THE ART OF BEING A NATION

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THE ART OF BEING A NATION

This is the story going around this week, from Rabbi Shner Guata, a true story, with a bittersweet ending. A Jew named Avi, a good-hearted, traditional, responsible, and kind Jew, would occasionally have dealings with mafia, or problematic individuals. Avi owned several bastas in Tel Aviv, where he also sold fruits and vegetables. (A basta is a stand at a market, like the stands in Machane Yehuda) One day, as Avi was arranging his tomatoes and cucumbers at one of his bastas, he noticed something unusual—a half-broken “Salkal” (a baby carrier). Inside was a crying baby, wrapped in a tattered cloth. Concerned, Avi began asking people around him, “Is this your baby?” but no one claimed the child. After waiting several minutes with no one coming forward, he noticed a woman with a scarf nearby, going through the garbage, picking out old produce that was still somewhat edible.

Avi asked her, “Do you know anything about this baby?”

The woman hesitated before admitting that the baby was hers. Ashamed, she explained that she was in desperate need, struggling to provide even basic necessities. Moved by her plight, Avi made an extraordinary offer: “Every week, come to my stand and take all the fruits and vegetables you need for your household.” Additionally, Avi gave her money every month, a bank transfer, to support her and the baby girl. The woman, overwhelmed with gratitude, began to cry. She thanked Avi profusely, calling him a Tzaddik, an angel of G-d.

For over 20 years, Avi continued this act of kindness, providing food and financial support without ever seeking recognition. The baby girl, who had been abandoned in desperate circumstances, grew into a young woman.

One day, Avi received a phone call. “Hello, Avi,” the caller said. “You don’t know me, but I have two things to tell you.” The caller introduced himself as Shimon, the groom of the young woman Avi had helped raise. Shimon explained that the girl, now grown up, was about to get married. He said, “I want to thank you for everything you did. You are an angel, a righteous man. When I asked this young woman about her past, I learned about you. She said that you not only saved her life but also gave her dignity and hope.”

Avi, overwhelmed, responded, “I’m no angel, and I’m not righteous. I just did what I could.” Shimon reassured him, saying that the girl was marrying into a stable family now, and he could take care of her going forward. However, Avi was reluctant to stop his support. “I’ve taken care of her all these years,” he said. “Please let me continue.”

Avi shared his own side of the story: years ago, he had been caught in a dangerous situation involving a gang in Tel Aviv. He narrowly escaped being shot and went to a prominent rabbi for guidance. “Should I move to United States? Maybe Miami?” The rabbi advised him, “You can’t run away from problems in life. You need to deal with them. Avi, you need merit. If G-d is protecting you, no one can hurt you. We know that G-d’s ways, is that, He pays back measure for measure. If you give life to someone else, G-d will give life to you. Look for someone to help in a way that brings life.” The very next day after speaking to the Rabbi Avi found the baby girl at the basta. He recognized the moment as Hashgacha Pratit, Divine Providence, and took it upon himself to care for the child and her mother. He concluded by saying, “For over 20 years, I gave them life, and G-d, in turn, gave me life. Please don’t take away from me the opportunity of giving. My life is on the line.”

Avi and Shimon agreed that they should think it over, and decide how to go forward, over the following three days.

By day three, Avi was shot by the mafia.

Avi was able to live for 20 more years, from the first time he was shot, until the second time that he was shot, because he gave life to another person.

Before his death, Yaakov commanded his sons,  הֵאָֽסְפוּ֙  Gather. He emphasizes the importance of unity, teaching them that when they are united, they will have the strength to achieve victory in any challenge or battle. When we care for each other, when we are one, no one can hurt us. How so?

There was once an old man who, before his death, called his ten children to his bed. He asked each of them to bring a thin branch from a tree. When they all brought their twigs, he gathered the twigs together, and tried breaking all the ten thin branches at once. But in a bundle, the thin branches, the twigs, were impossible for him to break. None of his children could break the bundle of thin branches, either. One by one, they tried, but none of them succeeded.

The old man then put down the bundle on the table. He picked up branch by branch, and cracked in half, one after the next. He gave each child his broken branch. Then he explained, “You see, it’s not a problem to break each branch, when each branch stands alone. But when the branches are bundled together, no one can break the branches. You’ve just learned an important lesson: when you are united, no one can defeat you. Alone, it’s much harder to succeed.”

In Egypt, we became an Am. The letters that spell Am, עם , are the exact same letters that spell Im, עם. Nation, and With, have the same letters, because a nation is as strong as the glue that holds the individual parts together. The shared experiences, shared goals, shared beliefs, shared lessons learned, shared space, the help through thick and thin, that’s the glue that keeps people together as a people. When Moshe saw that Datan and Aviram speak slander, he said, אָכֵ֖ן נוֹדַ֥ע הַדָּבָֽר Now I know why the Jews are still in Egyptian slavery. G-d wanted the Jews to go through Egypt, only that they can emerge a nation.  לָ֠ב֠וֹא לָקַ֨חַת ל֣וֹ גוֹי֮ מִקֶּ֣רֶב גּוֹי֒    If they speak slander, lashon hara, gossip, then they are not one, they are not a nation. And G-d will not redeem us, until we can all get along.

G-d himself is sensitive, and he expects us to be sensitive as well, even with the evilest of men. The Chatam Sofer interprets the verse, And He commanded them regarding the Children of Israel and regarding Pharaoh, king of Egypt (Exodus 6:13), as follows. Moshe Rabbeinu and Aharon are being commanded by G-d to approach Pharaoh.

Rashi explains that this teaches two lessons, how to treat the Jews, and how to treat Pharoah.  Rashi says that Moshe and Aaron were commanded to treat Pharaoh with respect. Even though they were about to bring upon him ten plagues that would make him regret his existence, they were still required to speak to him respectfully.

The question arises: Why show respect to Pharaoh? Wouldn’t it make more sense to humiliate him, given his wickedness? Why is it important that Pharaoh be treated with respect? He was corrupt from head to toe! The Midrash tells us that he suffered from leprosy and would bathe in the blood of 300 children daily—150 in the morning and 150 in the evening. He was a ruler who didn’t acknowledge all that Yosef did for his empire, the man who had elevated Egypt to great heights. Respect this wicked man? This is odd.

The Chatam Sofer explains, that Moshe and Aaron had to treat Pharaoh respectfully despite his extreme wickedness, because their lack of respect could absolve Pharaoh of his sins, and then the plagues that he deserves would not come upon him. If Moshe and Aaron were to humiliate Pharaoh, it would lead to his sins being forgiven. By treating him with respect, the punishment would come upon him in full measure. Even though Pharaoh was responsible for unimaginable atrocities, Moshe and Aaron, had to maintain dignity in their dealings with him.

It is not only that the Torah teaches us to have feelings for others. When we feel another’s pain, G-d considers it as if we went through that pain ourselves, and He atones our sins. This is why, when Miriam and Aharon spoke about Moshe, only Miriam was struck with leprosy. Aharon was not. Why? Because Aharon felt Miriam’s pain, G-d considered it as if Aharon received his punishment of leprosy as well.  וְהִנֵּ֥ה מִרְיָ֖ם מְצֹרַ֣עַת כַּשָּׁ֑לֶג וַיִּ֧פֶן אַהֲרֹ֛ן אֶל־מִרְיָ֖ם וְהִנֵּ֥ה מְצֹרָֽעַת׃  Aharon then asked G-d to forgive Miriam. When we visit the sick, and we pray for the sick, we are like Aharon. And G-d considers it as if we went through their pain and suffering, and G-d forgives our sins!!!!

The Torah describes the ninth plague that struck Egypt—the plague of darkness: “And Hashem said to Moshe, ‘Stretch out your hand toward the heavens, and there will be darkness over the land of Egypt, a darkness that can be felt.’ And Moshe stretched out his hand toward the heavens, and darkness covered all of Egypt for three days. No one could see their brother, nor could anyone rise from their place for three days. But for all the children of Israel, there was light in their dwellings.” (Shemot/Exodus 10:21-23)

The Torah tells us that this darkness was not ordinary; it was so thick and overwhelming that people were unable to move. But we have to ask ourselves, if the plagues increased in severity, leading up to the tenth and most devastating plague—the death of the firstborn—why was darkness placed so close to the final blow, the Plague of Firstborn? Unlike other plagues, darkness did not cause physical harm or financial loss, so why was it considered such a severe punishment?

The Midrash provides a profound answer: the plague of darkness was not only for the Egyptians—it was a judgment upon certain Jews as well. Throughout the first eight plagues, the Jews had witnessed G-d’s power. They saw miracles, signs, and wonders. But during the plague of darkness, a great clarification (birur) took place. Many among the Jews had become comfortable in Egypt. They held positions of power, enjoyed wealth and status, and did not want to leave Egypt at all. These individuals were so deeply attached to Egyptian life that they rejected the idea of redemption. G-d, however, did not want the Egyptians to witness the Jews that were dying during the plagues, as this could have led to a desecration of G-d’s name—the Egyptians might have said: “Just as we were punished, so too were they!” Therefore, G-d orchestrated the plague of darkness as a way to quietly remove four-fifths (80%) of the Jewish population—those who did not want to leave Egypt. While darkness covered the land, their bodies were buried out of sight. When the plague ended, only one-fifth of the nation remained—those who were ready for redemption.

The Midrash describes the thickness of the darkness using an unusual measurement: “The thickness of the darkness was like the thickness of a gold coin (dinar).” The Chidushei HaRim, asks, why was the darkness measured in money? Why not use a more common measurement like Kazayit, Kebeitzah? He explains, because wealth and materialism can blind a person. The Jews who refused to leave Egypt were blinded by their success and comfort. Even though they saw G-d’s miracles with their own eyes, even though they experienced firsthand how He struck Egypt while protecting Israel, they still chose to cling to their familiar lives. Their hearts were enslaved to Egypt, and so they were left behind. The Torah says: “No one could see his brother during the plague of darkness.” The Chidushei HaRim explains that this wasn’t only a physical reality—it was also a spiritual message. The punishment of Darkness, was on those Jews who adapted Egyptian culture, and did not see the suffering of their fellow Jews, their own brothers!!!

The Final Redemption will come when people care about one another. צִיּ֖וֹן בְּמִשְׁפָּ֣ט תִּפָּדֶ֑ה וְשָׁבֶ֖יהָ בִּצְדָקָֽה The Talmud discusses a debate about when the time for saying Shema in the morning begins. After the darkness of the night, one needs to wait till there is enough light, that one can see his friend within four Amot. (Berachot 9b) The Shema is a present experience of the future redemption, when G-d will be One and His Name will be One. וְהָיָ֧ה ה’ לְמֶ֖לֶךְ עַל־כׇּל־הָאָ֑רֶץ בַּיּ֣וֹם הַה֗וּא יִהְיֶ֧ה ה’ אֶחָ֖ד וּשְׁמ֥וֹ אֶחָֽד. (see Rashi Devarim 6,4) The end of the night, is the end of the Exile. The morning, the time of Redemption, is the time that we see each other, and the suffering of those around us. Why does someone seem distant, sad, or troubled? Why is that family in pain? Then, and only then, do we break free from darkness, and we will be freed from Exile.

About the author, Yosef

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