Edited by Nina Litvak & Salvador Litvak, the Accidental Talmudist
But when Moses told this to the Israelites, they would not listen to Moses, their spirits crushed by cruel bondage.
Ex. 6:9
Baruch C. Cohen, Civil Trial Attorney
“MiKotzer Ruach” (crushed spirit). “Broken crayons still color” is a profound metaphor for resilience and the enduring power within each of us, even when we feel fractured or incomplete. It’s easy to be tempted to believe that once we are broken, all is lost—that our capacity to contribute or find joy is irreparably diminished. However, this phrase serves as a powerful reminder that our worth and potential remain intact despite our struggles. Even in our moments of greatest vulnerability, we still hold the capacity to make a significant impact and bring beauty into the world. In a society that often places immense value on perfection and unblemished success, acknowledging and accepting our brokenness can be a daunting challenge. Yet, it is through our imperfections and setbacks that our true strength and character emerge. Just as a broken crayon can still produce vibrant and meaningful colors, we too can continue to shine and influence the world, using our experiences and scars as sources of strength and wisdom. This concept highlights the remarkable ability of the human spirit to recover and grow, even when faced with adversity. It encourages us to view our vulnerabilities not as flaws but as powerful sources of resilience. By embracing our imperfections, we can transform our pain into purpose and our struggles into steppingstones for growth. This perspective is crucial in today’s world, where there is significant pressure to maintain a façade of perfection and invulnerability.
Abe Mezrich, Author/Poet
Their spirits crushed, “mikotzer ruach,” literally: “from shortness of breath.”
They could not listen to Moses from shortness of breath.
As if Moses’ mouth made no sound because his breath was their breath, and their breath was too weak to say anything.
As if Moses’ mouth was empty and waiting for them to breathe breath into it.
As if they had more breath than anyone knew, and Moses needed for them to breathe, to put air in his throat, to teach him to talk.
[Inspired by Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg]
Dr. Sheila Tuller Keiter, Judaic Studies Faculty, Shalhevet High School
La, la, la! I’m not listening! Did the Israelites refuse to listen, or were they incapable of hearing? Hashem offers Israel the promise of rescue, the four (or five?!) languages of redemption, but the people will not listen. Why not? Most of the classic commentators reject the suggestion that Israel lacked faith. Indeed, our verse indicates that they did not reject the content of Moshe’s message, but rather that they could not even listen to it in the first place. They were too busy, too oppressed, too worn down. Malbim (19th century) focuses on the phrase kotzer-ruaḥ, literally shortness of spirit. It is possible to be busy and burdened but still have the breadth of spirit that allows you to hear words of consolation. But those with less forbearance cannot countenance even words of hope when under duress. They simply can’t hear it. We’ve all been there. There are times when we go through periods of stress that colors everything we experience. Little inconveniences become unbearable. Annoyances become intolerable. And we become mired in our own misery, unable and unwilling to hear anything that does not confirm our own victimhood. But are we justified in doing so? The Israelites were slaves in Egypt. They had reason to be inconsolable in that moment. Significantly, neither Hashem nor Moshe begrudges them their irritability. But we are not slaves. Perhaps we should nurture our wounds a little less and listen to others a bit more. You might even like what you hear.
Rabbi Michael Barclay, Founding Rabbi Temple Ner Simcha in Westlake Village
The bondage that crushes our spirit is not always one of physical enslavement, but is often slavery to our own personal illusions, delusions, and beliefs that keep us from truly experiencing truth. Most people would rather fit the facts to their worldview, rather than adapting their worldview to the objective facts. Our chains of bondage are of our own making. Like our ancient ancestors who were so used to slavery that they had difficulties recognizing God’s Presence, all too many people psychologically refuse to let go of their bondage and experience a different and more honest reality. A rabbi went to a village and saw many arrows in the center of targets. He asked who the great archer was, and was told that it was Moshe, a nine-year-old boy. He asked Moshe how he became such a great archer. “It’s easy,” said Moshe. “I shoot an arrow, and then I draw a target around it.” Whether it is spirituality taught by Moses thousands of years ago, or the reality of what really allowed the recent fires, most people are sadly like that boy. Rather than being honest and integrating the realities of the situation, they interpret any and all facts through a filter that fits into their personal belief system. This verse, like all of Jewish theology, encourages us to be willing to change our opinions, and not be enslaved in chains of our own making. Let us all embrace Judaism by integrating experiences, letting go of our illusions, and growing into awakened people who are honest and self-reflective partners with God.
Rabbi Janet Madden, PhD, Malibu Jewish Center and Synagogue
A close reading of our pasuk offers a portal to our ancestors: “And/But when Moses spoke thusly/said [this] to the Israelites, they did not hear/listen; would not hear/listen; could not hear/listen to Moses; they were short of breath/spirit by/through hard/difficult labor.” Read this aloud. Notice how you must pause, pacing yourself. Think of Moses, speaking incomprehensible words –in the accent of Egyptian royalty–to the enslaved. As Sforno compassionately reminds us, what Moses said “did not appear believable to their ruach; their minds could not comprehend it.” How could they? Souls whose aspirations have been smothered, beaten down by the pain of their lives, are unlikely to trust and fear to hope. To live in slavery is to live a contracted life. Caught in tight, narrow spaces, “constricted by pain (meitzar),” Rashi says, “one’s breath comes in short gasps…” The inability to breathe freely leads to fear of suffocation. We know this: we calm one another and ourselves by reminders of the relationship between breath and life: “Breathe easy,” we say reassuringly, “take a moment to catch your breath.” “Return to the breath,” meditation teachers remind us; return to the most elemental. Listening while crushed and gasping is truly a challenge. But it’s worth the effort. Being in relationship with the expansiveness of the Divine, the Breath of Breaths, heals us. As Psalm 118:5 teaches, “From the place of suffocation, I called on Yah; Yah answered me and brought me relief.”
Image: Egypt Pharaoh statue
With thanks to Baruch C. Cohen, Abe Mezrich, Dr. Sheila Tuller Keiter, Rabbi Michael Barclay, and Rabbi Janet Madden.
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