“The blood will be a sign for you upon the houses where you are; and I will see the blood and skip over you ….” (Shemos 12:13)
Rashi notes that in truth everything is revealed before Hashem. Why does Hashem need this sign? Does He not know where the Jewish people are living? Rashi cites the Mechilta that He will see that the Jewish people are involved in mitzvos and will skip over their houses. Yet this is still difficult to understand.
One explanation is that the Jewish people in Mitzrayim were idol worshippers, and they now required some means of neutralizing their sin. In order for a miracle to occur, they would need to demonstrate mesiras nefesh – self-sacrifice. In response to Rav Pappa’s question to Abaye as to why miracles occurred in the earlier generations, and not in their generation, Abaye noted (Brachos 20a) that the previous generations were wholly dedicated to the sanctification of Hashem’s Name, while their own generation was not as dedicated to that lofty ideal.
R’ Shmuel Rozovsky (Ponovezh Yeshiva 1913-1979) asks: What principle of reciprocity (middah kneged middah) is demonstrated with Abaye’s response? He explains that the nature of man is self-preservation; he does not seek to renounce his own interests or eschew his own desires to help others. However, when man is willing to defy his nature, Hashem likewise goes beyond the natural order of the world to perform miracles.
With the plague of lice, the Egyptian magicians admitted that it was “the finger of G-d” they were seeing. After the fourth plague, the plague of the wild beasts, the Egyptian people were devastated. Yet, the mitzvah of the korban Pesach was an act of mesiras nefesh on the part of the Jewish people. The Egyptians would surely have killed them when they saw them openly take the sheep into their house for four days and then shecht it and sprinkle the blood on the doorposts in full sight. Pharaoh initially offered to allow the Jewish people to bring their offerings in the land, but then conceded that it would be inappropriate for them to shecht the god of the Egyptians – the sheep – in Egypt, and he agreed to let them go into the midbar. The Bnei Yisrael were also commanded to roast the meat so that its aroma would reach the Egyptians, further offending them.
Rav Karelenstein adds that the performance of the mitzvah of bris milah was also an act of mesiras nefesh. Although it would be dangerous to set out on a journey after the bris milah, and they had been told that on the sixth day they would have to travel, nevertheless the Jewish people did not hesitate to participate in the mitzvah of bris milah.
Thus, the pasuk can be understood to mean that when Hashem will see the mesiras nefesh of the Jewish people He will save them in miraculous ways.
The following testimony was given by a Holocaust survivor.
More than 85 people were crammed into our cattle car, and only one very small barred opening provided any air in the stifling quarters. With one piece of bread for the day, and the fifth day with no water, many lives had already been lost during the journey.
No one had the strength to speak. And even if one did, what would he speak about? We had heard rumors about the gas chambers, and we estimated that we only had a few more hours to live. Morale was very low; hope was all but lost.
Suddenly the car stopped, and through the opening some workers could be seen on the tracks. One of the men approached the cattle car with a pail of water in his hand. He could only speak German but with some sign language he managed to communicate that he would give us some water in exchange for clothing that we had. His offer was considered for the next few seconds and it was unanimously decided to accept the deal. We were so thirsty at this point, that everyone was willing to take the chance of getting some water, at the risk of instant death if we were caught. The clothing was lowered through the opening and in exchange the worker gave us a container of water.
The older people were in charge of distributing the water to each person. Everyone was dismayed and shocked, though, when my father took his share of the water, and instead of putting it to his parched lips poured it over his hands for netilas yadayim.
“How could you do this?” they shouted at him.
My father calmly reached for his tefillin and responded, “I am suffering from thirst just as you all are. But I am in greater pain because my hands are not clean as they should be. Now that I have the ability to wash my hands I will be able to put on my tefillin and pray. Please, my dear brothers, do not be angry with me. I have with me my tefillin which I received when I was bar mitzvah, and that I have worn every single weekday. We all know that this is very likely the last day of our lives and we will shortly meet our Maker. I would like to put on my tefillin and pray one last time. I want to thank Hashem for the life He has given me.”
With that, he donned his tefillin and prayed with an intensity such as I had never witnessed in my life. He appeared to me like an angel. At that moment I resolved that if I miraculously survived this horror I would never forget the poignant lesson my father had taught me.
We reached Auschwitz, our final destination, and after the “selection” I never saw my father again, may his death be avenged. But the memory of that heart-rending scene accompanies me all the days of my life.
