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VaeraPurimתשע״ה5775Parsha

Miracles Amazing Wonders

This week's Parsha discusses Moshe and Aharon's efforts to convince Pharaoh to free Bnei Yisrael, highlighting the miracles (Nissim) that occurred during the plagues and their significance.

The majority of this week’s Parsha speaks of Moshe and Aharon’s interactions with Pharaoh, and the various ways in which they, through Hashem, tried to convince him to let Bnei Yisrael leave Mitzrayim.

Of course the central feature of these efforts were the Esser Makkos, seven of which are discussed in this week’s Parsha. Prior to the actual Makkos, we also learn of the “Ossos” that Moshe performed in front of Pharaoh to show that he was sent by Hashem.

In fact, If we had to select a theme for Parshas Va’era, we could easily select “Nissim.” This Parsha is full of Nissim— from the Ossos to the Makkos. First we learn that the Matteh turns into a snake, and back into a Matteh, then Moshe’s hand becomes stricken with Tzaras, and immediately healed. In addition, each and every Makka had an element of Nes—the Jews were spared from the Makkos even as the Mitzriyim suffered immensely in the same exact circumstances.

Why is it that Yitzias Mitzrayim had to come through Nissim Gelyuim? Could not the same outcome be made possible through Nissim Nistarim? Imagine if circumstances similar to the story of Purim took place: Moshe grew up in Pharaoh’s house, he could have found favor in the eyes of the King and convinced him to free his brethren on the basis of Mercy. Why did Hashem specifically have to bring about such fantastic Nissim for the purposes of Yitzias Mitzrayim?

Even if we can understand that these Nissim were necessary, for one reason or another, the Nissim themselves were performed in an interesting manner: each had an element of Teva as well. For example: if Hashem wanted the water in Mitzrayim to turn to blood, he could accomplish that without Aharon striking the water—why was this element of Teva, a measure of human interaction, necessary for the Nissim of the Makkos?

It is vital to remember, as we have mentioned many times before, that the Torah is not a storybook—nothing is written just for the sake of letting us know what happened, so to speak. There are no literary devices either—not one word is written just for the sake of color, texture, background or rhythm. This being the case, we must understand why the Torah goes to such great lengths to describe each of the ten Makkos.

There were many events in the lives of the Avos Hakedoshim that are not written in Torah Shebiksav—anything that we do see in the Torah itself is there to teach us something. This must be the case when it comes to the Makkos themselves. As we learn these Parshios we cannot assume that the Torah is trying to tell us the story of the birth of our nation—there must be something that we can take from it. Just as the Makkos were a message for Pharaoh, they must hold a message for us as well.

I would like to suggest an approach that can help us understand the purpose and the nature of the Nissim as well as the reason that the Torah goes to such great lengths to record the entire story.

The beginning of our Parsha is really a continuation of Parshas Shemos, in which Moshe Rabeinu asked Hashem two questions: “Lama Hareiosa: why are you oppressing Bnei Yisroel?” and: “V’armru Li Mah Shemo, Ma Omar Aleihem: If they ask me ‘What is His [Hashem’s] name?’ What should I tell them?

The Medrah, brought by Rashi, explains that the first Pessukim in our Parsha were said by Hashem in response to those two questions “Va’era El Avraham, El Yitzchak, V’eal Yaakov, B’Kel Shakai, U’Shemi Hahsem Lo Nodati Lahem: I appeared to the Avos without revealing my name, other than the name Shakai.”

The Medrash explains that Hashem told Moshe that the Avos never asked what my name was, though Moshe felt a need to, and although they found plenty of tribulations in their lives, the Avos never asked “Lama Hareiosa.” The Medrash says that at this point Hashem said of the Avos: “Chaval Al D’Avdan, V’lo Mishtachin: Woe upon those who are lost and cannot be replaced.”

It would seem from this Medrash that Hashem was simply rebuking Moshe for his questions—which on his level perhaps displayed a lack of Emunah—but R’ Shimon Schwab offers a deeper insight.

The name of Hashem “Shakai” come from the word Dai: “enough,” as the Gemrah in Taanis says: “Mi Sheamar L’Olamo Dai.” This was the name that the Avos related to. R’ Schwab says that the Avos were satisfied with the word of Hashem—if they were promised something from Hakadosh Baruch Hu, they were absolutely secure in the knowledge that the promise would come true. He likens this to someone who has a large amount of money deposited in the bank on their behalf—he needn’t be holding the actual cash, the fact that it is in his account is enough to make him feel rich. So to the Avos were so secure in their Emunah that even a promise from Hashem was like money in the bank, so to speak.

For this reason, even when their experiences seemed to fly in the face of those very promises, they didn’t ask “Lama Hareisoa.” Avraham Avinu was promised the entire Eretz Yisrael: “Lecha Etnena, U’lizarecha.” Yet when it came time to find a burial lot for his wife, he met much opposition. Though these difficulties seemed to go against the Havtacha of “Lecha Etnena” Avraham assumed that the promise would yet be fulfilled—the word of Hashem was Dai.

R’ Schwab explains that at this point in history, as Hashem is speaking to Moshe, that Hanhaga no longer applied. No longer would Bnei Yisroel be satisfied with the word of Hashem alone, they now required a “Kiyum B’poel,” a physical manifestation of the Devar Hashem. The Shem of Shakai was no longer the prevalent Hanhaga, we had reached a point of Shimi Hashem—the name of Hahsem that represents direct and open Hashgacha. It was this change of status that Hashem was lamenting: “Chaval Al D’Avdan, V’lo Mishtachin.”

Perhaps it was for this reason that Yitzias Mitzrayim required such open, magnificent Nissim. Bnei Yisroel had entered the period of history that required the Hashgachas Hahem to be manifest; we needed to see that Hashem was interceding and pressuring Pharaoh to free Bnei Yisroel.

Of course Hakadosh Baruch Hu could have arranged events such that Pharaoh freed Bnei Yisroel without the Nissim Giluyim of the Makkos, but that would not have been more similar to the Shem of Shakai, and not the Hanhaga that was required at that time.

Why then was there a measure of Teva in each of the Makkos? Why was human interaction a necessary component of these Nissim, which served as an outward display of the Hasghachas Hashem?

R’ Shalom Schwadron explains that we only have this question because we don’t understand Nissim. He relates an anecdote to illustrate:

R’ Shalom was once speaking to a group of Balei Teshuva, and he was discussing Yimmos Hamashiach. He quoted the words of Chazal that in the days of Mashiach, fully baked loaves of bread will grow on trees—we will no longer have to toil to obtain food for it will be readily available. One of the members of the audience was incredulous, exclaiming that the idea of bread growing on trees is nothing short of fantasy. Surely no rational-minded person could think that the laws of nature would change just because Mashiach had arrived.

R’ Shalom’s responded to the young man: “And if bread grew on tress and I told you that one day bananas would sprout forth, you’d tell me the same thing.” He went on to explain that the question was based on the assumption that nature, Teva, is something that is understandable. If we look at the world and assume that there is a force called Teva, and things happen because “that is the way of the world,” than indeed the idea of Teva changing L’asid Lavo is out of the realm of possibility.

But, if we are true Maminim, this is not the case. If we live by the words of the Ramban: “Ain Bahem Teva…Shekulam Nissim”, then we understand that the same Nissim that puts fruit on trees in our times can cause bread to grow in the future. Teva is a figment of our imagination; in reality Nissim occur every second that we exist and those Nissim are at the whim of the Borei Olam—they can change at any time.

This is the case with the Nissim of Mitzraim as well. Only because we think that we understand the nature of Nissim do we wonder why the human interaction was necessary. If we would admit that we can not fathom the Darchei Hashem, we would soon realize that the involvement of Moshe and Aharon was not incidental—it was a necessary component of the Nissim, for reasons beyond our comprehension.

I think this is part of the broader message that was being sent to Klal Yisroel, and which echoes to this day.

Bnei Yisroel were entering a new period in our history, as R’ Schwab explained. From this point forth we could not be satisfied with the Dvar Hashem alone—we needed to see the Hashgacha before our eyes.

Hashem therefore brought the Makkos in a very open and public way—no one could make the mistake of asking “Hayesh Hashem Bikirbenu,” the Yad Hashem was readily apparent.

But the Makkos were also brought in a way that reminds us that we don’t always understand the Yad Hashem that we see. What may seem insignificant or extraneous—Moshe Rabeinu throwing ashes in the air to create Makkas Shechin, for example—was in fact an integral part of the Nes.

The message to Bnei Yisroel was clear: Yes, you do not live a life of Shakai, and you will be shown the Hashgachas Hashem in a more open manner. But do not make the mistake of thinking that you can fathom everything you see, there is much that cannot be seen or understood, which also comprises Hashgachas Hashem.

Perhaps the Torah relates this entire story to us in order to convey the same message. We go through our lives looking for the Yad Hashem. We find ourselves in situations that we realize are beyond our control and we yearn for Nissim. But we often miss the point—the Nissim are right in front of us, but we mistake them for Teva. We see people throwing ashes in the air, so to speak, and we can’t fathom that this may in fact precipitate the Nes that we so desperately long for.

We can take the lesson of the Makkos, of the Nissim to heart, realizing that the Yad Hahsem exists in everything that we do and everything that happens to us. The Geulos for which we ache are already underway, the Nissim are happening even as we search for them.