The Birth of History, the Birth of Hope (Vaeira)
We find ourselves suspended between immense relief and aching pain. The release of three precious hostages from the grasp of terrorists brought tears of gratitude to our eyes, and we now cling to the hope that four more may be embraced by their families this Shabbat. Yet, we cannot ignore the haunting truth: 95 souls remain in captivity, their families bearing the unbearable weight of uncertainty.
This week we read Parshat Va’era, and I turned, as I often do, to the wisdom of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, z”l. He speaks of this Torah portion as containing the moment when history itself was born. What does this mean? God declares to Moshe: “I appeared to your ancestors as El Shaddai, but by My name Adonai, I was not known to them.” Rabbi Sacks explains, quoting Rashi, that while the name Adonai was used in Genesis, this revelation signifies something profound: a shift in the divine-human relationship.
God will no longer be a force observed but untouched. With this, God enters history, intervenes out of concern and declares, “I am with you.” Rabbi Sacks calls this realization “spine-tingling.” (I find his admission both enchanting and true). This is divine empathy, the moment when God says, “I care.” Paganism sought to appease the forces of nature; God enters to transform history, driven by love.
What does this mean for us? First, to know we are loved. Each day, we pray: “Ahavah Rabbah / With an everlasting love, You have loved us.” This divine love is not passive — it is active, filled with dignity and care. God enters history to free us from captivity, and we are called to extend that same freedom to others. We are agents of divine compassion, tasked with ensuring that all people are seen, valued, and treated with the dignity they deserve.
In this moment of in-betweenness — rejoicing for those returned and grieving for those still lost — we stand at the intersection of relief and heartbreak. We watched hostage families yesterday, their faces etched with pain and hope, trying to maintain their composure. We saw Orna, Ronen, and Daniel Neutra holding up their beloved Omer z”l’s radiant photo, knowing he was taken from them forever. They fought with an everlasting love for their boy — and they continue fighting that very same love for every other hostage.
This is what it means to live in the tension of history: to feel both the spine-tingling joy of redemption and the crushing weight of responsibility. We are called to be present, to act, to care deeply enough to ensure that dignity is not a gift for the few but the right of all. That is the model God sets for us.
Bring them home. Now.