Parshas Yisro 5784
If you are partcularly familiar with something, you may comment that you know it “like the back of your hand.” But how well do you know the back of your hand, really? It’s worth taking a closer look, because hands can be a very valuable commodity. According to salary.com, the average salary for a hand model in New York City is well over $70,000.
But Yisro, for one, seems to hold hands in great disdain.
וַיֹּאמֶר יִתְרוֹ בָּרוּךְ ה׳ אֲשֶׁר הִצִּיל אֶתְכֶם מִיַּד מִצְרַיִם וּמִיַּד פַּרְעֹה אֲשֶׁר הִצִּיל אֶת־הָעָם מִתַּחַת יַד־מִצְרָיִם׃
שמות יח:י
And Yisro said, “Blessed is G-d Who saved you from the hand of Egypt and from the hand of Pharaoh. Who saved the nation from beneath the hand of Egypt.
Shemos 18:10
Yisro arrives on the scene and immediately praises Hashem for all He’d done for the Jewish People, liberating them from Mitzrayim. And he is fixated on hands. Yisro remarks that we were saved from the hand of Egypt, the hand of Pharaoh, and again, the hand of Egypt. And whereas the reference to hands could be dismissed as the appropriate figure of speech were it stated once or twice, appearing three times in one verse creates conspicuous emphasis.
Rabbi Ephraim Twersky offers a beautiful explanation based on a comment of the Chasam Sofer. The Chasam Sofer suggests that the most truly caustic element of the Egyptian servitude was the Jewish People’s perceived loss of their own autonomy. It is no coincidence, he explains, that the first episode that the Torah shares of the Jewish enslavement was the forced construction of the cities of Pisom and Raamses. The Gemara in Sotah (11a) explains that the etymology of these cities’ names suggests shaky and unstable foundations. Try as they might, the Jewish People’s building efforts were an exercise in futility; the ground upon which they built could not support any structures they attempted to erect.
This was the entirety of the Egyptian servitude—a sense that the Jews’ actions didn’t matter or make a difference. That they could never move the needle forward, that what they did had no impact on the world around them. It was an attitude embedded within the very caste system of ancient Egypt itself—that there was no such thing as upward mobility, no way out of the lowest rungs of society. If you were born a slave, you remained a slave, and there was nothing you could do about it.
Rabbi Twersky suggests that this is precisely what the Jewish People were liberated from. On the one hand, Yetzias Mitzrayim was a recognition of G-d’s control and authority over the world and all that it contains. Yet on the other, it was a reaffirmation of man’s role in how that world functions and operates, that what we do doesn’t just sink into the ground like a building built on quicksand. That when we endeavor to construct, Hashem allows those creations to be upheld.
Yisro’s reappearance in the Jewish camp is marked by the words “וישמע יתרו—And Yisro heard.” What, exactly, did he hear that prompted his return? Rashi explains that it was the two events of Krias Yam Suf and the war with Amalek. Rabbi Twersky offers an incredible insight. In both situations, the Jewish salvation occurred through miraculous means. But in both situations, the hands of Moshe had to be lifted in order for the miracle to occur. The message is clear—Hashem is ultimately in control, but He demands the participation of human beings. The miracle is just an offer on the table; the people need to reach out their own hands in order to accept it.
This, then, is Yisro’s preoccupation with the salvation from the hands of the Egyptians. Being saved from the Egyptians’ hands, from Pharaoh’s hands, meant a restoration of the Jewish People’s own hands. The hands that Moshe Rabbeinu lifted over the sea to cause it to split and the hands he raised towards the heavens to bring about victory over our enemies. The hands that build, construct, create, with lasting impact. Not in defiance of Hashem’s plans, but in consonance with them.
Faith in Hashem is a critical middah we must strive to develop and expand, particularly when it comes to our own accomplishments. We can arrive at a place of untold arrogance when we view only ourselves as the authors of our achievements. It wasn’t just us who built the practice, got the promotion, made a wise investment. There were more forces than our own charm in winning over a future spouse, more than our own acumen in turning a profit, more than our own skills in passing a test.
But the relationship between Hashem’s control and our efforts cuts in the other direction as well. Hashem endows us with ability, invites our participation, and also demands our efforts. Emunah and bitachon can serve as an unfortunate escape from the responsibility we ourselves are meant to undertake in advancing towards our goals and designing the lives we want to live.
I was once speaking with a close friend who was seeking a new position. I checked in with him at some point, asking how the job hunt was coming along. “Not going much of anywhere,” he responded, “Just how Hashem wants it I guess.” It was a disheartening thing to hear considering how little effort I knew he’d put in. There was more networking to do, more fine-tuning of his resume, a wider net to cast into the job market.
“It’s what Hashem wants” is the constant recognition we all must have that our own efforts have no impact on their own. But it cannot become a motto that permits us to abandon the great gifts and abilities Hashem Himself provided us with. There’s proper emunah and there’s misplaced emunah. Proper emunah provides context for the efforts we make; misplaced emunah let’s us off the hook from making those efforts in the first place.
Yisro identified the salvation from Egypt’s hands as characterizing what the redemption was about at its core. To be saved from their hands is to be returned to our own. The hands that play a role in creating a better life and a better world. The hands that helped to split a sea and defeated our enemies. The Egyptians robbed us of those hands, let’s not rob ourselves of the same.