Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

By the time we enter Sefer Shemos, a lot has changed. Within a few pesukim of the death of Yaakov, his descendants, once venerated as the family of Yosef, have sunk to the bottom of society.

Reading the Chumash, perhaps the most abrupt change is that the protagonist at the beginning of the Sefer is Pharaoh, while Bnei Yisrael have been relegated to props in his story. Nothing is revealed about the lives, the pain and the stories of any particular Jews.

By the second Perek, we meet the baby who will become Moshe, but even as he is somehow saved, and raised in Pharaoh’s home, the Jewish people have been thoroughly crushed.

If we didn’t know the end of the story, we might think the Moshe experiment had failed. In his very first act of heroism – defending a Jewish life – he is discovered, and forced to flee.

The next time we meet him, Moshe is eighty years old, meaning that that at least sixty years had gone by. Generations of Jews have been swallowed into traumatic oblivion.

This feeling is one that everyone of us has encountered. The feeling the time has gone by, and nothing has changed, nothing has gotten better. It’s that feeling of that track of our lives is playing on repeat, and it’s not a song that we enjoy. The world is still continuing, but I’m not. I’m still in the same place.

Days, weeks, months and even years can slip into amorphous blobs of time, summarized by a sentence or two.

At the core, it’s the feeling of no longer being the protagonist in our own lives.

And then Hashem appears to Moshe in a burning bush, that didn't burn up. Sometimes, I wonder how long that bush had been burning. How many times Moshe had passed it, until the day he first looked up and noticed it.

In the deepest way, it is at this moment, that Moshe becomes the central character of his story. Somehow, in that encounter with the burning bush, Moshe learns how to take control of his own life and destiny.

R’ Chanoch Henoch of Alexander explained the metaphor and message of the the burning bush:

The s’neh represents Galus – a lowly state of exile in which nothing grows. There is no movement, no life, no fruit, no blossoms, no beauty. But even in such a place, Hashem’s presence can be felt. It burns deep in the heart of every Jew.

Sounds uplifting. It’s a beautiful message. But for the person suffering, it is totally unhelpful, so Moshe Rabbeinu is unsatisfied. If Hashem is burning in my heart, and in the heart of every Jew, why is the bush not being consumed? Why don't I feel inspired? Why do I not see Klal Yisrael burning with a fire of purpose? Why have so many days and years disappeared? How come so many Jews have faded into history?

Hashem, You’re telling me that even in the worst places You’re there? Why don’t I feel it? Where is that Holy fire now?

So Hashem explains: של נעליך מעל רגליך – Take the shoes off of your feet.

The Alexander Rebbe continues. נעל doesn't just mean a shoe, it means a Lock. רגל doesn't just mean a foot, it means a habit.

If you want to take control of your life, it starts with a pause. Stop for a moment. Take a day, or even a minute to think. Why am I living this way? What am I afraid of? Do I still have dreams? What’s holding me back?

In that simple act of mentally unlocking ourselves from our hamster wheel, we are able to find that fire again.

The Chafetz Chaim explains the rest of the Pasuk: כי המקום אשר אתה עומד עליו, אדמת קודש הוא – The place that you are standing is Holy ground.

You have escaped Mitzrayim. You're leading a comfortable life, tending your flock, raising your family. No-one is trying to kill you here. Things are fine. And your life has become irrelevant to the story of Jewish history.

It doesn’t have to be that way. But if you stop for a moment, if you take off your shoes, you will realize that the ground of which you stand is holy ground. Wherever you may be.

Hashem is burning inside of you as well, Moshe. Whatever ground you stand on, becomes a special place. Take off your shoes, stop running. If you can find the fire inside of you, you’ll be able to find it in the lives and stories of every Jew in Egypt. That’s how you free Klal Yisrael, and that’s how you free yourself.