Va’eira: Liberation in the Midst of Struggle — L’Chaim!
So much to talk about, so much to feel.
As we reflect on the Torah, we do so in the way our tradition commands: grounded in values, applied to the world as it is. Torah does not dwell in abstraction. It descends, as God descended at Sinai, into our lived realities. Even Moshe Rabbeinu, Moses our teacher, was not distant or detached. His words reached into the depths of human experience.
In this week’s Torah portion, the seeds of liberation are planted. God speaks to Moshe and commands him to deliver a promise of freedom to the Israelites:
“I will free you from the labors of Egypt, and I will deliver you from their bondage. I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and through extraordinary judgments.” (Exodus 6:6)
But when Moshe shared this promise of liberation, the Torah tells us,
“They would not listen to Moshe, because of their crushed spirit and cruel bondage.” (Exodus 6:9)
Rashi (10th century, France) teaches that they “did not listen,” but Ramban (13th century, Spain) offers a different and deeply nuanced view. He says they couldn’t listen — not because they didn’t believe in God, but because their spirits were so crushed by suffering that they couldn’t imagine freedom. The weight of their misery pressed down on their hearts, leaving no room for hope.
This resonates deeply in our moment. It is hard to imagine liberation when the world feels so broken. It is hard to believe in redemption when pain and fear dominate the headlines. A Jewish preschool in Australia is set on fire. Columbia University classrooms are stormed by masked anti-Zionist protesters explicitly supporting Hamas. A stabbing attack shakes Tel Aviv. Cruelty and injustice feel relentless.
And yet, our Torah teaches us that liberation is possible, even when it feels unreachable. Our ancestors’ inability to hear Moshe’s words did not nullify God’s promise. And just as they were eventually freed, we too must hold onto the belief that a better world is possible — even when it feels unimaginable.
So, I ask you: Can you breathe with me? Right now. Take a moment. Breathe deeply.
Because alongside all the pain, there is beauty. There is resilience. There is joy. We have seen it this week. Three hostages, long held in captivity, are back in the arms of their families. Communities across the globe stand together, amplifying hope through action. Organizations like UJA’s partner the Afya Foundation (https://afyafoundation.org/) distribute life-saving medical supplies to those in need, turning discarded tools into instruments of healing. These are the reminders of who we are called to be: bearers of hope and justice.
Even and especially when it can feel hard to breathe, we must. We breathe for those whose dignity is threatened. We act in prayer and body for those whose spirits are feeling crushed by despair. We act for those who are frozen by fear. This is who we have always been, and this is who we must continue to be.
Friends, Va’eira reminds us that liberation begins with imagination — with the audacious belief that things can and will be different. So, on this 474th day of war, I invite you to close your eyes and imagine a better world. Breathe deeply, and remember that even when it is hard to see the path forward, we are never alone.
A vignette, shared by a friend whose daughter was at the Tel Aviv bar where the terrorist attacked last night:
Half the bar ran for shelter when the attack happened. Half of those present kept eating and sharing time together, ignoring the attack. And, when the incident ended, my friend’s daughter returned to the bartender and said, smiling, “I’ve been waiting for my drink.” The bartender smiled back, saying “We called out your name a bunch of times,” and got her that drink. The night continued.
L’chaim, sisters and brothers. To life.
Our ancestors dreamed of a world where their children would be free. We are their dream. Now it is our turn to dream for our children, to act with courage, to lift each other up, and to keep believing that redemption is near.