Parsha Va’era
By Rabbi Dr. Michael Leo Samuel in Chula Vista, California
We live in the golden age of diplomacy—where “diplomat” comes straight from the Greek diploos (“double”), basically professional training in talking out of both sides of your mouth. Moses? The exact opposite. He straight-up tells God: “Behold, I am of uncircumcised lips—how is Pharaoh ever going to listen to me?” (Ex. 6:30). No spin, no polish, just a guy with a speech impediment and total honesty. God’s choice for the world’s most famous liberation mission? The guy who can barely get the words out.
Why him? The Midrash gives us one of the most amusing baby-origin stories of rabbinical tradition.
Imagine little Moses, growing up in Pharaoh’s palace; he snatches the royal crown and puts it on his own head. Advisors panic: “This toddler is a threat to the dynasty!” Solution? The world’s earliest psychological test. Tray in front of baby Moses: glittering gold (symbol of future power) or a red-hot glowing coal (obviously a foolish baby move). Moses lunges for the shiny gold… until angel Michael (symbolizing divine intervention) nudges his hand toward the coal. Moses grabs it, shoves it in his mouth like it’s a pacifier, burns his tongue—and boom: instant speech impediment. Crisis averted. Future prophet secured.
The deeper lesson? Authenticity trumps eloquence every single time.
Moses doesn’t dazzle with rhetoric; he just speaks truth from a scarred heart. And that cuts straight through. No need for the ancient equivalent of high-priced lawyers spinning and parsing every word. Real words from the heart reach the heart—no filter required.
This parsha also screams a familiar biblical theme: Don’t judge by appearances. History is packed with people who turned massive handicaps into world-changing strength:
–Homer and Milton, both blind, gave us the greatest epic poetry ever written.
–Beethoven, deaf in his final years, composed his most heroic symphony without ever hearing a note of it.
–FDR, confined to a wheelchair, led America through depression and world war for four terms.
–Helen Keller, blind, deaf, and unable to speak from childhood, became one of the most inspiring writers, activists, and lecturers in history—proof that the human spirit can break through almost any barrier.
Moses fits right in that legendary lineup. God didn’t pick him despite his flaw—He chose him because the flaw proved his authenticity. More importantly, Moses eventually learns to overcome his handicap. The moral message ought to be clear: If Moses can overcome his speech impediment, so can you the reader!
The concept of Pharaoh’s “hardened heart” in Parsha Va’era strikes at the core of free will, divine justice, and the terrifying way repeated bad choices can lock us into destructive patterns. Maimonides, Judaism’s greatest medieval philosopher and codifier, cuts straight through the theological knot: Pharaoh wasn’t some helpless puppet manipulated by God from the start.
He first chose cruelty and oppression entirely on his own—decreeing the enslavement of the Israelites out of paranoia and power-hunger (Exod. 1:9–10), treating an entire people as disposable threats. Only after years of stubborn, willful evil—after Pharaoh repeatedly hardened his own heart through the initial plagues—did God step in to “harden” it further, effectively withdrawing the gift of repentance. This wasn’t arbitrary cruelty; it was divine justice as punishment, sealing Pharaoh in the very wickedness he had cultivated, much like a door slamming shut after someone keeps pushing it wider open.
Rabbi Abraham J. Twerski, a renowned psychiatrist who spent decades treating alcoholics and addicts, captures this dynamic with piercing clarity: Pharaoh embodies the classic addict’s cycle, swearing after every devastating “hangover” (plague) that he’ll change—”I swear I’ll never do it again!”—only to relapse the moment the pain subsides, as he did time after time. Each refusal eroded his capacity for real change, turning temporary stubbornness into an unbreakable character trait. In this view, actions truly forge character; unchecked evil doesn’t just harm others—it enslaves the perpetrator, stripping away the inner freedom to turn back.
The story isn’t about God overriding free will arbitrarily, but about the sobering reality that we can squander our moral agency through persistent choices, until the path of return grows dim or closed. It’s a profound warning: habits harden us, consequences accumulate, and true repentance often requires fighting against the very patterns we’ve built.
The bottom line is simple: Freedom and responsibility are joined at the hip. God doesn’t create moral evil—humans do. The parsha invites us to own our choices, drop the excuses, and maybe skip the hot-coal snacks.
Wishing you a year of clearer hearts, braver steps, and zero diplomatic double-talk.
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Rabbi Dr. Michael Leo Samuel is spiritual leader of Temple Beth Shalom in Chula Vista, California.