Rabbi Kenneth Brander
Rabbi Kenneth BranderArutz Sheva

Rabbi Dr. Kenneth Branderis President and Rosh HaYeshiva of Ohr Torah Stone

“Egypt is a handsome heifer”(Jeremiah 46:20). This vivid metaphor in this week’s Haftorah from Yirmiyahu depicts the Egyptian empire’s downfall at the hands of the Babylonians. Addressing this description of Egypt as a fattened cow, the traditional commentators (Radak, Abarvanel) explain that the kingdom’s great wealth had bred complacency and arrogance in its foreign relations – a strategy doomed to fail under the attack of Nebuchadnezzar and his legions. Ultimately, Egypt’s abundance ended up being the kingdom’s ruin, as illustrated in the closing chapters of Yirmiyahu.

In truth, this narrative repeats itself throughout Tanach. Egypt is portrayed as a lush and fertile land, sustained by the waters of the Nile (Bereishiet 13:10). Yet when famine strikes, the palace repeatedly seizes the opportunity to consolidate power at the expense of the vulnerable . This is also true in the days of Avraham, when Sarah is taken captive; and it occurs once again during the famine foretold by Yosef, when the royal coffers purchase all the real estate in the country from ordinary Egyptians in exchange for bread.

As Shemot begins, we see the Egyptian empire use its power to enslave the Jewish people, compelling them to build enormous architectural projects to glorify Pharaoh. Egypt’s great wealth could have been a source of benevolence. Yet time and again, bounty leads to exploitation and violence. Never do we see the Egyptian empire demonstrate an interest in giving or sharing. Rather, it was entirely focused on self interest, constantly leading to conflict with the neighboring nations – including, as in our Haftarah, with the Babylonians.

I believe this is why – as my wife Ruchie pointed out – unlike other kingdoms and rulers in Tanach we are never given the personal names of Egyptian kings,only the title “Pharaoh”. That is not the case with other empires, where the names of the rulers are recorded. In Biblical Egypt, individual identity was unimportant; the focus was solely on reinforcing the power of the monarchy and sustaining the empire’s dominance.

Contrast this self-centered outlook with the solidarity our ancestors demonstrated during their time in Egypt. Despite their enslavement, they maintained a caring disposition, even sharing what little bread they had to eat (Shibbolei HaLeket on the Haggadah). And in our parsha, they unite to ensure that everyone has a portion of the Korban Pesach to partake in as they prepare together to leave Egypt. When there is genuine concern for the individual, names hold meaning and serve a purpose.

This same sense of solidarity – the commitment to valuing each individual and using our resources not for personal gain, but for collective benefit – has been powerfully on display here in Israel for months, and especially during these extraordinarily challenging past few weeks.

As we witness the release of hostages, we hold our breath and pray that they will all come home. Emily, Romi, Doron, Liri, Karina, Daniella, Naama, Agam, Arbel, Gadi. Everyone knows their names. Despite the high price, their liberation has brought collective joy, as their freedom is also our shared salvation. This ethos of solidarity and sensitivity rather than selfishness forms the backbone of our shared identity, and it is the wellspring of strength that enables us to persevere.