It was a tough moment for the Hebrews. After decades of unfair enslavement, they had finally been promised an end. Their savior appeared and valiantly confronted the Pharaoh demanding emancipation. Hopes were high and the end was in sight. But all that was dashed upon the sharp rocks of reality.
The Pharaoh not only refused to let them go, he made their conditions worse. The enslaved Hebrews were now required to produce the same quota of bricks without being provided the raw materials. The taskmasters beat them harder. The people turned on Moshe and Aharon, blaming them for making things worse.
Moshe himself turned to God in frustration: "Why have You done evil to this people? Why did You send me? Since I came to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he has done evil to this people, and You have not saved Your people at all."
God's response is one of the most important passages in the Torah. He tells Moshe: "Now you will see what I will do to Pharaoh." The Midrash adds that God gently rebuked Moshe, noting that the Patriarchs—Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov—all endured unfulfilled promises without questioning God's plan.
This passage teaches us a fundamental lesson about Jewish history: the arc of redemption is long, and its path is rarely straight. Things often get worse before they get better. The darkest hour is just before dawn.
We are living in a moment that feels similar. The events of October 7th shattered our sense of security. The global response has been, in many cases, heartbreaking. The rise of antisemitism, the moral inversions, the abandonment by institutions we trusted—all of this echoes the experience of the Hebrews in Egypt who watched their situation deteriorate even after salvation was promised.
But Jewish history teaches us something else too: the redemption always comes. It may not come on our timeline. It may not look the way we expected. But it comes.
The Hebrews in Egypt could not have imagined the splitting of the sea. They could not have foreseen the revelation at Sinai. The path from slavery to freedom ran through the wilderness—a place of uncertainty, discomfort, and fear. But it led to the Promised Land.
Our task in moments like these is not to lose faith in the arc of history. It is to maintain what I would call "hopeful patience"—the ability to trust that the story is not over, even when the current chapter is painful.
This is not passive waiting. It is active faith. It means continuing to build, to teach, to pray, and to support one another—even when the results are not immediately visible. It means trusting that our efforts matter, even when the world seems indifferent.
The Talmud tells us that we are not required to complete the work, but neither are we free to desist from it. This is the essence of hopeful patience. We do our part and trust that God will do His.
As we navigate these difficult times, let us remember the lesson of the Hebrews in Egypt. The situation got worse before it got better. But it did get better. And it will again.