PARASHAT VAERA

By Rav David Silverberg

            In the aftermath of the seventh plague, the plague of hail, Pharaoh summons Moshe and proclaims, “This time [I confess that] I have sinned; the Lord is just, and my nation and I are the wicked ones” (9:27).  This marks the first instance throughout the story of the plagues that Pharaoh concedes moral defeat.  Previously, Pharoah responded to the plague by summoning Moshe and promising the let Benei Yisrael leave.  He yields, but without admitting any wrongdoing.  In this instance, however, he actually confesses that God is the rightful party in this ongoing confrontation between the king of Egypt and the King of the world.

            What led Pharaoh to make this confession specifically now, in the aftermath of the seventh plague?

            Ibn Ezra (Peirush Ha-arokh) attributes Pharaoh’s confession to the dread he experienced at that moment.  In warning about the impending hail, Moshe said to the king that God could just as easily eliminate Pharaoh in an instant, by visiting a deadly pestilence upon him: “For now I could just sent My hand and smite you and your nation with pestilence, and you would be driven from the earth” (9:15).  Moshe proceeded to explain that God chose instead to deliver a host of other plagues in order that Pharaoh see His power and recognize God as the Supreme Ruler over the earth.  Now, after the awesome display of divine might in the plague of hail, Pharaoh feared that the other prophecy – of a deadly plague – would now be fulfilled.  He therefore buckled and confessed that God is just.

            However, Ibn Ezra’s approach does not account for Pharaoh’s unprecedented confession of wrongdoing, or explain why his response to the plague of hail should be any different from his response to the other plagues.

            Chizkuni (among others, including the Da’at Zekeinim and Riva) suggests a different explanation, claiming that Pharaoh’s confession relates to one aspect of Moshe’s warning preceding the hail.  Moshe had conveyed to the king God’s advice to Pharaoh and his subjects to bring inside their cattle and servants, so that they would not be hurt or killed by the impending hailstorm (9:19).  Indeed, as the Torah proceeds to record, many Egyptians heeded Moshe’s warning and brought their animals and servants indoors.  This gesture, Chizkuni writes, is what led Pharaoh to avow God’s justness: “A person who wishes to wage war against his fellow and kill him comes upon him suddenly and kills him, but He said to Pharaoh, ‘God gather your cattle’.”  What changed Pharaoh’s mindset at this point was not the devastation of the hail, but rather God’s kindness in urging the Egyptians to take cover ahead of time.  This gesture demonstrated to Pharaoh the fundamental difference between God and mortal rulers, whose power often leads them to heartless and ruthless cruelty.  God, on the other hand, even when circumstances require a demonstration of strength and might, still deals compassionately with His creatures and offers them the opportunity to be spared calamity.

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            After the second plague, the plague of frogs, Pharaoh summons Moshe and Aharon and begs that they pray to God and ask that He eliminate this plague that ravaged Egypt.  Moshe then asks the king, “…le-matai atir lekha” – literally, “For when shall I pray for you…” (8:5).  Rashi explains this to mean that Moshe agreed to pray to God immediately, and ask Him to remove the frogs at the time requested by Pharaoh.  In the next verse, we read that Pharaoh wished for the plague to be eliminated the following day.  Accordingly, Rashi comments (8:6, 8:8) that Moshe prayed already that day, immediately upon taking leave of Pharaoh, asking God to remove the frogs the following day.  Rashi (8:5) bases his interpretation on the prefix le- in the word “le-matai,” which indicates that Moshe asked Pharaoh to choose not when Moshe should pray, but rather “for when” he should pray, meaning, when God should remove the frogs.

            This interpretation also follows logically.  It would make no difference to Pharaoh when Moshe prayed; his concern was only when the country would be relieved of this plague.  Naturally, then, Moshe asked Pharaoh not when he (Moshe) should pray, but rather “for when” he should pray.

            The Ramban, however, disagrees with Rashi in explaining this series of verses.  In his view, the prefix le- appears simply for stylistic purposes, and does not alter the meaning of the word.  Moshe’s question to Pharaoh, according to the Ramban, was indeed, “When should I pray for you?” with the understanding that the plague would end immediately as Moshe prayed.  The Ramban proves his approach from a later verse, where the Torah tells that in response to Moshe’s prayer, “The Lord did as Moshe said…” (8:9).  The Torah gives no indication of a time lapse in between Moshe’s prayer and God’s favorable response, suggesting that He acted immediately to grant Moshe’s wish.  Necessarily, then, Moshe prayed not immediately upon leaving Pharaoh’s palace, but rather the following day, and there was no lapse between his prayer and God’s response.

            Malbim defends Rashi’s position by suggesting that in truth, Rashi agrees with the Ramban’s premise that God responded to Moshe’s prayer immediately.  Moshe told Pharaoh that God would eliminate all the frogs in Egypt except for those in the river, which would continue living there, as frogs naturally do.  What this means, Malbim explains, is that the supernatural element of the plague – the frogs’ prolonged stay on dry land – would come to an end, while the natural order of things, whereby frogs live in water while spending limited amounts of time on land, would continue.  Thus, Moshe prayed immediately upon taking leave of Pharaoh that God should end the miraculous aspect of the plague – and God immediately complied.  He restored the natural order, whereby (according to Malbim) frogs can survive on dry land for one day, and it was thus the following day when all the frogs on the land died.  In this way, Malbim reconciles the Ramban’s assumption of God’s immediate response to Moshe’s prayer with Rashi’s interpretation that Moshe prayed immediately upon leaving Pharaoh for the frogs to be eliminated the following day.

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            As he warned Pharaoh of the seventh plague, the plague of hail, Moshe advised the king and his subjects to bring their cattle and servants indoors ahead of the impending, destructive storm.  The Torah relates (9:20) that there were indeed those in Egypt who heeded Moshe’s warning and brought their animals and servants inside to sheltered areas before the hailstorm erupted: “He who feared the word of the Lord among Pharaoh’s subjects brought his servants and cattle to the homes for shelter.”

            The Mekhilta (Beschalach) comments that, in a curious, ironic twist, Moshe’s warning came back to haunt Benei Yisrael not too long afterward.  After the Exodus, Pharaoh quickly regretted his decision to free the slaves and pursued them with six hundred chariots (14:7).  The Mekhilta claims that the horses used for these chariots were the horses brought inside before the plague of hail, in response to Moshe’s warning.  These “God-fearing” Egyptians, oddly enough, were the ones who allowed for the pursuit of Benei Yisrael after the Exodus.

            The Mekhilta concludes with a jarring comment, one which has, unfortunately, caught the attention of – and been misunderstood by – many of our nation’s adversaries over the centuries: “On this basis Rabbi Shimon would say: The best of the gentiles – kill, and the best of the snakes – crush his brain!”  Sadly, this passage has been misinterpreted to mean that our traditional sources advocate reckless violence against members of other nations and faiths.

            Rav Menachem Kasher devotes an essay to this topic in his Torah Sheleima (vol. 9, appendix 19; see also to 9:20, note 69), where he notes the many different variations in which this comment appears.  The Midrash Tanchuma (Beshalach 5) writes, “The best of the Egyptians – kill.”  According to this version, this comment refers only to the ancient Egyptians, who ruthlessly oppressed and persecuted Benei Yisrael.  Perhaps even more significantly, the Talmud Yerushalmi (Kiddushin, end of chapter 4) and Masekhet Sofrim (end of chapter 15) cite Rabbi Shimon as saying, “The most righteous among the gentiles in a time of war – kill, the best among the snakes – crush his skull.”  According to this text – which we may reasonably speculate was the intent of the Mekhilta, as well – Rabbi Shimon speaks specifically of the context of war, when Benei Yisrael must confront vicious, heartless enemies.  Just as during the Egyptian bondage the best of our enemies ultimately posed a threat, similarly, whenever we wage war we must be wary of even “the most righteous” among the enemy.  This explains as well why the Mekhilta makes mention of snakes in this context.  Snakes are often associated with sly, deceitful maneuvering.  Chazal here warn that during warfare, we cannot place our trust in even “the most righteous” members of the enemy nation, as they may be simply setting a trap.

Indeed, Rabbi Yechiel of Paris invoked this argument during the famous 1240 Disputation of Paris, in defending Judaism against the malicious accusations of the apostate Nicholas Donin.

            Moreover, Rav Kasher adds, Rabbi Shimon’s comment must be viewed in the context of other similar expressions found in the Talmud.  For example, the Mishna in Masekhet Kiddushin (82a) establishes that “the best of the physicians belong in Gehinnom.”  There can be no doubt that Chazal did not mean this literally.  Rather, they expressed here strong condemnation of the phenomenon that was all too common in their day of physicians who did not approach their holy work with the responsibility and diligence it demands.  Similarly, Masekhet Sofrim, after making the aforementioned comment about “the most righteous of the gentiles,” then writes, “the most righteous among the women is a practitioner of witchcraft.”  Once again, Chazal could not possibly have presumed all pious women to be sorceresses.  They rather intended to sharply condemn the trend among the women of their time to practice witchcraft.  Likewise, when we find a similarly harsh remark made concerning “the most righteous among the gentiles,” we must understand it as a sharply-worded warning to be wary of even the more affable members of enemy nations.

            Rav Kasher further proves his point from other passages where Chazal actually speak favorably of the “kesherim she-be’Mitzrim” – the “righteous among the Egyptians.”  The Midrash (Shemot Rabba 18:8), for example, identifies the eirev rav – the peoples who joined Benei Yisrael when they left Egypt – as the pious Egyptians; Benei Yisrael welcomed them as converts at the time of the Exodus.  This comment leaves us with no choice but to qualify the other passages that speak derogatorily of “the most righteous among the Egyptians.”  As a sizable number of people from this group were ultimately welcomed into the ranks of Benei Yisrael, the comment calling for “killing” such Egyptians cannot possibly be understood as advocating wanton violence against them or any other group.  Rather, the Sages – particularly Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, who suffered for many years from the brutality of Roman persecution – warned Benei Yisrael to exercise caution before placing their trust in members of belligerent gentile nations.

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            We read toward the end of Parashat Vaera of Pharaoh’s response to the plague of hail, and his request that Moshe bring an end to the destructive plague.  Moshe prays to God and indeed the plague abruptly ends.  Thereafter, the Torah writes, “Pharaoh saw that the rain, hail and noises ceased, and he continued sinning…” (9:34).  Pharaoh’s retraction of his promise to let Benei Yisrael leave continues the pattern that has developed throughout this narrative, whereby the king surrenders in response to the plague, and once the plague ends he reneges.  However, the Torah’s description of Pharaoh’s reconsideration – “va-yosef la-chato” (“he continued sinning”) – is unique to this context, as it does not appear in reference to the earlier plagues.

            The Rashbam takes note of this expression, and comments that Pharaoh’s reneging at this point marked a new phase in his intransigent defiance of God: “Until now he did not intend to willfully sin.  But once he confessed in response to the hail, ‘I and my people are the wicked ones’ (9:27) – it now calls him an intentional sinner.”  According to the Rashbam, the description of Pharaoh “sinning” in this verse is a result – ironically enough – of the confession he made during the plague of hail, when he proclaimed, “The Lord is just, and my nation and I are the wicked ones.”  The Rashbam claims that once Pharaoh made this confession, his continued refusal to obey God’s command rendered him a willful sinner, a status to which the Torah refers when it says, “he continued to sin.”

            At first glance, these comments seem very difficult to understand.  Firstly, how can the Rashbam claim that “until how he did not intend to willfully sin”?  Hadn’t Pharaoh been already warned numerous times to let Benei Yisrael leave his country?  And even before receiving these warnings, did he not “willfully” subjugate and oppress Benei Yisrael?  Secondly, why does he now become a “willful sinner” by virtue of his confession during the plague of hail?

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, explains by taking a closer look at the meaning of Pharoah’s confession, “The Lord is just.”  Until that point, Pharaoh had defied God on ideological grounds, insisting upon his legal and moral right to enslave Benei Yisrael.  He felt morally entitled to subjugate them no less than people are granted the right to subjugate animals.  In Pharaoh’s mind, the slave nation was under his ownership, and this granted him full authority to use them in whichever manner he chose – including backbreaking, slave labor.  But once Pharaoh declared, “The Lord is just and my nation and I are the wicked ones,” he admitted that his stance was wrong.  This confession signified Pharaoh’s recognition of the fact that he had acted wrongly in persecuting another people.  This, Rav Ginsburg suggested, is what the Rashbam meant when he wrote, “Until now he did not intend to willfully sin.”  His sin until that point was “unintentional” in the sense that it stemmed from a flawed outlook and woefully skewed perspective on human rights.  Of course, he was at fault for harboring such an outlook, but his wrongdoing originated from a certain ideology, rather than sheer cruelty and disregard for other people’s rights.

            However, once Pharaoh acknowledged that his perspective was wrong, his continued crimes against Benei Yisrael assumed a different dimension.  At this point, he acted with “willful intent” in the sense that he knew very clearly that he was violating Benei Yisrael’s basic rights.  The Rashbam understood the phrase, “va-yosef la-chato” as indicating that Pharaoh did not retract his confession, but rather chose to continue oppressing Benei Yisrael despite his confession, despite his knowledge that he has no right to subjugate another nation.  Now, he sinned not as a result of a mistaken ideology or perspective, but rather “intentionally,” knowingly betraying God and violating the basic code of ethics with which God created the world.

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            The Torah in Parashat Vaera gives the following the description of the end of the seventh plague, the plague of hail: “Moshe left Pharaoh’s presence [and left] the city, and he spread his hands to the Lord; the sounds and hail ceased, and rain no longer reached the ground” (9:33).  Rashi, noting the peculiar phrase, “rain no longer reached the ground,” explains this to mean that “even those that were in the air did not reach the ground.”  God’s response to Moshe’s prayer was immediate and complete, such that even the raindrops and hailstones that had begun descending from the heavens stopped falling, and did not reach the ground.  This might also appears to be the intent of Onkelos, who translates this phrase as, “and rain that had been falling did not reach the ground.”

            The obvious question arises as to the purpose underlying this “miracle within a miracle.”  Why did God make a point of stopping the rain on its way from the heavens?  Would the event have been any less miraculous had the rain continued falling, but no new rain or hail was produced?

            One possibility emerges from the comments of the Midrash Hagadol to this verse, where it seeks to explain the unusual immediacy of God’s response to Moshe’s prayer.  The Midrash Hagadol takes note of the fact that Moshe had merely “spread his hands” – and had not even begun praying – when the hail stopped.  The Midrash offers the following reason for God’s swift response:

When Pharaoh saw this deviation from the natural course [that was manifest in the plague of hail], he began praising and glorifying [the Almighty], and saying, “The Lord is righteous!”  The Almighty does not desire praise from the wicked, and therefore, the Almighty did not let Moshe pray.  Rather, as soon as he spread his hands, he was immediately answered, so that this wicked man would not prolong his thanksgiving.

Whereas human beings enjoy hearing compliments and praise from any source, the Almighty looks kindly only upon praise offered by those who express it with sincerity and a commitment to His authority, and abhors disingenuous or hypocritical worship.  He therefore sought to end the plague of hail as soon as possible.  Knowing that Pharaoh’s outward, insincere change of position would quickly be reversed once the plague came to end, God answered Moshe’s prayer immediately as Moshe prepared to pray, so as not to prolong Pharaoh’s spurious demonstration of remorse.  (This Midrash takes the position that Pharaoh’s confession after the plague of hail was insincere; other sources imply otherwise.)

            Accordingly, we might suggest that for this same reason, God did not even allow the airborne rain and hail to reach the ground.  He was so intent on bringing an abrupt end to the plague, in order not to allow Pharaoh to continue displaying false piety, that all the plague’s elements stopped dead in their tracks in a single instant.

            Rav Moshe Feinstein (in Kol Ram, vol. 2), however, suggested that the suspension of the rain and hail served to present a model and example for us to follow.  God’s intent, Rav Moshe explained, was for us to learn to obey His commands the way He “obeyed” Moshe, as it were.  The moment Moshe petitioned God to end the storm, God complied – and ended the storm in the strictest sense of the term.  This kind of immediate and strict obedience exemplifies the level of compliance demanded of us with regard to the Torah’s laws.  God did not approach Moshe’s “instruction” with any kind of flexibility, figuring that He could simply stop producing new rain and hail, and allow the airborne droplets and stones to fall.  He instead responded with strict obedience, fulfilling Moshe’s request in the strictest, most precise manner – setting a standard of Torah observance that we ought to aspire to maintain.

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            After describing the end of the plague of hail, the Torah in Parashat Vaera briefly summarizes the extent of the damage this plague caused to Egypt’s grains.  It tells that the barley and flax were ruined by the hailstorm, while the wheat and spelt survived (9:31-32).  The reason, the Torah explains, is that the former two grains had already ripened and become solid stalks, which were easily shattered by the force of the hailstones.  The latter two, by contrast, take longer to ripen, and were therefore still soft and able to withstand the storm.

            The obvious question that arises – and which occupied a number of commentators – is why the Torah found this information worthy of mention.  Seemingly, it would have sufficed to simply write that the plague caused extensive damage to the nation’s agriculture, without specifying the particular fates of the different grains.

            On the level of peshat (the plain meaning of the text), perhaps, these verses provide the information necessary to understand a later verse, which, in describing the plague of locusts, relates that the locusts consumed “all that was left by the hail” (10:15).  The Torah informed us that some grains survived the hail while others were destroyed in order that we understand the later reference to the produce that the hail left intact.

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, suggests a symbolic explanation for the relevance of these verses in the context of the Exodus story.  In his view, the Torah sought to emphasize the ironic contrast between the vulnerability of the solid, ripened stalks and the durability of the soft, flexible, unripe grains.  The different fates of these grains are perhaps intended to convey a subtle message to Pharaoh – and to the reader – that obstinacy can often lead to destruction, whereas humble flexibility helps one survive.  A person willing to bend, yield, and lower his head in deference to the will of others stands a far greater chance of enduring and succeeding than the one who persistently demands getting his way.  The story of Pharaoh is the story of obstinacy based on pride and arrogance, which ultimately becomes his worst enemy and the cause of his downfall.  The Torah perhaps sought to underscore this theme by pointing to the durability of the wheat and spelt, which weathered the storm specifically through their flexibility and readiness to yield.

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            We read in Parashat Vaera that after the fourth plague that God visited upon Egypt, the plague of arov (wild beasts), Pharaoh summoned Moshe and offered to allow Benei Yisrael to sacrifice to God in Egypt, rather than leaving to the wilderness.  Moshe replied, “It is not proper to do this, for that which we shall sacrifice to the Lord our God is an abomination to Egypt.  Shall we sacrifice that which is an abomination to Egyptian in front of their eyes and they will not stone us?” (8:22).  According to the simple reading of the verse, Moshe notes that the sacrifice of cattle, which Benei Yisrael were called upon to do, was deemed repulsive by the Egyptians, and thus they could not possibly conduct such a ritual in Egypt without risking their lives.

            The Chatam Sofer, however, offers a very novel interpretation of this verse.  He was likely bothered by the question of why Benei Yisrael would have feared the Egyptians’ reaction to their sacrificing of sheep.  After all, Pharaoh had been brought to his knees after four plagues, and his offer to allow them to sacrifice in Egypt essentially amounted to a formal surrender of sorts.  It would seem, then, that Benei Yisrael would have nothing to fear by sacrificing to God in front of the Egyptians.

            The Chatam Sofer therefore presents a much different, and most surprising, interpretation, explaining Moshe’s comments as follows:

It is not proper for us from an ethical standpoint to do something which we know the Egyptians would be unable to tolerate and for which they would want to stone us.  Even though we know that, with God’s help, our hands are mightier than theirs and they would be unable to harm us, nevertheless, we cannot, ethically, do such a thing.

According to the Chatam Sofer, Moshe’s concern was not for the welfare of Benei Yisrael, who would suffer no harm by bringing sacrifices in Egypt, but rather for the welfare of the Egyptians.  Moshe claimed it would be unethical to offend the Egyptians’ sensitivities by publicly offering cattle, an act which the Egyptians found repulsive.  Even if this would cause no harm to Benei Yisrael, it would still be an improper thing to do.

            The Chatam Sofer’s reading becomes particularly surprising in light of the position taken by many commentators (including Onkelos, Rashi and Ibn Ezra) that Moshe refers here to the deified status the ancient Egyptians accorded to cattle.  According to these commentators, the Egyptians were repulsed by cattle sacrifice because of their pagan beliefs.  (The Rashbam explains differently, claiming that the Egyptians simply loathed sheep.)  And yet, the Chatam Sofer held that Moshe felt it proper to avoid infringing upon these sensitivities through a public display.  As gravely and fundamentally mistaken the Egyptians were in this pagan belief, Moshe still deemed it inappropriate to cause them distress by making a public spectacle of the sacrificial worship that would offend them.

            It must be noted that Moshe’s sensitivity turned out to be just a “hava amina” (initial thought).  Later, of course, God in fact commands Benei Yisrael to sacrifice the korban pesach in Egypt, and to even apply some of the sacrificial blood outside their doors as a public display of this ritual.  Despite Moshe’s concern, God ultimately decided that to the contrary, a public spectacle was necessary to show the Egyptians the fallacy of their pagan beliefs and the truth of monotheism.

            Nevertheless, Moshe’s concern – as understood by the Chatam Sofer – certainly reflects the extent to which we must ensure not to offend the sensitivities of other people, including those with beliefs to which we strongly object.  Difference of opinion does not authorize one to embarrass or offend those with whom he disagrees, regardless of how strongly and passionately he holds his view.