Weekly Dvar Torah: From Pain to Presence – Discovering G-d in the Lowest Place

Moshe Rabbeinu’s complaint to G-d pierces the heart of Jewish history:

“Why have You harmed this people? Why did You send me? From the moment I came to Pharaoh in Your name, things only became worse, and You did not save them.”

This was not a question of faith. Moshe knew there was a plan. G-d had already told Avraham that his descendants would endure exile for four hundred years as a prerequisite for future reward. Moshe’s question was deeper and far more troubling: Why must the path to redemption pass through such lowliness? What could possibly be gained that justifies this suffering?

G-d’s response is one of the most profound revelations in Torah:
“I appeared to Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov as E-l Sha-dai — Almighty G-d — but My name Havaye was not known to them.”

At first glance, this seems like no answer at all. How does a Divine name explain human agony?

But here lies the secret of exile and redemption.

E-l Sha-dai represents G-d as the Provider — the One who sustains the world, gives life, nature, and blessing. For thousands of years, the world existed through this Divine kindness. Even before the Torah was given, existence flowed from G-d’s benevolence. But kindness alone is limited. It is unearned life, a Divine gift that does not yet fulfill the purpose of creation.

The ultimate purpose of the world is not merely to exist, but to become a dwelling place for G-d through Torah and Mitzvos — to earn Divine light by fulfilling His will in the physical world.

That level of G-dliness comes from Havaye — the Omnipresent, infinite Being who transcends all boundaries, spiritual and physical alike. And that revelation could not occur in a world that had not yet tasted true descent.

This is why Egypt was necessary.

Egypt, Mitzrayim, means boundaries and limitations. It represents not only physical slavery, but spiritual constriction — a world where G-dliness feels distant, irrelevant, or cold. Sometimes the coldness expresses itself as apathy toward holiness. Other times, as fiery passion for materialism and self-indulgence. Both are Egypt.

This is why the first plagues were blood and frogs.

The Nile — Egypt’s god — symbolized material self-sufficiency and cold indifference to holiness. Blood transformed that cold water into warmth and life, igniting passion for G-dliness where there had been apathy. Frogs, cold-blooded creatures that leapt into burning ovens, cooled the destructive passion that tied people to Egypt and its excesses.

First, the heart had to be warmed toward G-d. Then, it had to be cooled off from Egypt. Only then could true freedom begin.

Yet even then, G-d did not strike Egypt down all at once. Moshe was instructed to ask Pharaoh for something seemingly absurd: three days to serve G-d in the desert. What claim did Pharaoh have over an entire people that he could not even spare them three days?

Here Torah teaches a foundational principle in education and growth. G-d does not overburden His creatures. He empowers them step by step. Even Pharaoh was given opportunity after opportunity to relinquish his grip, to grow beyond his limitations. Only when he stubbornly refused to learn was Egypt finally broken.

Pharaoh failed.
We learned.

And through this process, something eternal was forged.

The Jewish people emerged not merely freed slaves, but bearers of Havaye — empowered to unite the physical and the spiritual. This is why a simple Mitzvah, like giving charity, reaches deeper than meditation alone. A hundred-dollar bill is not spiritual — yet when it is given for a Mitzvah, it becomes a conduit for G-d Himself.

How is this possible?

Because Havaye is not separate from creation. He is the Creator of all creation. Physical and spiritual are one to Him. And that truth can only be revealed in the lowest place — in Egypt itself.

Only after enduring the pain of Egypt could the Jewish people stand at Sinai and receive the Torah, gaining the power to draw infinity into finitude, holiness into matter, eternity into time. This was the true reward promised to Avraham — not material wealth, but the ability to earn Divine presence.

This pattern did not end with Egypt.

The Zohar teaches that in later exiles, the hard labor of bricks and mortar is transformed into the toil of Torah study — ¬Kal Vachomer and Libun Hilchatah. The bitterness of slavery becomes the sweat of understanding. Through generations of effort, explanation upon explanation, the Jewish people have amassed mountains of “bricks” — the Oral Torah in all its depth.

And this toil produces light.

As the Hayom Yom teaches: “We are day-laborers. Day means light. Our task is to illuminate the world with the light of Torah.”

The Tzemach Tzedek taught that this light is not superficial. It is a light of essence, revealed through self-sacrifice. Like fire hidden in flint, it cannot be extinguished. Even generations later, when struck, it ignites from within.

This is why pain precedes gain. Not because suffering is virtuous in itself, but because descent unlocks essence. When life flows easily, G-d can remain hidden. When we are challenged, when Egypt tightens its grip, we are forced to dig deeper — and we discover Havaye within ourselves.

The highest of high and the lowest of low meet as one.

This is the meaning of exile.
This is the purpose of pain.
And this is the promise of redemption.

May we transform every limitation into light, every brick into illumination, and may our toil pave the road for the coming of Moshiach — now.

Have a Shabbos Challenged by Torah Study,
Gut Shabbos

Rabbi Yosef Katzman