The Art of Holding On

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

The first posuk in this week’s parsha states that Hashem appeared to Moshe and reminded him of how He had revealed Himself to the avos and promised them Eretz Yisroel (6:2). He told Moshe that just as He remembers His bris with the avos, so does He hear the cries of the Bnei Yisroel and will act to redeem them. Hashem instructed Moshe to tell the Jewish people that their suffering would soon end, and that He Himself would free them from the shackles of Mitzrayim.

Rashi explains that this was in direct response to Moshe’s question at the end of last week’s parsha (5:22), when he asked, “Lomah harei’osah la’am hazeh — Why have You made things worse for Your people, and why have You sent me to speak to Paroh?” Hashem’s reply reassured Moshe that His promises are unfailing, and that Moshe’s mission was part of the Divine plan to fulfill the covenant He had made with the avos.

Moshe’s mission was never random or accidental. Every step of his journey — from his hidden birth to his upbringing in Paroh’s palace, from his golus in Midyan to the moment he encountered the burning bush — was part of Hashem’s plan. Each challenge, each hardship, was preparing him to lead the Jewish people out of bondage and into freedom. As we learn the parsha, we understand that the miracles of Moshe’s life were not just extraordinary events. They were signs of the Hand of Hashgocha, guiding him, shaping him, and preparing him to fulfill the promise made to the avos.

There are times in history when the world seems poised against us, when despair feels heavier than hope, and the night stretches endlessly before the dawn. In those periods we must remember that even when life is darkest, the flame of Hashem’s Hashgocha is never extinguished. From the very first cries of our people to the promise of redemption, the story of Klal Yisroel is one of survival, resilience, and faith.

In every generation, we have faced threats that seemed insurmountable. Empires sought our destruction. Tyrants demanded our silence. Even when our backs were against the wall, our spirits flickered, small, fragile, but alive. That flicker is what Hashem sees, what He nurtures, and what He calls upon us to protect and strengthen.

And so it was at the very beginning of the story of Moshe Rabbeinu. An infant, born in the shadow of death, placed in the Nile to float between life and death, became the instrument through which Hashem would reveal to the world that no oppression is final, no darkness is eternal, and no nation, however broken, is beyond hope.

Sometimes, a single act of courage, as small as placing a child in a basket, is enough to change the course of history.

At the time that Paroh decreed that every Jewish baby boy be put to death, Moshe was born quietly, hidden from the eyes of the Mitzriyim. His mother, Yocheved, understood the danger surrounding him. Every footstep, every knock at the door, carried mortal threat. Yet, she also understood that her child was not merely another infant. He was part of Hashem’s plan. With courage and deep emunah, she placed him into a small teivah and set it upon the waters of the Nile. His sister, Miriam, watched from a distance, ready to follow the teivah wherever the currents carried it, ensuring that her brother would survive.

That basket was more than a vessel for a baby. It was a declaration of faith and courage in a world determined to snuff out hope. In the midst of cruelty, Yocheved entrusted her child to Hashem, believing that life could triumph even in the face of imminent death.

Faith - emunah and bitachon - must come before understanding.

Paroh’s daughter found the basket, heard the baby cry, and felt compassion stir in her heart. She rescued him, bringing him into the palace, where he was raised as her own. There, in the very heart of Jewish oppression, the future redeemer of Klal Yisroel grew up.

Moshe was surrounded by wealth and power, yet his soul remained tethered to his people. When he left the palace and witnessed a Mitzri striking a Jew, he intervened, refusing to remain silent. That single act forced him to flee Mitzrayim, leaving the comfort of the palace for the uncertainty of exile. He arrived in Midyan, married the daughter of Yisro, and became a shepherd, tending his father-in-law’s flocks in the vast wilderness.

From the grandeur of palaces to the stillness of desert plains, Moshe’s life seemed to have taken a bewildering turn. Yet, it was in that quiet wilderness that Hashem would reveal Himself, teaching Moshe that even the most ordinary moments can harbor extraordinary purpose.

One day, Moshe noticed a sight that captured his attention: a bush continuously burning with fire, yet not being consumed. The flames danced upon its branches, blackening them, yet the bush remained whole. Moshe did not walk by. He stopped, turned aside, and stared. He recognized that this was not an ordinary fire. Something holy was unfolding.

The Medrash teaches that just as Avrohom Avinu studied the world and concluded that it could not exist without a Creator, Moshe perceived that Hakadosh Boruch Hu was announcing His Presence. The burning bush was a message: Jewish history may be scorched, battered, and surrounded by flames, but it will never be destroyed. Even when circumstances appear hopeless, Hashem’s providence is always present, sustaining life, guiding events, and preparing redemption.

Sometimes, the smallest spark carries infinite meaning.

From that bush, Hashem spoke to Moshe and entrusted him with a mission that would shape the course of history: to return to Mitzrayim and redeem His people.

Moshe, in his humility, asked what he should tell the Jewish people when they inquired who sent him. Hashem replied, “Ehkeh asher Ehkeh - I will be with them.” Not only at that moment, but in every suffering, every exile, and every trial that lay ahead. Hashem was telling Moshe that even when the world seems most hostile, He is present, guiding and sustaining the Jewish people.

Moshe was no longer merely a shepherd. He had become the messenger of redemption, tasked with announcing that hope exists even in the darkest of times.

One might imagine that such news would be received with overwhelming joy. A nation crushed under whips and chains would surely leap at the promise of freedom. Yet, when Moshe delivered Hashem’s message, the Torah recounts something striking: “Velo shomu el Moshe mikotzer ruach umei’avodah kasha - The people did not listen to Moshe because of shortness of spirit and crushing labor.”

They wanted to hear him. But they couldn’t. Their suffering had not only exhausted their bodies. It had crushed their souls. They were too dispirited and fragile to absorb hope. Even when salvation is imminent, the weight of despair can make it impossible to hear.

Sometimes, we must learn patience as well as hope.

This posuk teaches that suffering is not only physical. It can shrink the soul. When people are beaten down for too long, even good news sounds unreal. Even hope can feel unreachable.

This is not only history. It is the story of our time.

We live in a world of waiting. People are glued to their devices, scrolling endlessly, waiting for good news. Just over the past couple of years, we waited for the Gaza war to end. We waited for the hostages to come home. We waited for airlines to resume flights to Eretz Yisroel. We waited for a real president, for economic stability, and for interest rates to drop so we could afford homes. We waited for justice to be restored. Though at times it felt as if we were waiting in vain, our waits were answered.

And still, we wait. We wait for America to become great again. We wait for peaceful brotherhood to be restored to Eretz Yisroel. We wait for an end to the Gaza mess. We wait for a total end to the wicked leaders of Iran and the threat they represent to Israel. We wait for an end to progressive nonsense and a return to common sense. We wait for an end to the recent rash of anti-Semitic hatred.

And of course, above all, we wait for Moshiach.

We know that he will soon come and bring us what Moshe brought to the suffering people in Mitzrayim: the announcement that suffering has an end and redemption is near.

Yet, the danger of our age is not only the bad news we hear too often from within and beyond our community. The danger of our age is exhaustion. People become overwhelmed by fear, uncertainty, political instability, social hostility, and personal struggles. Instead of remaining optimistic and hopeful, too often, people become depleted mikotzer ruach. Their spiritual lungs shrink. They can no longer breathe in hope, and they cannot hear the message of redemption. Their predicament weakens them as they see no way out, no rising sun on the horizon.

Sometimes, strength must be renewed by noticing small sparks of light.

Each headline reminds us that golus is real and that safety is fragile. But even amidst fear, there are sparks of light. Even amidst darkness, Hashem’s presence is manifest.

We know that nothing happens by accident. Wars, upheavals, and economic crises are all chapters in a Divine story. The nevi’im spoke of such times, and we pray that these upheavals are the footsteps of Moshiach.

Yet, waiting is difficult when people are exhausted.

During World War I, Jewish life in Eastern Europe was decimated. Entire towns emptied. Families wandered with nothing. Yeshivos moved from place to place, surviving on crumbs. Young men were drafted into armies they would never return from.

A bochur once approached the Chofetz Chaim, broken and despairing. “Rebbe,” he cried, “ich ken nit oishalten - I can’t go on.” The Chofetz Chaim told him about Adam Harishon. On his first day in this world, when Adam saw the sun set, he thought the world was ending. He cried, believing that his sin had destroyed it all. But the next morning, he awoke and the sun rose. Adam then realized that this is how Hashem made the world. There is night, and then there is day.

The Chofetz Chaim told the boy who thought he could not hold on, that this is the way of the world. There is night, and then there is day. There is darkness, but it is always followed by light. Hold on just a little bit longer, and you will merit seeing the light.

We saw that truth after the Holocaust. Six million Jews were murdered. Communities were wiped out. Yet, from the ashes arose families, yeshivos, and flourishing Torah life. The sun rose again.

Those survivors had ruach, spirit. They believed that darkness was not the end.

The Ohr Hachaim explains that the Jews in Mitzrayim could not hear Moshe because they were not bnei Torah. Slavery had crushed them so completely that they could no longer hope or breathe freely.

We, who have been given the Torah, must not allow ourselves to become overwhelmed mikotzer ruach. When we study Torah, it connects us with Hashem and strengthens us, for we are fulfilling our purpose.

Studying Torah restores our bitachon, which allows us to widen our perspective and appreciate that the light of redemption - personal and communal - will soon shine.

That is the message of the burning bush. A Jew may be scorched, blackened, and battered, but never consumed. Within every neshomah burns a hidden flame, waiting to be ignited.

Ever since the terrible attacks of October 7^th and the subsequent anti-Semitic hatred those attacks spawned, we have seen that flame awaken in Jews around the world. People who felt distant from Torah and mitzvos began feeling the pull of identity, destiny, and purpose. Pain shook something loose. Hearts opened. The fire began to burn again.

We must never give up on any Jew. And we must never give up on ourselves.

So many people suffer not only because of their difficulties, but because those difficulties erode their self-confidence. When people begin to doubt themselves, when they feel powerless against life’s trials, even small obstacles can feel insurmountable. To remain trapped in a cycle of sadness and defeatism is to prevent oneself from discovering the inner strength that Hashem has placed within every soul.

Everyone must believe in themselves - in their resilience, in their capacity to endure, and in their ability to rise above the challenges they face. A nisayon, a test or challenge, is not meant to crush us. It is meant to refine us. It calls upon us to confront adversity with courage, to grow through it, and to emerge stronger, wiser, and more faithful than before.

When we see our hardships as temporary, when we embrace them as opportunities for self-improvement and spiritual growth, we reclaim the power to shape our lives. Even the darkest moments contain sparks of potential. But if we allow despair to dominate, those sparks remain hidden and we deny ourselves the chance to overcome, to shine, and to fulfill the purpose Hashem has set before us.

Faith in oneself, combined with faith in Hashem, is what transforms challenge into triumph. It allows a person to move forward when the world feels heavy and unyielding, turning every difficulty into a steppingstone toward strength, courage, and ultimate redemption.

When despair takes hold, it can distort everything we see. We begin to view the world through a shadowed lens, noticing only failure, conflict, and loss. Every piece of news, every personal setback, and every interaction feels magnified into a threat. The economy seems hopeless, relationships appear broken, communities feel fractured, and the world itself can seem hostile and unwelcoming.

But this perspective, as powerful as it feels, is not the full truth. Even when our hearts are heavy and our minds are clouded by pessimism, there is much goodness around us. There are people willing to lend a hand, communities ready to support, and opportunities for renewal waiting to be embraced. Often, all it takes is a shift in focus, and a willingness to open our eyes and hearts, to allow that help and kindness to enter.

Despair isolates, but hope connects. It reminds us that we are not alone. Even in the depths of hardship, we can find allies, encouragement, and light. When we lift our gaze above the shadows of our own suffering, we discover that the world contains far more warmth, generosity, and potential than we could have imagined.

The moment we allow ourselves to see that truth, even a small spark of hope can grow into a flame, guiding us toward action, renewal, and the strength to rise above our challenges. It is in those moments - when faith in ourselves intersects with faith in Hashem, when hope begins to shine despite darkness - that we begin to reclaim our ruach and our capacity to change our circumstances.

Just as Moshe stood before the burning bush, unsure and humble, yet chosen to lead Klal Yisroel out of darkness into freedom, so are we called to rise above our own doubts and despair. Hashem has placed within each of us a spark, a flame of potential, a neshomah capable of strength and resilience even when the world feels overwhelming. If we embrace that spark and nurture it with emunah, bitachon, faith, courage, and action, we can overcome every nisayon, break free from every cycle of sadness, and open ourselves to the light of redemption.

Let us remember that even when the darkness feels endless, the flame of Hashem’s providence is always present. Just as Moshe was sent to bring hope to a people weighed down by suffering, each of us has the capacity to rise, to act, to believe, and to see the good that surrounds us. In doing so, we participate in the eternal story of our people, a story in which despair never has the final word and redemption always awaits.

May we be zoche to experience the ultimate redemption very soon with the coming of Moshiach.