Seeing what we no longer see

Rabbi Akiva Weingarten

Parashat Va’eira opens with a striking divine statement:

“I appeared to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as El Shaddai, but by My name Y-H-V-H I was not known to them.” (Ex. 6:3)

Revelation, in this verse, is not a single moment but a widening circle. The patriarchs knew something of God; Israel in Egypt is invited to know something deeper; at Sinai this knowledge will expand again. Judaism, in other words, grows through ever-unfolding layers of seeing.

Yet Va’eira immediately confronts us with the opposite dynamic: the ways we become unable to see.

“But they did not listen to Moses, because of shortness of breath and hard labor.” (Ex. 6:9)

The Torah names a spiritual truth that is painfully familiar in Jewish communities across Europe: people living under pressure, economic pressure, political anxiety, fear of harassment or antisemitism, and stop hearing even the words meant to liberate them. Trauma contracts the inner world. Vision shrinks.

The Dual Crisis: Pharaoh’s Hard Heart and Israel’s Crushed Spirit

Much of Va’eira focuses on Pharaoh’s hard heart. Seven times in this portion his heart is hardened, sometimes by God, sometimes by himself, and sometimes by the natural inertia of power.

But the parashah also shows that Israel’s heart is broken. Pharaoh’s refusal to let the people go is mirrored by their inability to believe that they could ever be free.

The Baal Shem Tov taught that often the Yetzer Hara brings a person to Atzvut, to saddness, by making him think he commited a sin, and then a person no longer believes in the possibility of change. I see this dynamic today in Jewish communities throughout Europe, small communities tired from decades of rebuilding, dealing with antisemitism that flares unexpectedly, or facing demographic decline. The danger is not only in the hostility of the “Pharaohs” of the world, but also in the internal exhaustion that makes us forget who we are meant to be.

But God Appears Again, “Va’eira”, Precisely There

Against this backdrop, God says: “Va’eira, I appeared.”

Revelation comes not when Israel is spiritually prepared, but precisely when they are most crushed. God meets them in their diminished seeing.

This is perhaps the most radical element of the parashah:

the God known only partially by the patriarchs becomes fully present to a generation that can barely breathe.

Revelation, then, is not a reward for spiritual achievement.

It is an act of divine solidarity.

I often think about this when visiting small European congregations, a minyan that just barely gathers on a Friday night, a community of five Bar/Bat-Mitzvah students spread across an entire region. And yet, in these modest rooms, something of “Va’eira” appears: a presence not dependent on grandeur.

The Plagues: Disruption as Revelation

The ten plagues begin in Va’eira, and while their violence is troubling, they carry a theological theme: reality must be disrupted so that new seeing becomes possible.

When the Nile turns to blood, Torah tells us:

“The Egyptians could not drink water from the Nile.” (Ex. 7:21)

This is not only punishment; it is interruption. A system in which oppression has become normal must first be made abnormal. Disturbance forces awareness.

In our context, I read the plagues as metaphors for moments that shake societies out of complacency. Rising antisemitism, public debates about identity, refugee crises, polarization, none of these “plagues” are welcome, but they expose truths previously ignored. They force Europe to confront the limits of its liberal promises.

The question is not whether interruption will come, but whether we will interpret it as Pharaoh did, entrenching ourselves, or as Israel eventually did: taking the disruptions as invitations to change.

The Danger of Familiarity: Moses and Aaron Before Pharaoh

One detail often overlooked is the dynamic between Moses and Aaron. When Aaron casts down his staff and it becomes a serpent, the Egyptian magicians reproduce the trick. But then:

“Aaron’s staff swallowed their staffs.” (Ex. 7:12)

This verse has a midrashic reading: the staff returns to being a staff before swallowing the others. In other words, liberation does not require spectacle; it requires authenticity. The Jewish future will not be secured by performing better than others, but by being more deeply ourselves.

In a European setting, this is a crucial message. Jewish communities often feel pressure to “justify” our presence, to explain ourselves culturally, politically, aesthetically, as if assimilation were the price of acceptance. But Va’eira teaches that redemption happens when we return to our authentic form and swallow, gently but confidently, the narratives that would diminish us.

A European Reading: Learning to See Each Other Again

The overarching theme of Va’eira is the restoration of sight, God showing Godself, Israel learning again to notice hope, Pharaoh refusing to see the humanity he enslaves.

Europe today is struggling with its own crisis of seeing. Polarisation creates bubbles; fear distorts perception; communities talk past one another. Jewish communities feel watched but not seen, present but not understood.

Parashat Va’eira challenges us:

Wherever spiritual or social oppression makes hearing impossible, someone must speak again. And wherever hearts are hardened, someone must soften first.

Moses models this. Despite repeated failure, he returns to Pharaoh. Despite Israel’s inability to listen, he speaks again. Persistence, not perfection, is what moves history.

Conclusion: Choosing to See

Va’eira invites us to cultivate a slow, stubborn vision, the kind that sees possibilities even when the moment looks hopeless. For Jewish life in Europe, this means continuing to build, teach, welcome, and create Jewish spaces with confidence, even when communities feel small or stretched thin.

Revelation is not a gift from the past; it is a practice for the present.

As God says at the start of our portion:

“Va’eira, I appeared.”

May we learn to perceive what appears before us, and may our renewed seeing help us move, personally and collectively, from constriction to freedom.

Rabbi Akiva Weingarten is the rabbi of the city of Dresden, Germany and previously served the Liberal community Migwan in Basel, Switzerland. He is the founder of the Haichal Besht synagogue in Bnei Brak, Israel, the Haichal Besht synagogue in Berlin, and the Besht Yeshiva in Dresden.