Exodus 9

Hook

Picture the glint of silver on a Torah scroll, not under fluorescent lights, but by the warm glow of an oil lamp, in a synagogue whose stones whisper tales of exile and return, resilience and devotion, from Spain to Syria, Persia to Morocco. This is the heart of Sephardi and Mizrahi tradition, a heritage steeped in vibrant scholarship and profound reverence for our sacred texts.

Context

Our journey into Parashat Va'era, specifically Exodus chapter 9, is a perfect opportunity to immerse ourselves in the rich tapestry of Sephardi and Mizrahi thought. These communities, often united by shared linguistic, cultural, and spiritual threads, have cultivated a unique and enduring legacy of Torah engagement.

Place

The Sephardi and Mizrahi heritage spans a vast geographical and cultural landscape, echoing the dispersals and resettlements of Jewish history. From the Iberian Peninsula (Sepharad) before the expulsions of 1492 and 1497, our communities flourished across North Africa – Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, and Egypt – radiating eastward through the Middle East, encompassing the ancient Jewish communities of Syria, Lebanon, Iraq (Babylon), Persia (Iran), Yemen, and Bukhara, and northward into the Ottoman Empire, including Turkey, Greece, and the Balkans. Each region imbued its Jewish inhabitants with distinct flavors of cuisine, language (Judeo-Arabic, Ladino, Judeo-Persian), and musical traditions, yet all remained deeply rooted in a shared commitment to Halakha (Jewish law) and Torah study. This expansive diaspora meant a constant exchange of ideas, where hakhamim (sages) from diverse backgrounds contributed to a vibrant intellectual discourse that enriched the entire Jewish world. The commentaries we will explore today, from figures like Ibn Ezra, Or HaChaim, and Malbim, represent the towering intellects that emerged from these very lands, their wisdom disseminated and cherished across continents.

Era

Our tradition is not static; it is a dynamic continuity from antiquity through the medieval Golden Age of Spain, the profound shifts of the Expulsion, and the subsequent flourishing in new lands, right up to the modern era. The intellectual foundations of Sephardi thought are deeply intertwined with the Geonic period in Babylonia, which heavily influenced the Rishonim (early commentators, 11th-15th centuries) in Spain and North Africa. This era saw an unparalleled fusion of Jewish law, philosophy, poetry, and science, with figures like Maimonides and Ibn Ezra epitomizing this synthesis. Following the expulsions, these traditions were transplanted and reinvigorated in Ottoman lands and across North Africa, leading to new centers of learning in Safed, Salonica, Aleppo, and Fez. Even in the face of persecution and exile, the commitment to Torah study and the preservation of minhagim (customs) remained paramount, ensuring that the wisdom of generations was passed down intact. The commentaries on Exodus 9 that we engage with today are products of this enduring intellectual lineage, offering insights that transcend time and place, connecting us directly to the vibrant scholarship of these historical epochs. They demonstrate a continuous thread of inquiry, analysis, and spiritual devotion that has characterized Sephardi and Mizrahi communities for millennia.

Community

The Sephardi and Mizrahi communities, despite their geographical spread and internal diversity, share a profound and distinctive approach to Jewish life, marked by a deep reverence for Halakha, a holistic integration of spirituality and daily life, and a strong emphasis on family and communal bonds. Central to this communal identity is the vibrant intellectual tradition of textual engagement. Our hakhamim were not merely legal scholars; they were often polymaths, fluent in philosophy, astronomy, medicine, and linguistics, bringing a comprehensive intellectual toolkit to their understanding of Torah. This approach fostered a culture of drash – deep, often philosophical or mystical, interpretation of the text – alongside a meticulous commitment to peshat (the plain meaning). The study of Torah was not an abstract academic pursuit but a living, breathing endeavor, integral to personal and communal identity. Sephardi and Mizrahi communities are also characterized by their distinct piyutim (liturgical poems), pizmonim (religious songs), and hazzanut (cantorial traditions), which imbue synagogue services and home celebrations with unparalleled melodic richness, often rooted in the maqam (modal) systems of the Middle East. This communal fabric, woven from shared history, intellectual rigor, spiritual devotion, and artistic expression, has enabled these traditions not only to survive but to thrive, constantly enriching the global Jewish tapestry with their unique textures and profound wisdom. The way these communities grapple with the narrative of the plagues in Exodus 9, as illuminated by their esteemed commentators, reflects this comprehensive and deeply ingrained approach to their sacred heritage.

Text Snapshot

Our focus today is on Exodus Chapter 9, where the narrative of the plagues intensifies, revealing the unwavering power of God and Pharaoh's hardened heart.

יהוה said to Moses, “Go to Pharaoh and say to him, ‘Thus says יהוה, the God of the Hebrews: Let My people go to worship Me. For if you refuse to let them go… then the hand of יהוה will strike your livestock… with a very severe pestilence. But יהוה will make a distinction between the livestock of Israel and the livestock of the Egyptians…” (Exodus 9:1-4)

“Each of you take handfuls of soot from the kiln… It shall become a fine dust… and cause an inflammation breaking out in boils on human and beast throughout the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 9:8-9)

“This time tomorrow I will rain down a very heavy hail… fire flashing in the midst of the hail—such as had not fallen on the land of Egypt since it had become a nation. Throughout the land of Egypt the hail struck down all that were in the open, both human and beast…” (Exodus 9:18-25)

Minhag/Melody

The narrative of the plagues, so powerfully articulated in Exodus 9, resonates deeply within Sephardi and Mizrahi minhagim and piyutim, particularly during the festival of Pesach. The retelling of Yetziat Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt) is not merely a historical recounting but a living, immersive experience, designed to transmit faith, resilience, and a profound connection to divine providence across generations.

The Pesach Seder: A Living Drama

For Sephardi and Mizrahi communities, the Pesach Seder is a vibrant, multi-sensory drama, a meticulously structured evening brimming with song, storytelling, and profound spiritual reflection. The Haggadah, the text guiding the Seder, is more than a prayer book; it's a pedagogical masterpiece, designed to engage every participant, especially the children, in the experience of liberation. The recitation of the plagues is a pivotal moment, often performed with a distinct solemnity and a deep sense of gratitude for God's protection.

The spilling of drops of wine or water for each plague, a universal Jewish custom, often takes on a particularly deliberate character in Sephardi homes. While some Ashkenazi customs might involve a quick flick of the pinky, many Sephardi and Mizrahi traditions emphasize a more measured act, sometimes using a spoon or even pouring into a designated bowl, to ensure that the joy of freedom is tempered with a recognition of the suffering inflicted upon the Egyptians, underscoring the universal value of life and the somber reality of divine judgment. This nuanced approach reflects a broader Sephardi emphasis on middat harachamim (the attribute of mercy) even in moments of triumph.

Drash and the Hakhamim: Illuminating the Text

The intellectual rigor of Sephardi and Mizrahi hakhamim is vividly brought to life in their interpretations of the plagues, which often find their way into Haggadah commentaries or derashot (sermons) delivered during Pesach. These commentaries exemplify the deep textual engagement that defines these traditions, often intertwining peshat (plain meaning), drash (homiletic interpretation), and even philosophical or scientific insights.

Consider Ibn Ezra (Rabbi Avraham ben Meir Ibn Ezra, c. 1089–1167, Spain/North Africa), whose commentary on Exodus 9 is a testament to his comprehensive intellect. He meticulously categorizes the plagues by the elements they affected: water, earth, air, and fire. For our chapter, he notes that Dever (pestilence) and Shechin (boils) are "plagues in the air," explaining that "Murrain is nothing but a change from the normal in the air’s heat or cold... The second plague [to strike through the air] was the boils." He then describes Barad (hail) as a mixture of the "sphere of the whirlwind and the sphere of fire," observing the "fire flashing up amidst the hail." This elemental analysis, blending ancient cosmology with scriptural exegesis, is characteristic of Ibn Ezra's rationalist, scientific approach, which was highly influential in Sephardi thought. It allows for a deeper understanding of the natural order being disrupted by divine power, not just a miraculous event but a reordering of creation itself.

Or HaChaim (Rabbi Chaim ben Attar, 1696–1743, Morocco/Israel), a later but equally towering figure, offers a more mystical and midrashic perspective. On Exodus 9:1, "Go to Pharaoh," he posits that Moses entered Pharaoh's palace without permission, defying even "trained lions at his palace gate." Or HaChaim finds "conclusive proof" for this in Exodus 10:28, where Pharaoh finally warns Moses not to enter again. This interpretation, drawn from Yalkut Shimoni, elevates Moses's stature, portraying him as a figure of such divine authority that even wild beasts and human guards were powerless to impede him. Such drash enriches the narrative, not only by adding a layer of wonder but also by emphasizing the profound spiritual power accompanying God's emissary. This kind of imaginative and faith-affirming interpretation is a hallmark of many Mizrahi commentaries, inviting listeners to marvel at the miraculous.

Malbim (Rabbi Meir Leibush ben Yehiel Michel Weiser, 1809–1879, Eastern Europe, but with a style that resonated broadly due to its linguistic precision), though Ashkenazi, his meticulous linguistic analysis finds a parallel in the rigorous peshat methodologies of many Sephardi hakhamim. On Exodus 9:1-2, he distinguishes between dibbur (דִּבּוּר - speaking, indicating a lengthy discourse or debate) and amirah (אֲמִירָה - saying, a simple statement). Malbim notes that for Dever, "it was necessary to debate with him at length during the warning and to turn him from his path, because afterwards, his regret and desire to send them would be of no avail." This linguistic sensitivity, delving into the precise nuance of Hebrew verbs to extract deeper meaning and a sense of urgency in the divine warning, is a testament to the profound respect for the Hebrew language inherent in all traditional Jewish scholarship, particularly emphasized in Sephardi centers where Hebrew grammar and lexicography flourished.

These commentaries, whether philosophical like Ibn Ezra, midrashic like Or HaChaim, or linguistically precise like Malbim, demonstrate the multifaceted ways Sephardi and Mizrahi communities engage with the Torah. They transform the simple narrative into a rich tapestry of meaning, inviting contemplation and deepening faith.

Piyutim and Pizmonim: The Soul of Sephardi Melody

The recounting of the plagues at the Seder is not just spoken; it is sung with fervent devotion. Sephardi and Mizrahi Haggadot often include additional piyutim and pizmonim that are unique to their traditions, enriching the experience. While Dayenu is universal, the melodies vary widely, each community preserving its ancestral tune. In Syrian Jewish tradition, for instance, pizmonim about Yetziat Mitzrayim might be sung in the Maqam Nahawand or Maqam Ajami, imparting a specific emotional resonance. Moroccan Jews might have particular piyutim that weave in themes of gratitude and the beauty of God's redemption, sometimes reflecting their unique dialect of Judeo-Arabic.

The hazzanut for Parashat Va'era (which includes Exodus 9) in Sephardi and Mizrahi synagogues is a powerful illustration of this melodic heritage. The cantorial renditions are not merely recitations but intricate musical compositions, often based on the maqam system. A Syrian hazzan might chant the verses of the plagues in a maqam that evokes a sense of solemnity and awe, such as Maqam Hijaz, while an Iraqi hazzan might choose Maqam Saba for its dramatic and emotive qualities. These maqamat are not arbitrary; they are deeply ingrained in the cultural memory of the communities, designed to convey the emotional and spiritual depth of the text. The slow, deliberate cadence, the intricate melodic ornamentation, and the powerful vocalizations transform the reading of the Torah into a profound spiritual journey, allowing the community to experience the divine drama unfolding in Parashat Va'era with their very souls.

Continuity and Celebration

The enduring minhagim and vibrant melodies surrounding the plagues, from the Seder table to the synagogue bimah, are not just relics of the past. They are living traditions, meticulously preserved and passionately transmitted, ensuring that each generation connects personally to the narrative of liberation. This continuous engagement with the text, illuminated by the wisdom of our hakhamim and uplifted by the beauty of our piyutim, forms the bedrock of Sephardi and Mizrahi Jewish life, a testament to an unbroken chain of faith and scholarship. It teaches us that freedom is not merely a historical event, but an ongoing spiritual journey, constantly renewed through study, prayer, and communal celebration.

Contrast

One of the most widely recognized and respectfully observed differences between many Sephardi/Mizrahi communities and Ashkenazi communities, particularly relevant around Pesach, concerns the consumption of kitniyot (legumes). This divergence beautifully illustrates how different historical experiences and halakhic methodologies can lead to distinct yet equally valid expressions of Jewish law, all within the overarching framework of Halakha.

The Sephardi/Mizrahi Permissiveness of Kitniyot

For the vast majority of Sephardi and Mizrahi Jews, kitniyot – a category that includes rice, corn, peas, beans, lentils, chickpeas, and often other items like sunflower seeds and mustard – are permitted for consumption on Pesach. This practice is rooted in a straightforward interpretation of Halakha. The Torah prohibits chametz (leavened grain) derived from five specific grains: wheat, barley, oats, spelt, and rye. Kitniyot are not among these five grains and therefore are not considered chametz according to the letter of the law.

The allowance of kitniyot in Sephardi and Mizrahi communities reflects a legal tradition that generally adheres closely to the peshat (plain meaning) of the text and the explicit pronouncements of the Talmud and Rishonim (early medieval commentators), without adding extra stringencies unless there is a clear and compelling halakhic reason. Historically, communities in North Africa, the Middle East, and the Ottoman Empire, where rice and legumes were staples of the diet, saw no halakhic impediment to their use on Pesach. Their hakhamim upheld this practice, seeing no justification for forbidding foods that were clearly not chametz. The custom was well-established for centuries, allowing for a broader range of culinary options during the holiday without compromising halakhic integrity. The Shulhan Arukh, authored by Rabbi Yosef Karo (1488–1575), a leading Sephardi posek (halakhic decisor) in Safed, explicitly permits kitniyot, and his work serves as the primary code of Jewish law for most Sephardi and Mizrahi Jews.

The Ashkenazi Prohibition of Kitniyot

In contrast, most Ashkenazi Jews, particularly those whose ancestors originated from Central and Eastern Europe, have maintained a tradition of prohibiting kitniyot on Pesach. This custom emerged in medieval Europe, likely around the 13th century, and was adopted as a gezeirah (rabbinic decree or safeguard). Several reasons are cited for this prohibition:

1. Similarity to Grains: Some kitniyot (like peas or corn) can be ground into flour and baked, leading to a superficial resemblance to chametz grains. There was a concern that people might confuse kitniyot flour with actual chametz flour.
2. Storage Proximity: Kitniyot were often stored in close proximity to chametz grains in medieval granaries, raising the concern that chametz grains might become mixed in with the kitniyot.
3. Cross-Contamination: The possibility of chametz grains being inadvertently mixed in during harvesting, processing, or packaging was also a concern.
4. Appearance: Some kitniyot (like rice) can look similar to grains when cooked, and some varieties of kitniyot (like buckwheat, which is not kitniyot but was mistakenly grouped with them) have names that sound like grains.

These concerns led Ashkenazi poskim (halakhic decisors) to institute the gezeirah against kitniyot, which became a deeply ingrained and universally accepted minhag within Ashkenazi communities. Over centuries, this practice solidified, and to violate it would be seen as transgressing a venerable communal tradition. The Rema (Rabbi Moshe Isserles, c. 1520–1572), who provided the Ashkenazi glosses to the Shulhan Arukh, explicitly codifies this prohibition, making it normative for Ashkenazi Jewry.

Respectful Coexistence and Shared Values

This difference regarding kitniyot is a powerful example of the beauty of Jewish legal diversity. Both traditions are firmly rooted in Halakha and a deep commitment to Pesach observance. The Sephardi approach prioritizes adherence to the explicit biblical and Talmudic definitions of chametz, while the Ashkenazi approach prioritizes safeguarding against potential transgressions through rabbinic decrees. Neither is superior; both reflect genuine efforts to fulfill God's commandments with diligence and reverence.

In contemporary Jewish life, especially in diverse communities, it is common to find both minhagim coexisting. Sephardi and Mizrahi Jews continue to enjoy their traditional Pesach meals, often rich in rice and bean dishes, while Ashkenazi Jews meticulously avoid these items. This difference is typically observed with mutual respect, recognizing that adherence to one's ancestral minhag is a cornerstone of Jewish identity and continuity. It underscores a fundamental principle: that unity in Judaism does not demand uniformity in practice, but rather a shared foundation of faith, Torah, and a profound respect for the diverse paths taken by our ancestors in their sacred journey. This respectful coexistence further enriches the tapestry of Jewish life, demonstrating the resilience and adaptability of Halakha across varied historical and geographical contexts.

Home Practice

To connect with the rich textual tradition exemplified by Sephardi and Mizrahi hakhamim, let's adopt a small, accessible practice that fosters deep engagement with the Torah, inspired by the meticulous and reflective approach we've seen in the commentaries on Exodus 9.

The Art of Deliberate Reading and Reflective Engagement

This practice is about slowing down and allowing the words of Torah to truly resonate, much like the hakhamim would ponder every nuance of a verse. It cultivates a personal, meditative connection to the text, a hallmark of many Sephardi and Mizrahi communities who prioritize the inherent power and beauty of the Hebrew language and the profound personal resonance of Torah.

How to Practice:

1. Choose Your Moment: Select a quiet moment, perhaps before a Shabbat meal, during a family gathering, or even as a personal reflective practice during the week. This practice works beautifully with children too, encouraging them to listen deeply.
2. Select a Few Verses: From Parashat Va'era, specifically Exodus 9, choose a small segment—perhaps 3-5 verses. For instance, you could pick Exodus 9:1-4 (the plague of pestilence), or 9:8-10 (the plague of boils), or 9:22-25 (the plague of hail).
3. Read Aloud (Slowly): Read the chosen verses aloud, slowly and deliberately. If you know Hebrew, read them in Hebrew first, then in translation. If you only know English, read the English translation, but pay attention to each word. Don't rush. Let the words hang in the air.
4. Silent Reflection: After reading, spend a full minute (or even two) in silence. Close your eyes if it helps. Don't try to analyze or interpret immediately. Just allow the ancient words to settle within you. What feelings arise? What images come to mind?
5. Share One Insight (Optional, but encouraged): If you're with family or friends, invite everyone to share one word, one phrase, or one image that particularly resonated with them during the silent reflection. There's no right or wrong answer. The goal is personal connection.
   • For example, someone might say: "The word 'distinction' (וְהִפְלָה) stood out to me, reminding me of God's precise care."
   • Another might offer: "I pictured the 'fire flashing in the midst of the hail' (אֵשׁ מִתְלַקַּחַת בְּתוֹךְ הַבָּרָד) – such a dramatic image of power."
   • A child might simply say: "Boils! That sounds really painful." All these responses are valid and open doors for deeper conversation.
6. Optional: Consult a Commentary: For those interested in a deeper dive, after sharing initial reflections, you could briefly consult an English translation of a Sephardi commentary on Sefaria (like Ibn Ezra or Or HaChaim on Exodus 9:1). See if their insights connect with or expand upon your own initial reactions. This directly echoes the intellectual tradition of our hakhamim.

This simple practice, inspired by the deep reverence for text and the meditative engagement characteristic of Sephardi and Mizrahi traditions, transforms Torah study from a mere academic exercise into a deeply personal and spiritual encounter. It invites us to listen to the whisper of generations in every sacred word.

Takeaway

The Sephardi and Mizrahi traditions are not merely a collection of historical footnotes or exotic customs; they are a vibrant, living testament to the enduring power of Torah, a profound mosaic of wisdom, song, and unwavering faith that continues to enrich the Jewish world. Through their meticulous textual scholarship, their soulful piyutim, their resilient minhagim, and their deeply integrated approach to Jewish life, these communities offer us invaluable pathways to connect with our heritage. They teach us that true strength lies not in uniformity, but in the harmonious diversity of our traditions, each preserving a unique hue of God's infinite wisdom, urging us to find deeper meaning and unwavering inspiration in every sacred word. Let us cherish and learn from this magnificent legacy, ensuring its vibrant continuation for generations to come.