D’Var Torah By: Rabbi Jessica Kirschner

Last week’s Torah reading left the Israelites in a dark place: Moses and Aaron’s first appeal to Pharoah failed miserably, and the Israelites are now tasked with heavier work and fewer resources. They are angry. Moses is bitterly disappointed at this early setback and turns to God with a combination of anger and embarrassment that might feel familiar to anyone who has ever experienced a public failure: “O God, why did you bring harm upon this people? Why did you send me? Ever since I came to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he has dealt worse with this people; and still You have not delivered Your people.” (Exodus 5:22-23). God responds reassuringly: “You shall soon see what I will do to Pharaoh: he shall let them go because of a greater might (b’yad hazakah); indeed because of a greater might, he shall drive them from his land” (Exodus 6:1). This is the first time the Torah uses a phrase that is familiar to many Jews from the Passover seder: “With a strong hand (yad hazakah) and an outstretched arm, I (God) took you out of Egypt.” But reflecting on God’s “strong hand” while reclining at a festive seder table in 2025 is very different from Moses and the Israelites’ position in Parashat Va-eira. Here God is asking them to trust in something yet unseen: the promise of redemption from an invisible God who feels absent from their lives. For Moses, and especially for the Israelites, faith is a great risk in this moment, one they are not yet capable of taking. The people could not listen to Moses because “their spirits [were] crushed by cruel bondage” (Exodus 6:9). The medieval commentator Rashi analyzed this verse’s use of the word “ruach,” which can be both spirit and wind. He connects the two, saying “one’s spirit is one’s ‘wind;’ one who is in distress is short of breath and can hardly draw his lungs full of air.” In the last few years, we have seen the echo of this insight in protests following the murder of Eric Garner in 2014. His final words, “I can’t breathe,” came to embody his suffering as well as the experiences of People of Color in America who could not breathe freely because of the impact of racism. These evocative words unlocked something powerful, creating a channel of empathy and understanding, allowing millions of people to connect around what could have been an isolated tragedy. Many people have since picked up this slogan, detaching it somewhat from its original source, but keeping the words within our consciousness. There have been moments since October 7 when students talked to me about the campus atmosphere feeling suffocating; they experienced extreme polarity which sucked all the air out of the room. The rise of antisemitism we are experiencing is not the same thing as anti-Black racism, but it is interesting to note the way these phenomena manifest in our bodies. When we are feeling crushed by circumstances, it is as if we cannot breathe. It is difficult to imagine how something better could be possible when in that kind of distress, let alone envision a path to get there. God knows this. This week’s portion (and perhaps the entirety of Exodus) is an extended exercise in demonstrating that faith is worth the risk and the relationship between God and the Jewish People is worthy of hard work. God does this in ways that mirror how humans rebuild trust and reflects God’s power. With this dual approach, God builds back the Israelites’ faith in the covenant and establishes divine superiority over the Egyptian gods. Primacy over Egypt’s spiritual-political system is the more apparent process at work. At God’s command, Moses and Aaron turn walking staffs into snakes, which then consume the same conjured by Pharoah’s magicians. The stakes quickly escalate, with God unleashing plagues on Egypt. Pharoah’s magicians have some success mimicking the first plagues, but cannot keep up, and the perceived powers of the gods associated with each aspect of Egyptian life are overcome one by one. The more subtle story is how God and Israel reestablish their covenantal relationship. This is the narrative thread that matters more to us, because it is the sacred story we are still living through thousands of years later. While it will reach its culmination many chapters from now, when the Israelites accept the Torah at Sinai, the first steps of reconciliation and renewal are taken here. God’s actions offer a map we can follow when we seek to repair our own damaged relationships. God begins with some healthy self-awareness, choosing to be vulnerable (relatively speaking), by using a more private and intimate name. God roots the connection to the Israelites with the patriarchs, recalling a stronger stage in their relationship and pointing towards a desire for renewal. It is interesting to note that we also do this when we pray the Amidah-we reintroduce ourselves and remind God of our ancient connection through the merit of our ancestors before moving to present-day concerns. God goes on to demonstrate awareness and empathy for the Israelites and names an aspirational future as a vision God can hold for the Israelites until they can envision it for themselves. Then, God takes a step back, choosing to act through Moses, which allows the Israelites space to experience this renewed commitment without being overwhelmed. Finally, God is persistent, taking step after step to show the Israelites that God can be relied upon to follow through on commitments. While it may feel like the height of chutzpah to draw a direct parallel between God’s behavior at such a pivotal moment and our own lives and choices, it is worth remembering that. In Deuteronomy 5:33, we are commanded to “walk in God’s ways.” There is much insight to be gleaned from a close, sympathetic reading of our sacred stories. This is one of the many ways we can feel God’s mighty hand and outstretched arm reaching for us even today. What a privilege to be able to choose to reach back!