “Why are we suffering so many personal tragedies today, so many illnesses, suffering and hardships?”
In the dream, his uncle replied, “There was a time (apparently in Europe pre-World War II) that when a Yid had a personal tragedy, when a Yid was in pain, it meant that the entire shteibel also felt the anguish. When a brother was in pain, everyone was in pain. People were bound to one another in such a profound manner that each person personally felt his brother’s pain.
Thus, when a bitter decree was directed against someone – he was spared, because if he, in fact, deserved the blow, his brothers did not. So why should they both suffer? Today, sadly, people do not feel empathy for their brothers’ tzaros, trouble, travail, in the same manner. That world is gone.”
In Egypt, explains the Chasam Sofer, brother heard brother. Therefore, Hashem “also” heard and intervened. Veritably, whenever a Yid cries out in pain, Hashem hears his plea. He answers every tefillah, prayer. At times, the answer will be “no,” but the tefillah is not wasted. It will be used to benefit another Jew, who perhaps has much for which to daven, or is himself yet incapable of properly expressing His emotions. We find that Avraham Avinu prayed fervently that the city of Sodom be spared from destruction. His tefillos did not help Sodom, but Hashem saved and treasured them. One day, He will open up that reservoir of prayers and use it where necessary.
The Maggid, zl, of Dubno explains this with an insightful parable. An elderly man went to purchase a coat. He made certain that the size was perfect for him. Immediately afterwards, a young man entered the store and asked to purchase a coat. He proceeded to buy two coats without even bothering to try them on to see if they fit properly. The elderly man stood looking on in wonderment. “How can you buy a coat without first trying it on?” he asked. The man replied, “If the coat does not fit today, it will fit tomorrow. If it is too small for me, I will give it to my son. I will always have an opportunity to use these coats.”
Likewise, concerning tefillah. If the prayers do not find efficacy today, they will be used tomorrow -- if not for the petitioner himself, then for others. No Jew’s prayer is left behind.
ולקחתי אתכם לי לעם
I shall take you to Me as a people. (6:7)
The climax of Yetzias Mitzrayim, the Egyptian exodus, occurred when Hashem told us we were to be His people, when He gave us the Torah at Har Sinai. At that point, we achieved our identity. A slave has no identity. He is a number, whose master predetermines his purpose and activities. His life is aimless, since he has no control over it. Our identity as Yehudim, Torah Jews, was established at Sinai when we accepted the Torah. Many biological Jews live in the world, but biology does not establish our identity, because it does not define who we are. Our alignment with Torah values, morals, principles and observance defines us and represents our raison d’etre and, consequently, our identity.
Horav S.R. Hirsch, zl, explains that the Jewish concept of freedom, cheirus, means much more than merely escaping oppression; it means the ability to rise above one’s base instincts and live in accordance with elevated moral and spiritual values. Jewish identity is intrinsically linked to the Torah. Our holy Torah is much more than a religious text; it constitutes the very essence of Jewish life, culture and ethics. Jewish identity is defined by living in accordance with its principles, which serve as a roadmap concerning every aspect of life from moral conduct to communal obligations. This idea guides us to maintain our Jewish identity amidst changing circumstances.
Freedom requires a vision for the future. Freedom imbues one with hope. A slave neither has hope, nor a vision for the future. He is not in control of his destiny. The Torah provides us with our vision for the future, so that, by adhering to its commandments, we stay on track and have the luxury of looking forward to the future. Feeling a brother’s pain is a sign of redemption. Indeed, just feeling pain presents a glimmer of freedom. The worst form of slavery is when we become accustomed to our wretched situation; when we lack sensitivity, because we either have become used to the darkness and pain, or just have given up hope of emerging from our sorry predicament.
A man, lost in the forest chanced upon a dark cave. It contained absolutely no illumination whatsoever. As he groped around for a way out, he met a man who told him that he, too, was searching for a way back to civilization -- to no avail. He added, “Do not worry about the darkness. You will soon get used to it.” The “visitor” countered, “I do not want to get used to it. Once that occurs, I will cease looking for the exit.”
V’Lakachti eschem Li l’am, “I shall take you to Me as a people” has a deeper connotation with regard to identity. All too often we reach a point at which what others think of us determines our self-definition and identity. This can lead to diminished self-worth, which is one of the most destructive scourges to affect the human psyche. It is the opposite of freedom and the antithesis of Judaism, which teaches that one who aligns himself with the Torah is truly a free man. One who defines himself by the barometer of public opinion is a slave. Consider the following vignette.
A well-known speaker began his seminar by holding up a twenty-dollar bill for all two hundred participants to see. He asked, “Who would like this twenty-dollar bill?” Hands started going up throughout the room. He then said, “I am going to give this bill to one of you, but first, let me do this.” He proceeded to crumple up this bill, and then he looked at the audience and asked, “Who still wants the bill?” Hands went up in the air. Apparently, a little crumpling did not bother these people. “Well,” he continued, “what if I do this?” He dropped the bill to the ground, stepped on it and ground his shoe into the bill.
He picked it up, now all crumpled and filthy, and asked, “Does anyone still want this bill?” The hands remained in the air. Money is money, regardless of its physical condition. “My friends,” he began, “you have all been privy to a very valuable lesson. No matter what I do to the money, it does not affect your taste for the money. This is because, regardless of its physical condition, its value has remained the same. It is still worth twenty dollars. Remember, that throughout our lives, we are often dropped, crumpled and even ground into the dirt as a result of our decisions and the circumstances in which we find ourselves. This can lead to feelings of worthlessness. Before we fall into despair, we must remember that, regardless of what has happened or what will happen, we will never lose our value in G-d’s eyes. To Him, dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, we are still priceless to Him.”
The value of our lives is not dependent on what we do or who we are, but by to Whom we belong! Hashem’s love for us is unconditional.
הם המדברים אל פרעה ... הוא משה ואהרן
These are the ones who spoke to Pharaoh ... this was Moshe and Aharon. (6:27)
Prior to relating Moshe Rabbeinu and Aharon HaKohen’s visit to Pharaoh for what was to be the beginning of the end of the Jewish enslavement, the Torah digresses and offers a brief genealogical backdrop. The Torah begins by introducing Levi ben Yaakov, the Patriarch of the Levite families. This is followed by a detailed list of his children and grandchildren, and it concludes with Moshe and Aharon who came before Pharaoh demanding that he release the Jews. Rashi is bothered by the superfluous ending to the family history. He explains that the Torah intimates that Hu Moshe v’Aharon mi’techilah v’ad sof, from beginning to end. These two men grew up righteous, married righteous, and were now standing before the evil Pharaoh. They had transcended the spiritual wasteland in which they had found themselves.
Horav Shlomo Wolbe, zl, posits that the Torah’s praise of Moshe and Aharon is actually a charge to all of us to complete our mission, to go through life living a morally upright, ethically correct, G-d-fearing life – regardless of where we find ourselves. One should not think, “My background leaves much to be desired, “Where I live is not conducive to spiritual growth”or; “Whatever I accomplish is fine.” These thoughts are a representation of an attitude of someone who is unwilling to make an attempt at achieving success. We have a purpose in this world, a G-d-given mission which is exclusively ours to fulfill. What right does he have to give apathetic excuses for a lack of trying? Furthermore, even if one has successfully navigated life’s hills and valleys, it does not grant him the excuse to retire and take it easy. Chazal (Berachos 29A) relate that Yochanan served as Kohen Gadol for eighty years (eighty times he entered the Kodesh HaKadoshim on Yom Kippur); yet, at the end of his life, something happened that provoked him to become an apostate and reject everything. For eighty years he had achieved and lived the life of the most elevated spiritual Jew – then he plummeted to infamy. He did not persevere. He retired and fell prey to the wiles of the yetzer hora, evil inclination.
The Mashgiach himself went through tribulation that would have destroyed a lesser person. When he was a talmid in Yeshivas Mir in Poland, prior to World War II, the Polish government made him leave because he had German citizenship. Germany was preparing to invade Poland; the last person they wanted to be present was a German national. For the next eight years, he lived in Sweden in such a spiritually-challenged environment that he did not even have a minyan of shomer Shabbos Jews. Nonetheless, he maintained his sedarim in Torah-study and adhered to the strictest standards of mitzvah performance. He had every excuse to take an eight-year hiatus from Yiddishkeit, but we do not do that. Our commitment and dedication is neither time -- nor location-centered. It is unequivocal and immutable.
In a similar situation, the Mashgiach once met a Moroccan Jew who, upon arriving in the Holy Land, was immediately brought to a non-religious kibbutz. (This was part of the secularists’ war on orthodoxy.) They felt that they would not succeed in building an independent Jewish state unless the religious community would be disbanded. He refused to concede any of his religious commitment to the secular lifestyle that was forced on the poor immigrants. He demanded kosher food which, for them, was an anathema. He was considered a “harmful” influence on the other immigrants and, thus, he was sent to another kibbutz where the same scenario was repeated. After being sent to successive kibbutzim, the secularists finally gave in and permitted him to enter a yeshivah, where he excelled. His devotion to Yiddishkeit kept him strong and unwavering in the face of religious aggression.
One’s behavior is greatly influenced by his environment. Moshe and Aharon, as did Yosef HaTzadik before them, showed us the way and gave us the keys to navigating the almost constant challenges to our faith successfully. We must define our ideals and adhere steadfastly to them, regardless of the situation in which we find ourselves.
Reb Mendel Futerfas was imprisoned by the Russians for practicing his religion. This was during the Soviet era, in which the ruling Soviets imprisoned and sent many Jews to harsh labor camps for committing the sin of religious observance. Despite the misery, constant travail and isolation, Reb Mendel continued to observe mitzvos secretly. He made a makeshift pair of Tefillin and kept kosher with limited resources. His unwavering commitment inspired other prisoners – both Jewish and non-Jewish --- not to give in to apathy, but to continue doing whatever they could to maintain their religious dignity.
