Parashat Bo

Although Hashem introduces the entirety of Parashat Bo with an instruction LiMa’an Tisapeir LiVinchah, there are many additional elements of the parasha that are individually singled out for their future didactic qualities. After detailing the process of Korban Pesach, Moshe calls together the Zikeinim of the nation and teaches them to smear blood on their doorposts. Moshe commands, “Ki Savo’u El Ha’Aretz, U’Shmartem Es Ha’Avoda HaZos,” presumably referring to the dipping and smearing of the Korban’s blood.

However, we know that the Bnei Yisrael are never again obligated to smear blood on their doorposts. Why then would Moshe command them to “keep” this Avoda in Eretz Yisrael? Looking ahead to the next pasuk, we discover that Moshe’s command actually doesn’t refer to Nisinas HaDam, but rather to the Korban Pesach itself. Moshe foretells:

When your children will ask, “Ma Ha’Avoda HaZos LaChem,” you shall say, “Zevach Pesach Hu LaHashem Asher Pasach Al Batei Bnei Yisrael BiMitzrayim BiNagifo Es Mitzrayim ViEs Bateinu Hitzil.”

Shemos, 12:26-27

So the Avoda kept, the Avoda the children ask about, is the Korban Pesach. This makes plenty of sense; the Korban Pesach has many unusual laws associated with it. We may not break its bones. We eat it with Matzah and Marror, and we eat it reclining. The children have many good reasons to be confused. But one slight difficulty remains; why does Moshe have to tell the Zikeinim about this instruction in correlation to Nisinas HaDam? We finished the bizarre details of Korban Pesach back in pasuk 20; if the child’s question is spurred by our obscure practices, then shouldn’t the pasukim transition from one to the next? All in all, what does the answer Moshe provides for the nation’s children – a resolution that comes to define the Zevach Pesach, not the Nisinas HaDam – have anything to do with dipping and smearing blood?

The answer Moshe provides for the children is itself a source of confusion. Why is it redundant? What does it mean that Hashem skipped our houses at the time that He saved our houses? Even if one understands the term Pasach to refer to mercy and not skipping (as Onkelos does), the redundancy might be resolved, but the syntax is shattered. The pasuk doesn’t say that Hashem had mercy when He smote the Mitzrim and saved us; rather, it reads that Hashem had mercy on us when He smote the Mitzrim, and He also saved our houses. If the effect of Hashem’s mercy is that He spared our houses, why do we have to specify the two actions with two separate clauses?

Perhaps the pasuk identifies Hashem’s mercy over the Jewish homes separately from His saving of the homes because they are two separate actions which actually happen at separate times of the night. We get so caught up in the presence of Makas Bechoros, the holocaust of an entire – and relatively advanced – civilization, that we overlook the other events of that particular night. But a close read into two seemingly contradictory Rashis reveals that there was more to the annihilation of Mitzrayim that night than “merely” the death of their firstborn.

ViLo Yiheyeh BaChem Negef: But there will be [a plague] amongst the Mitzrim. If a Mitzri was situated in a Yisrael’s house, one could imagine that [the Mitzri] might escape; therefore, the pasuk says “the plague will not be BaChem,” but it will be among the Mitzrim in your houses. [Perhaps] if there was a Yisrael in a Mitzri’s house, I could imagine that [the Yisrael] would too be smitten; therefore, our pasuk says “the plague will not be BaChem,” it will not affect us at all.

Rashi, Shemos 12:13

ViAtem Lo Seitzi’u, You shall not leave your homes [lest you be injured]: This tells us that after permission is given to a destructive force to injure, it does not differentiate between Tzadik and Rashah. And night is a time when injurious forces reign, as the pasuk says, “Bo Tirmos Kol Chayaso Ya’ar.”

Rashi, Shemos 12:22

With close analysis, the Mizrachi makes good sense of Rashi’s comments. On one hand, the Bnei Yisrael are told there is no significance as to whether they reside in their home on Pesach night; either way, they will not be affected by the Makah. Yet on the other hand, they are strongly warned not to step outside lest they be hurt. Granted, Hashem might have made each family stay in its home as a test of loyalty or observance, but if Hashem says the Makah won’t affect the nation, then what danger does Rashi comment about reigning at night and not differentiating between Tzadik and Rashah?

The Mizrachi explains that there was another danger aside the threat of Makas Bechoros. On the night of the first Pesach, HaKadosh Baruch Hu turned His Mazikim loose and gave them full permission to hurt anyone they pleased anywhere they pleased, even inside a private home. However, Hashem did remove this Reshus from one location, inside any home with blood smeared on its doorposts and lintel.

The Mizrachi explains that although the commandment “Lo Seitzi’u” technically should apply on even an ordinary night, for there might always be Mazikim outside. But there was an added importance on the first night of Pesach that the Jews be extra safe. Hashem was about to decimate all of Mitzrayim, and without scratching a single Jew, but His plan could only work if the injurious forces were restrained.

If we look closely in the pasukim, we see that the blood on the doorposts served a dual purpose. Like pasuk 13 states, ViRa’isi Es HaDam U’Pasachti Aleichem, Hashem would see the blood and have mercy on the Jews (additionally, he would skip over the Jews), thus saving their households from the terror of Makas Bechoros. Hashem expresses mercy on the people, no matter where they are, whether in their own home or a Mitzri’s. But in pasuk 23, Hashem’s mercy is no longer directed at the people; ViRa’ah Es HaDam… U’Fasach Hasem Al HaPesach ViLo Yitein HaMashchis El Bateichem LiNgof, Hashem pities the entrance. Perhaps what the pasuk means is that the Chemlah Hashem expresses for his nation in this pasuk only extends as far as the doorpost. In other words, Hashem can only guarantee that the Mazikim cannot harm Jews who stay indoors.

Looking even more closely at the pasukim, we can see a syntactical inconsistency between these two accounts, lending further proof to the presence of two harming forces. In pasuk 13, Hashem warns about the Negef LiMashchis, the plague that will damage, a clear reference to Makas Bechoros. However, in pasuk 23, Moshe says Hashem will not allow the Mashchis LinNgof, the damager to plague. The subject is no longer a Makah but rather an injurious entity that Hashem does not allow to hurt Jews. The pasuk wouldn’t say Hashem didn’t allow Himself to hurt the Jews in such a roundabout fashion, therefore, we can safely conclude that this pasuk refers to the Malachei Chabalah.

We can now make sense of Moshe’s answer for the future generations’ kids. The Bnei Yisrael tell their children that Hashem was Pasach Al Batei Bnei Yisrael, the lashon of mercy expressing the restriction of Mazikim to enter Jews’ homes. And when did Hashem forbid them? BiNagifo Es Mitzrayim, When He was hopping around house to house inspecting for Dam. Furthermore, ViEs Bateinu Hitzil, at that time, He chose only to attack the rest of the country with Makas Bechoros. Now the pasuk reads smoothly.

“Shimurim LiChol Bnei Yisrael LiDorosam”

Shemos, 12:43

[The pasuk says there will be a guarding LiDoros, for generations,] Meshumar U’Ba Min HaMazikin, [the fifteenth of Niasan] will be guarded from now onward from harmful spirits.

Rashi, Shemos 12:43

When Hashem showed mercy on Klal Yisrael and restricted Mazikim from entering their homes, He graciously extended the restriction LiDorosam, for that same night each year. Every Peasch night, we are granted a little extra safety and freedom. As a result of the one smearing of blood in Mitzrayim, every first night of Pesach we are exempt from reciting Kriyas Shema Al HaMita, and we are safe from harmful spirits.

The young child, enjoying a roasted Korban Pesach with his family in the Beis HaMikdash, is utterly confused. He does not understand what significance his reenactment of a century-old tradition bears. Granted, we can explain the Korban Pesach as a commemoration of past events, an expression of thankfulness we extend to Hashem. But instead, we acknowledge the Korban as an actual reliving of Yitzeas Mitzrayim, and we support our stance by describing the ongoing effect our actions in Egypt had on future Pesachs. And so the placement of blood on the doorpost is key to understanding not the significance of Korban Pesach – not the one in Mitzrayim but the one in the Mikdash. That one Nisinas Dam is what ultimately enables us to feel safe and feel free and we munch on our roast meat. HaKadosh Baruch Hu may have only taken us out of Mitzrayim once, but our obligation to experience that liberation is annual.

Parashat Va'Eira

At a glance, the departure of Makas Tzfardeya seems standard and uneventful. Paroh summons Mohe and Aharon to his palace, begs for the frogs’ riddance on condition that he let the Bnei Yisrael leave, and fails to fulfill his end of the deal. Just like every other Makah. Rashi punctiliously draws our attention to a very specific aspect of the account:

And Moshe said to Paroh, “Glorify [yourself over] me, for when shall I pray for you and your servants and your nation to remove the frogs from you…”

Shemos, 8:5

Had [the pasuk] said “when shall I pray,” if would have implied [that Moshe asked] what time [he] should pray. Now that it says “for when shall I pray,” it implies [Moshe] prayed today for the frogs to disappear on the day [Paroh] specified.

And [Paroh] said, “Pray today that they should be removed tomorrow.”

And Moshe went… and he yelled immediately that [the frogs should] disappear tomorrow.

Rashi, Shemos 8:5-8

By Rashi’s assessment, what separates this dialogue from the rest (and warrants it as one of only three dialogues between Moshe and Paroh recorded in this week’s parasha) is the fact that Moshe prayed a day early for the ending of the Makah. Rashi’s diligence to delineate this point seems a bit excessive. Once Moshe offers to pray on one day for something to happen the next, and Paroh obliges this offer, it should be readily obvious that Moshe screamed that day, and that he requested the frogs disappear the next.

Excessive nonetheless, the Chizkuni argues, the subtle point Rashi elucidates is key to our understanding of Moshe and Paroh’s relationship, or lack of one. Paroh suspected that each plague was a predictable – albeit supernatural – phenomenon that Moshe had carefully calculated. Moshe would therefore cleverly ask him “when would you like me to remove this plague” right at the end of each Makah, surely expecting him to reply, “right away!” Paroh requested that the Makah end “tomorrow” in hopes of proving Moshe to be a liar and Hashem to be a façade.

The Chizkuni’s analysis lends a beautiful quality of vindication to our story. Hashem is upheld as the all-powerful entity behind Paroh’s suffering, and Moshe is upheld as the heavenly messenger he truly is. But the Chizkuni’s pshat does not explain everything. For starters, one would expect such a challenge to originate from Paroh, yet it is Moshe’s idea to pray on one day for another.

There is another slightly more technical difficulty with these pasukim. Moshe unduly emphasizes the role of his prayer. If Paroh doubts that this Makah can end any day other than that day, why wouldn’t Moshe phrase his offer “when should the frogs disappear.” Granted, Moshe’s response is tailored after Paroh’s initial appeal (in pasuk 4, where Paroh himself says “pray to Hashem to remove the frogs”), but the Chizkuni does little to assess why Paroh himself would focus on Moshe’s prayers and Hashem’s omnipotence. With all due reverence to the Chizkuni, it seems likely that Paroh did somewhat believe in Moshe’s powers.

Rashi interrupts his commentary on these pasukim to elaborate on the nature of Atira, prayer. Rashi points out that the words Ha’tiru (pasuk 4) and A’tir (pasuk 5) are both hifil because all “Atira” is ongoing and not immediate. The term means to “increase” ones prayers, to pile and pile requests until Hashem has but no choice to listen. This is a fascinating point, but what does it have to do with our narrative?

Perhaps Rashi is pinpointing a different quality of our story’s dialogue. Paroh asks Moshe to pray on his behalf, but he expects Moshe’s prayers to take a while. Moshe will have to pour prayer on top of prayer before Hashem acquiesces. Insulted, Moshe replies “until when shall I pray for you,” to which Paroh responds, “you should spend the whole day praying, so that the plague will cease tomorrow.” However, Moshe leaves the city and “yells” his prayer. He dos not perform Atira; rather, with a short plea, he completes what is necessary for the plague to end. Paroh first insulted Moshe’s ability to communicate with G-d; ultimately, the insult of an unnecessary and extra day of frogs was Paroh’s just desserts.

With this understanding, we can make sense of Rashi’s seemingly superfluous comments. When Paroh says “tomorrow,” Rashi explains that Moshe should pray today for the plague to end tomorrow. But when Moshe yells to Hashem, Rashi says he yells immediately for the plague to end. The respective choice of these two contrasting words outlines the aforementioned discrepancy between Paroh’s orders and Moshe’s actions.

Most importantly, we discover how personally Moshe Rabbienu took Paroh’s challenge. Moshe harps on a seemingly harmless word, Ha’tiru, and turns it into his own personal triumph, making his own authority – and not just G-d’s – known to Paroh. As Hashem declares at the opening of our parasha, “Re’aih Nisaticha Elohim LiParoh,” Moshe is granted godly powers over Paroh, and when the acknowledgement of these powers is put into jeopardy, Moshe’s role is jeopardized as well.

Moshe Rabbeinu is not only an emissary of HaKadosh Baruch Hu’s. He is a leader of a nation too. The Torah we have today is narrated by G-d, but authored by Moshe, and it is through his eyes that we develop our understanding of this world and beyond. Moshe’s godly powers serve not only as a sheer exertion of will, but more significantly an earthly reflection of a greater Will. As Moshe develops into what the Rambam terms the Bechir Adam, the prototypical man, the Torah gives us a small glimpse into the qualities Moshe attains and the crucibles he must withstand.

And Rashi would be remiss not to draw our attention to it.

Parashat Shemos

And Hashem did good to the midwives, and the nation grew and they became very strong. Because the midwives feared G-d, He built them houses.

Shemos, 1:20-21

The opening chapter of Sefer Shemos undoubtedly sets the stage for the upcoming 39 perakim. Rashi explains that the “good” Hashem resolved to do for these midwives – Yocheved and Miriam – was not the growth of the nation, but rather the construction of “houses,” a euphemism for dignified households. A couple of individuals’ devotion to and awe of Hashem precludes both the prosperity of their people and a much deserved reward from heaven.

Rashi’s assumption that the growth of the Jewish people did not serve as sufficient reward is certainly justified, for the pasuk would then have written VaYairev Ha’Am, and He made the nation grew, instead of VaYirev Ha’Am, the nation grew all on its own. The Rambam points out, in his Peirush HaMishnayos, that when the Mishna in Pe’ah says that we partake of the fruits of some Mitzvos in this world while the principle reward is saved for the next world, the Mishna does not mean that HaKadosh Baruch Hu actively rewards us in both this world and next, but rather that the advantageous effects of our actions in this world do not replace the reward that ultimately awaits us. Therefore, the reward these midwives earn must be exclusive of their nation’s effectual growth.

But is Rashi warranted in assuming that the “houses” built in pasuk 21 is a specification of the reward alluded to in pasuk 20? Why would the parasha devote two separate verses to the same detail, and what necessity would there be to mention the nation’s growth in between?

Two potential answers come to mind, but both lack full textual support. The pasukim could intend to teach us the lesson of the Mishna in Pe’ah, that in spite of the worldly returns, a great reward still awaited these midwives. But then there would be no need to mention the midwives’ fear of G-d as the source of their reward (unless one were to posit that there is no reward for a Mitzvah without the necessary Kavana and fear of Hashem). The Ohr HaChaim HaKadosh suggests that the pasuk informs us that the nation grew so that we are aware of the large population who will someday esteem Miriam’s and Yocheved’s households. But would we then need to vaguely allude to the “good” Hashem did prior to accounting the population’s increase? Maybe both answers are correct.

Maybe we should consider whether these two pasukim, despite their overlap in content, truly carry a single unified theme. It is very possible that the first pasuk serves as the general conclusion to our perek’s story, whereas the second pasuk functions as a thematically appropriate epilogue. All we need to know at the conclusion of our story is that Hashem approved of the midwives’ actions, and that the actions had a practical effect as well. On the side, after we complete our story, the Torah teaches us that proper fear of G-d earns tremendous benefits and rewards.

Pasuk 21 certainly looks like an aside, being as these households are not established until much later in the nation’s history. It is of little surprise, then, that we discover pasuk 22 to also fall out of its chorological context! Paroh commands his nation to drown all boys in the river, and Rashi infers from the lack of distinction between Jewish and Egyptian boys that this edict was a special one, limited only to the day of Moshe Rabbeinu’s birth. However, Moshe is not conceived until the second pasuk of the next perek, so something in our parasha must be out of order.

Rashi’s interpretation of pasuk 22 has another interesting effect on the narrative of our first perek. All of a sudden, we discover that the decree to drown Jewish baby boys is never stated explicitly in the pasukim, although Rashi alludes to it on the words Hava Nischakima Lo. Rashi there questions the singular tense of the word Lo, given that the recipient of Paroh’s cunning was presumably an entire nation, and concludes that Paroh’s “wisdom” was aimed against Hashem. Paroh sought to kill the Jewish nation in a way Hashem could not mete punishment Midah K’Neged Midah; since Hashem swore to never destroy the world with a Mabul, Paroh deemed both himself and his nation safe.

The Sifsei Chachamim wonder why Paroh didn’t fear that Hashem would drown just him or his nation. They answer that part of Paroh’s initial plan involved hiring Jewish midwives as assassins; therefore, if Hashem were to punish any individual or nation for murder, it would have to be these midwives and their kin. It is evident then that Paroh’s plan to avoid Hashem’s wrath would presumably have worked (whether Paroh was actually aware that Ein Shliach Li’Dvar Aveira or not) had it not been for his later decree. On the day of Moshe’s birth, Paroh involves his entire nation with the slaughter of Jewish lives (since he undoubtedly no longer trusts the midwives to do so), and Egypt’s doomed fate is sealed.

Analyzing the Pesuchot and Stumot in our parasha’s first perek, we discover that the entire story – from Hava Nischakima Lo all the way until Paroh’s last decree – comprise a single story, the one that tells not only how Mitzrayim enslaved the Bnei Yisrael but also how they earned such a severe punishment. The story of the midwives is not a subsequent tale, an aftermath of the inevitable enslavement, but rather a development of Paroh’s plan to drown the Jewish children, resulting in the entire nation’s eventual involvement and guilt.

As Rashi argues, Paroh’s plan to drown the children is as cruel to the Jewish nation as it is callous to HaKadosh Baruch Hu’s unlimited power. It expresses the thought of actually outsmarting G-d. Even when Rav and Shmuel argue whether this Melech Chadash is really a new king, they agree that Asher Lo Yadah Es Yoseif means the king pretended not to know Yoseif. Whether our story introduces a new king or not, Yoseif was surely a household name and a national icon, and the G-d Whom Yoseif always acknowledged was surely of equal esteem. Our story’s “new Paroh” demonstrates a lack of fear in Hashem, and our story teaches the consequences of this loss of fear.

And so fittingly our perek ends with a dual epilogue, a contrast of two fates: that of the midwives; and that of Paroh and the Egyptian nation. Because the midwives feared Hashem, the pasuk meticulously specifies, they were rewarded. And because the Mitzrim lacked fear of G-d, because they thought they could outsmart Him, they were treated to a far less rewarding fate.