I don’t believe in the magical aspects of the Torah. I know there are many who do.
I believe in an all-powerful God. So powerful, in fact, that He doesn’t perform even half a miracle without human intervention. Every miracle involved someone who “helped” HaKadosh BaruchHu make it happen.
This is precisely what our sacred book tirelessly reminds us of year after year, week after week, every time we read it. I believe that this is what it truly means to be partners with God in Creation. And it is the Creator Himself who, at least for me, clearly sets the stage for these events to unfold.
Sometimes, however, the text surprises us.
Last week, in chapter 3 of Shemot (Exodus), verses 7 and 8, we read:“I have marked well the plight of My people in Egypt and have heeded their outcry because of their taskmasters; yes, I am mindful of their sufferings. I have come down to rescue them from the Egyptians and to bring them out of that land to a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey, the region of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites.”
That phrase “I have come” in Hebrew is written ארד. Those three letters are the same as the first letters of the names of the hostages released on Sunday.
Astonishing, isn’t it?
It’s okay to believe in magic when the magic comes from God.
This Shabbat Vaera, as we read about Pharaoh’s heart hardening (by divine will?), we feel the weight of sadness and despair.
In the biblical text, the People of Israel endure the suffering inflicted by slavery, while the Egyptians, in turn, are plagued and punished due to the obstinacy of their supreme leader.
Pharaoh’s hardened heart confronts us with a powerful truth: leaders who seek legitimacy from their moral authority rather than through the often-corrupt exercise of power carry a profound message for all who follow them.
Today, in 2025, 476 days after a horror we could never have imagined—because we believed the world shared our eternal cry of NEVER AGAIN for the past 80 years—our hearts, far from hardening, are shattered.
Many of us feel like family and siblings to those suffering from violence and terror. We feel for those still in the hands of a beast (just as 90 years ago there was another beast, and as in every generation, someone has risen to try to destroy us as a people). We feel for those risking their lives to defend the only Jewish state, the one we originate from—even if some choose to see themselves as separate from it.
That Jewish state, whether or not acknowledged by those—even Jewish—who reject its continuity or see themselves as detached from it, sustains us from afar while needing us in return.
As we read about the plagues God sent to Egypt, we cannot help but reflect on the current suffering of two peoples: the people of Israel and the inhabitants of Gaza. The plagues, with their devastation and pain, remind us that human suffering is a constant throughout history and that violence and wars leave deep scars on communities.
The plagues of Egypt, according to the parashah, were a divine response to Pharaoh’s obstinacy and refusal to free the People of Israel. Today, we witness how hardened hearts and the absence of dialogue perpetuate the suffering of both peoples in the region. The hostages held by Hamas and the victims of violence in Gaza bear witness to a conflict that continues to claim lives and destroy homes.
Violence, terror, oppression, and injustice cannot persist. Change is only possible when hearts open and the common good is pursued.
The path toward peace will only be possible by leaving behind painful pasts in favor of a brighter future—one where future generations value life over resentment and vengeance.
We are experiencing mixed feelings, torn between euphoria and fear. We feel moments of hope at the prospect of the hostages’ release, followed by profound anguish and uncertainty about their current state and well-being. We are riding an emotional rollercoaster.
Not knowing the exact conditions they are in or what their captivity has been like adds a layer of anxiety to what should be a moment of relief.
We all wait with bated breath for positive news, holding on to the hope that the hostages will soon reunite with their loved ones, safe and sound.
Even as we face challenges and adversity, we must not let our hearts harden when we consider the reality of the inhabitants of Gaza. Instead, we should open ourselves to empathy, compassion, and solidarity.
May this Shabbat be a moment of reflection for all those who suffer. May our actions reflect a commitment to justice, peace, and compassion.
May our prayers reach the hostages and their families, those affected in Gaza, and may we find the strength to work together toward a better future for all—free from the clutches of those who only desire violence—remaining united in this moment of uncertainty, pain, and hope.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Gustavo Geier