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God Entered Egypt So Moses Would Not Be Shamed

Pharaoh mocks the messenger God sent him. Shemot Rabbah says that insult forced God to enter Egypt personally rather than let His emissary be disgraced.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Sharecropper Who Mocked the Messenger
  2. Abraham's Covenant Was the Reason for Descent
  3. Egypt Learned the Name at the Giving of Torah
  4. Three Days Without Water
  5. God Sends an Angel After Betrayal

The Sharecropper Who Mocked the Messenger

Pharaoh thought he was humiliating Moses. He did not realize he was forcing God to enter Egypt Himself.

Shemot Rabbah tells it through a parable. A priest owned an orchard, but the orchard was ritually dangerous. A grave lay there. Impurity waited under the branches. So the priest sent someone else to collect fruit. The sharecropper mocked the messenger instead of honoring the owner's representative.

Then the priest made a decision that sounds reckless. He would enter the orchard himself, through every layer of impurity, rather than let his messenger be disgraced. That is the image Shemot Rabbah uses for the Exodus. Egypt was the unclean orchard. Moses was the messenger. Pharaoh was the sharecropper who thought the servant could be shamed without the master answering. The master answered by entering Egypt in person.

Abraham's Covenant Was the Reason for Descent

God had promised Abraham that after four hundred years his descendants would come out from the place of their enslavement. That promise was old by the time Moses arrived at the palace. But Shemot Rabbah reads the descent into Egypt not only as fulfillment of a schedule. It was also a defense of dignity.

Moses came as an emissary carrying a specific message: let my people go. Pharaoh shrugged at the divine name, I do not know this God, and sent Israel back to harder labor. That response was not merely political refusal. It was a public statement that the God who sent Moses was not worth acknowledging. Heaven heard more than diplomatic rejection. Heaven heard an emissary being dismissed in front of a court.

When the one who sent the emissary enters the scene personally, the terms change. The plagues are not only pressure on Pharaoh. They are God appearing in Egypt in a way that cannot be dismissed, announced, and unmistakable.

Egypt Learned the Name at the Giving of Torah

The descent into Egypt set up more than liberation. Shemot Rabbah reads the Exodus as preparation for Sinai. Israel could not receive Torah without first being freed. A people living under Pharaoh's total authority could not stand at a mountain and accept the authority of a different law. The sequence is not accidental: God enters Egypt, defeats Pharaoh, leads Israel out, and only then brings them to the mountain.

Egypt itself becomes part of the Torah's introduction. The first of the Ten Commandments does not say I am God who created heaven and earth. It says I am the Lord your God who brought you out of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. The name by which God is introduced at Sinai is the name Israel learned at the Red Sea. The liberation story is the credential that earns the right to give the law.

Three Days Without Water

Israel crossed the sea and came into the wilderness of Shur and walked for three days without finding water. Three days without water in a desert is not a delay. It is a crisis. They came to Marah, where there was water, and could not drink it because it was bitter. The people complained to Moses. Moses cried out to God. God showed him a tree. Moses threw it into the water and the water became sweet.

Shemot Rabbah reads the three-day drought as a test of the same faith that had just been demonstrated at the sea. The people who had watched the Egyptian chariots sink under the waves were now standing in front of undrinkable water three days later, unable to sustain the certainty they had felt on the other side. The test comes not on the hard days but immediately after the miracle, when the miracle is already behind them and the body is thirsty and the next provision is not yet visible.

God Sends an Angel After Betrayal

When Israel built the Golden Calf and God's anger burned against them, the covenant came to a crisis. God told Moses: go up to the land I promised you. I will send an angel before you. But I will not go in your midst because you are a stiff-necked people and I might consume you on the way.

The angel is not a consolation prize. In the structure of the covenant, direct divine presence has always been the sign of closeness. An angel in place of that presence is a withdrawal. Shemot Rabbah hears in that offer the distance created by betrayal. The God who entered Egypt personally because Moses should not be shamed now proposes to send a representative because Israel has done what Pharaoh refused to do: they have turned from the one who brought them out.

Moses refuses to accept the angel. He presses for the presence itself. The negotiation that follows is Moses's greatest act of intercession, and it results in God's face going with Israel after all. But the offer of the angel is the shadow in the story, the moment where the personal entry into Egypt and the withdrawal after the calf are placed in sequence, and the story holds both at once.


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Shemot Rabbah 15:19Shemot Rabbah

As we explore Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, we find a particularly beautiful and insightful answer.

This teaching presents an alternative interpretation, focusing on kavod, honor. For whose sake, the Rabbis ask, did God reveal Himself? The answer: for Moses’s sake.

To illustrate this, Shemot Rabbah presents a parable. Imagine a kohen, a priest, who owns a fig orchard. Now, a priest must remain ritually pure, and this orchard contains a grave that has been plowed over. This creates a problem, because contact with a dead body causes ritual impurity. Since it's uncertain if there are bones in the soil, the priest is prohibited from entering the orchard.

He really wants some figs, so he sends someone to tell the sharecropper, "The owner of the orchard says to bring him two figs." But the sharecropper scoffs, "Who's the owner? Get back to work!"

Frustrated, the priest declares, "I will go to the orchard myself!" People warn him, "You're going to an impure place!" But he responds, "Even if there are a hundred sources of impurity, I will go, because my emissary will not be disgraced!"

See what's happening here? The priest's honor is at stake.

This parable, according to Shemot Rabbah, reflects the relationship between God and Moses. When Israel was enslaved in Egypt, God sent Moses to Pharaoh, saying, "Go, and I will send you to Pharaoh" (Exodus 3:10). But Pharaoh rebuffed Moses, declaring, "Who is the Lord that I should heed His voice? I do not know the Lord" (Exodus 5:2), and ordering him back to his burdens (Exodus 5:4).

Imagine that moment. Moses, God’s chosen emissary, humiliated.

According to this midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), God then says, "I will go to Egypt," as it is stated, "A prophecy of Egypt: Behold, the Lord is riding upon a swift cloud and is coming to Egypt" (Isaiah 19:1). The ministering angels question this, asking, "You are going to Egypt, to a place of impurity?" God responds, "I will go, and My emissary Moses will not be disgraced!"

And that’s what we see in (Exodus 6:13), "The Lord spoke to Moses and to Aaron in the land of Egypt, saying.."

So, it wasn’t just about saving the Israelites. It was about upholding the honor of His chosen leader, Moses. God’s presence in Egypt, amidst the impurity and oppression, was a direct response to the potential disgrace of His emissary.

It's a powerful idea, isn't it? That divine action can be motivated not just by grand cosmic purposes, but also by the very human concern of not letting someone down, of protecting their dignity. It reminds us that even in the grand sweep of history, the personal, the relational, matters deeply to God. next time you feel like your efforts are being dismissed or your voice isn't being heard. Perhaps, in ways we can't always see, the Divine is working to ensure that you, too, are not disgraced.

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Shemot Rabbah 15:27Shemot Rabbah

Shemot Rabbah turns to Abraham, Moses at the Dawn of Creation.

What does this seemingly simple phrase really mean? It’s more than just marking time. It's a key to understanding God's relationship with Israel, and the grand plan unfolding.

One interpretation in Shemot Rabbah connects "This month shall be for you" back to God’s earlier promise to Abraham. Remember God's words to Pharaoh: "Israel is My firstborn son… Let My son go, and he will serve Me; and you have refused to let him go. Behold, I will kill your firstborn son" (Exodus 4:22–23). It sounds harsh, doesn't it? But the text emphasizes that God "declares the end from the beginning" (Isaiah 46:10). Even way back with Abraham, God foresaw this moment of reckoning.

The text draws a parallel to (Genesis 15:14), where God says, "Also that nation, whom they will serve, I will judge [dan]." What’s the connection? The Sages cleverly link dan (judge) to the plague of the firstborn, which is referred to as an affliction [nega] in (Exodus 11:1). It's like God is saying, "I will exact retribution from them with the plague of the firstborn."

This "sign," this promise and warning, wasn't just a one-time thing. According to this Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), God passed it down: Abraham to Isaac, Isaac to Jacob, Jacob to Levi, Levi to Kehat, Kehat to Amram, and finally, Amram to Moses. Moses held onto this knowledge as he confronted Pharaoh. This idea, that divine promises are passed down through generations, waiting for their moment to bloom, is so powerful.

But why call Israel God's "firstborn son?" Rabbi Ḥiyya offers a beautiful explanation: They are sons whose fathers blessed them with their actions. Abraham, for instance, was blessed by God as "Abram to God the Most High" (Genesis 14:19). Or, perhaps it's because Jacob, through some crafty maneuvering, acquired the birthright from Esau.

Another interpretation cuts straight to the chase: God is essentially telling the wicked Pharaoh, "Don't you know how much I value the firstborn?" After all, the Torah itself says, "Do not work your firstborn ox" (Deuteronomy 15:19). To mistreat the firstborn is a serious offense. Pharaoh's oppression of Israel, God's "firstborn," demanded justice.

The Shemot Rabbah even uses the analogy of a king facing rebellion in ten provinces to explain the Ten Plagues. The king, with two generals (Moses and Aaron), conquers the provinces. But how to record the victories? If the king only records them in his name, the generals aren't honored. If he only records them in their names, he excludes himself. So, they divide the victories, with one extra – the plague of boils – shared among all three.

The boils "upon the magicians [baḥartumim]" (Exodus 9:11) are written defectively in the Hebrew, missing a yod. The Midrash suggests this hints that the plague afflicted their angel on high, weakening their ability to resist. It's a fascinating detail that adds another layer to the story.

And let's not forget the frogs! The frogs didn't just annoy the Egyptians. They "destroyed them" (Psalms 78:45) – even castrating them! (Ew. ) The frogs were essentially mocking the Egyptians' attempts to prevent Israel from procreating, asking, "The image of their God is nullified, and yours [your ability to procreate] remains intact?" It's a rather graphic, but potent, image of divine justice.

Then there's the plague of wild beasts [arov]. The Shemot Rabbah connects this to the Egyptians' promiscuous behavior – "one man consorted with ten women, and ten men consorted with one woman." Therefore, God brought a mixture [irbuvya] upon them. It's a reminder that morality and societal order are deeply intertwined with divine favor.

Finally, the Midrash returns to the idea of Israel as the "firstborn." Just as the firstborn son receives a double portion, Israel inherits two worlds: this world and the World to Come. This is why God gave the secret of calculating the waxing and waning of the moon to Israel, while idolaters count by the sun. The sun, like their dominion, is limited to the day. The moon, however, shines both day and night, symbolizing Israel's enduring presence in both this world and the next.

So, when we read "This month shall be for you," it’s not just about a calendar. It’s about promise, inheritance, and the unwavering connection between God and the people of Israel. It’s a reminder that even in the darkest of times, the light of redemption is always on the horizon, just like the ever-present moon.

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Shemot Rabbah 17:4Shemot Rabbah

Shemot Rabbah turns to Egypt, Giving of the Torah.

Shemot Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, gives us a glimpse into the night of the final plague, the slaying of the firstborn. It’s a stark reminder that liberation came at a heavy cost.

The Torah tells us, "The Lord will pass to smite Egypt" (Exodus 12:23). But how did this happen? Some say an angel was the instrument of God’s wrath. Others, according to Shemot Rabbah 17, suggest that the Holy One, blessed be He, Himself, carried out the act. And the impact was…unfathomable.

The text asks, “To smite [lingof]?” What does this seemingly simple word imply? According to the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), it teaches us that the plague's impact went far beyond just the firstborn sons. Lingof, the text argues, is connected to pregnant women. It says that even pregnant women miscarried and mothers died, and the destroyer emerged and harmed everything it found. The verse “And they strike [venagefu] a pregnant woman” (Exodus 21:22) becomes a chilling echo.

While the Holy One, blessed be He, was destroying the firstborn of Egypt, what were the Israelites doing? They were doing everything God commanded through Moses and Aaron, as it is stated: “The children of Israel went and did as the Lord had commanded Moses and Aaron” (Exodus 12:28). Obedience, in the face of such overwhelming power, was their act of faith.

Shemot Rabbah uses a powerful analogy to illustrate the scene: Imagine a king traveling by sea with his sons, surrounded by pirate ships. The king, instead of cowering, proclaims, "Here are my giant spears, all prepared, with which I pass over the sea waves and do battle!" This is how the Holy One, blessed be He, was with His children in Egypt. The Egyptian camps plotted against them all night, but God declared, "Such wicked ones, are you plotting against My children? My giant spears are prepared!" As it is stated: “He saved them for His name’s sake” (Psalms 106:8).

Think about this: The Israelites were busy with their own preparations – roasting the Paschal offering, sprinkling blood on their doorposts, reciting Hallel (psalms of praise), and learning the laws of Passover. All the while, the Holy One, blessed be He, was unleashing the final plague.

The Midrash then makes a profound statement: God was distinguishing so that the blood of the impure would atone for the blood of the pure. The death of the Egyptian firstborn atoned for the firstborn of Israel. It cites (Psalms 34:23), “The Lord redeems the soul of His servants.”

Even as they were grinding and kneading their matzot (unleavened bread), a symbol of their haste to leave Egypt, the Holy One, blessed be He, was “uprooting the plants” of Egypt. The Midrash connects this to (Psalm 7:7): “Arise, Lord, in your anger [lift Yourself up in indignation [be’avrot] against my adversaries].” Be’avrot, indignation, is expounded as though it were be’ubarot, meaning fetuses. A truly devastating image of complete and utter destruction.

So, what does this all mean? The Exodus wasn't just a simple story of freedom. It was a cataclysmic event, a moment when divine justice and mercy were intertwined in a way that's both awe-inspiring and terrifying. It challenges us to consider the true cost of liberation and the immense power of the God who brought it about. It reminds us that even in moments of profound joy and celebration, like Passover, we must remember the depth of suffering that paved the way.

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Shemot Rabbah 21:4Shemot Rabbah

We pour our hearts out, sometimes in joy, sometimes in desperation. But is anyone actually listening?

The Book of Exodus Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, tackles this very question in a surprisingly beautiful way. It focuses on the verse where God asks Moses, “Why are you crying out to Me?” (Exodus 14:15). It's as if God is saying, "I hear you, but your people need me now!"

There's more to it than meets the eye.

The Rabbis, in Shemot Rabbah (another name for Exodus Rabbah), explore the idea of God as the "Hearer of prayer," drawing from (Psalms 65:3), "Hearer of prayer, to You all flesh will come." What does it even mean to be a hearer of prayer?

Rabbi Pinhas, in the name of Rabbi Meir, and Rabbi Yirmeya, in the name of Rabbi Hiyya bar Abba, offer a stunning image. They explain that when the Jewish people pray, they don't all pray together as one unified voice. Instead, each congregation prays separately, one after the other. So far, so familiar. But here’s where it gets truly amazing. After all the congregations finish, an angel, specifically appointed over prayers, gathers all of those prayers. And what does this angel do? It weaves them into crowns and places them on the head of the Holy One, blessed be He! Our collective prayers, with all their individual hopes, fears, and longings, become a glorious crown for God. The text connects this idea to the verse "To you [adekha] all flesh will come," explaining that adekha means nothing other than crown, just as in (Isaiah 49:18), "You shall clothe yourself with them all, as with an ornament [ke’adi]." It’s a powerful visual of our connection to the Divine. As (Isaiah 49:3) says, “Israel, in whom I will be glorified”--God adorns Himself with our prayers, like (Ezekiel 16:12) says, “And a beautiful crown upon your head.”

Isn’t that incredible?

The text then offers another interpretation of "Hearer of prayer." You know, we humans can struggle to listen to multiple people at once. But God? God hears everyone simultaneously. Every single prayer, every whispered hope, every silent tear.

And there's still more! Rabbi Yehuda bar Shalom, in the name of Rabbi Elazar, points out something profound about human nature. We tend to favor the wealthy, the powerful. But God isn't like that. Before God, everyone is equal: women, slaves, the poor, the wealthy. Everyone. To illustrate this, the text draws a parallel between Moses, the greatest of prophets, and the poor. (Psalms 90:1) is titled “A prayer of Moses the man of God,” while (Psalms 102:1) is titled “A prayer of the poor man when he suffers, and pours forth his words before the Lord.” The message? Everyone is equal in prayer before God.

This brings us back to the original question: "Why are you crying out to Me?" God wasn't ignoring Moses. Instead, God was highlighting the power of the people's collective prayer. They were in distress, facing the might of Pharaoh, and they cried out. And God heard them. As the text says, "My children have already prayed and I have heard their prayer."

So, the next time you pray, remember the image of the angel weaving our prayers into crowns for God. Remember that you are heard, you are seen, and you are part of something bigger than yourself. And remember that your voice, no matter who you are, matters. It rises up, joins with countless others, and becomes part of the divine tapestry.

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Shemot Rabbah 24:1Shemot Rabbah

The Israelites, fresh from their miraculous escape from Egypt, certainly did. The book of Exodus tells us, "Moses led Israel from the Red Sea and they went out to the wilderness of Shur. They walked three days in the wilderness and did not find water” (Exodus 15:22). But Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic homilies on the Book of Exodus, sees something more in that simple phrase, "Moses led Israel." It wasn't just a geographical leading, but a reluctant one.

The text suggests the people weren't exactly willing to leave the sea. Why? Because even after witnessing the parting of the Red Sea, the drowning of the Egyptian army, and God's overwhelming protection, they were… ungrateful. The text interprets the phrase "Moses led Israel" to imply that they didn't want to go! Moses had to make them move on from the sea. The nerve!

How ungrateful were they? Well, Rabbi Sheshe son of Rabbi Abba saw the verse "Do you thus requite the Lord?" (Deuteronomy 32:6) and creatively interpreted it. He wrote the heh – ה – (a letter in the word "Do…the Lord" – הלה) slightly apart, suggesting it stood for its own word: "Alas!" – expressing sorrow. Alas, do you repay God this way? After everything? God split the sea into twelve paths, submerged the Egyptians, rescued the Israelites, and even gave them the Egyptians' silver and gold! Ginzberg, in Legends of the Jews, vividly recounts these miracles. God fed them for forty years, protected them from enemies, serpents, and scorpions, and illuminated their path with a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, as we read in (Exodus 13:21). And yet...

In Shemot Rabbah, they forgot all these miracles. They even carried Mikha's idol with them across the sea! And, even worse, they spoke contentiously toward God. The text cites II (Samuel 7:23): “Whom You redeemed for You from Egypt, nations and their gods.” The rabbis interpret this verse to mean that God took from Egypt not only Israel but also "its gods," referring to Mikha's idol. The audacity!

(Psalm 106:7) says, “They were defiant at the sea, in the Red Sea.” Why the repetition? The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) asks. The rabbis explain that they were defiant at the sea because they didn't want to descend into it. Only the tribe of Judah, with their characteristic courage, jumped in first, sanctifying God's name.

But the defiance continued in the Red Sea! The ground was muddy, like mortar – "homer" in Hebrew. Reuben complained to Simeon that Egypt was bad enough when they were forced to make mortar. Now, even in the sea, they couldn’t escape the mortar! (Habakkuk 3:15). It was as if they were determined to find something to complain about, even in the midst of a miracle.

Rabbi Shimon ben Ḥalafta offers a powerful thought. If the mightiest is below and the weakest above, the one above will win. How much more so when God, the mightiest of the mighty, is above, and we, mere mortals, are below? Shouldn't we understand our place and submit to Him?

Rabbi Taḥalifa of Caesarea, quoting Rabbi Pila, brings it down to a personal level. Think about how many miracles God performs for you every single day, miracles you don't even notice. Like saliva, which allows us to swallow our food without scratching our throats. We take it for granted!

The text concludes by emphasizing that after all these miracles, the Israelites still refused God. (Psalm 106:7) is quoted again: "They were defiant at the sea, in the Red Sea." At that moment, the angel of the sea became enraged and wanted to destroy them, but God rebuked the sea and the waters dried up (Nahum 1:4; Psalms 106:9). Seeing all this, Moses led them away from the sin at the sea. That's why it says, "Moses led Israel."

So, what's the takeaway? Perhaps it's a reminder to appreciate the miracles in our own lives, both big and small. To recognize the hand of God in our daily existence. And to be a little less like those ungrateful Israelites at the Red Sea. After all, how often do we forget the blessings we've been given and focus instead on what we lack? How often do we need a Moses to lead us away from our own "sins at the sea?" It's a question worth pondering.

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Shemot Rabbah 32:2Shemot Rabbah

In Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, we find a fascinating exploration of this very question. It begins with a verse: "Behold, I am sending an angel before you" (Exodus 23:20). But then it veers off into a seemingly unrelated passage from Jeremiah: "How shall I place you [ashitekh] among the children?" (Jeremiah 3:19). What's the connection?

The rabbis ingeniously link these verses through the word ashitekh. They suggest that it carries a hidden meaning of animosity. God is essentially saying, "From the moment you stood at Sinai and received the Torah, I have loved you... so how can I now treat you with animosity? How can I place you among the nations in a way that feels like rejection?" It's a powerful question, hinting at the complex relationship between God and Israel.

Rabbi Yehoshua offers another interpretation: ashitekh implies obligation. He connects it to the verse, "In accordance with all that shall be imposed [yushat] upon him" (Exodus 21:30). In other words, by accepting the Torah, Israel obligated themselves to follow God's commandments. Rabbi Berekhya adds a darker shade, linking ashitekh to "briers and thistles [shayit]" (Isaiah 5:6), suggesting a sense of self-inflicted desolation.

The narrative doesn't dwell solely on the negative. The text immediately pivots to the idea of a "desirable land" [eretz ḥemda]. Why is it called desirable? One reason, the text suggests, is because the Temple is located there, "the mountain that God desired [ḥamad] for His abode" (Psalms 68:17). It’s a place that God Himself chose.

The text continues, the rabbis suggest that it's desirable because kings throughout history have coveted it. Can you imagine, between Ai and Jericho, a mere three mil (a few miles), there were separate kingdoms, each vying for control of this precious land.

But there's more. It's a land that was made desirable for the patriarchs – Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. God commanded them to live there, promising them the land. As we find in (Genesis 12:1), God tells Abraham, "Go from your land…[to the land that I will show you]." And to Isaac, God says, "Reside in this land" (Genesis 26:3). Even in death, Jacob's desire was to be transported from Egypt and buried in the Land of Israel (Genesis 47:30).

Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish offers a profound reason for this desire: those buried in the Land of Israel will be resurrected first in the messianic era. That's quite a powerful statement about the land's unique spiritual significance!

Then comes the phrase "a magnificent inheritance [naḥalat tzevi]." Why is the land compared to a gazelle [tzevi]? The text offers several explanations. First, just as a gazelle's hide can barely contain its flesh, so too, the Land of Israel's bounty is so abundant it can barely contain its produce. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, When the people of Israel are deserving, the land produces great bounty without requiring hard work. Second, just as a gazelle is easy to eat, so too, the produce of the Land of Israel is easy to enjoy. Finally, just as a gazelle is swift, so too, the Land of Israel's produce ripens faster than in other lands.

And why is all this so? The Holy One, blessed be He, says to Israel, "So that My name will be uniquely associated with you." A profound and intimate connection.

But then comes a lament. "I said: You shall call Me my Father, and do not turn back from following Me" (Jeremiah 3:19), but you did not do so. Instead, "indeed, a woman has betrayed her lover" (Jeremiah 3:20). The rabbis emphasize that it doesn't say "her husband," but "her lover." The relationship is portrayed as one of choice, not obligation. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Simon poignantly says, If only they were like a woman to her lover. For as long as he gives her a wage, she obeys him; if he stops giving her wage, she says to him: ‘Was I not subservient to you only for the wage?’ So, the Holy One blessed be He said to Israel: ‘Have I withheld anything from you such that you have rejected Me?’

Finally, the narrative returns to the original verse: "Behold, I am sending an angel." The Holy One, blessed be He, says to Israel: "Had you merited, I, Myself, would have become a messenger for you, just as I did in the wilderness, as it is stated: 'The Lord was going before them by day' (Exodus 13:21). Now that you did not merit, I am passing you to a messenger." It's a reminder of what could have been, and a call to strive for a closer relationship with God.

So, what does all this tell us? The Land of Israel is more than just a piece of geography. It's a place of profound spiritual significance, a land desired by God and the patriarchs, a land of abundance and promise. It's a place where the connection between God and the Jewish people is uniquely expressed. And it's a reminder that our relationship with the Divine is a precious gift, one that requires nurturing and commitment.

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