“So, says G-d, ‘Through this shall you know that I am HaShem; behold with the staff in my hand shall I strike the waters that are in the River, ונהפכו — and they shall change to blood. The fish-life that is in the water shall die and the River shall become foul. ונלאו מצרים — Egypt will grow weary, לשתות מים — of  trying to drink water from the River.’ ” (שמות ז יז-יח)

Although others translate the word ונלאו, as ‘they will have to stop’ drinking the water — as indeed when implementing the plague, the Torah reports how, ולא יכלו — ‘they could not drink’ the water — our translation, as ‘weary’ follows the Targum Unkelos who translates it as, וילאון — ‘and they will tire’ — wear out.  

There seems to be an intimation of a frustrated investment of time and effort that brought no result. What could they possibly have tried if the water had already turned into blood?

HaRav Sholom Teumim, a brilliant disciple of the great Chassidic masters, the Degel Machneh Efrayim and Reb Boruch of Mezhebez, and contemporary and close friend of the Maggid of Kozhnitz and the Chozeh of Lublin, offers a fascinating suggestion.

He ponders the description of the water ‘changing’ to blood. The root הפך generally connotes a transformation into an opposite state; black turning to white; bitter to sour; good to bad. Blood is not the opposite of water; it is just different.

He suggests that the Torah is indicating that when going to fetch water from the river it turned into blood, however, when he stepped away and retreated and looked back, it appeared as water. The Egyptian would then run back to the riverbank, in hope that he only imagined it was blood at first, and discover it transformed once again into unsightly blood. The Egyptians were being taunted as the water kept ‘switching’ from water to blood, and from blood to water, in a endless cycle that provoked them to question their sanity. The dashing to and fro coupled with the rollercoaster of emotions — from hope to disappointment, exhausted them completely.

Rashi in fact states that their weariness stemmed from their being driven לבקש רפואה — trying to seek a remedy for the waters of the Nile so that it would be fit to drink. They were losing their minds and sought therapy for their madness!

This would also explain the Torah depicting them tryingלשתות מים   — to drink water from the River. Hadn’t it turned into blood already, what water were they attempting to imbibe? Evidently it was the water that ‘appeared’ to them they hoped so desperately to drink, only to have it switch once again back into blood!

Perhaps there is another layer of understanding of this weariness.

Each of the plagues that afflicted the Egyptians were intended to address the various crimes perpetrated against the Jews, in fulfillment of the Divine principle of ‘measure for measure’.

Tanna D’Bei Eliyahu reveals that the plague of blood was in punishment for their having restricted the womenfolk from upholding the Jewish tradition of family purity and its associated laws. The Egyptians deviously prevented the women from purifying themselves in their bodies of water as an exercise in population control, knowing that these women would refrain from family life rather than violate these laws, preventing the possibility of children being born. (פ"ז)

Although this was certainly a grievous assault on the very core of the Jewish nation, but did this offense supersede the wanton murder of the Jewish babies, and the tortuous enslavement that resulted no doubt in many deaths? Why is this the very first punishing lesson?

The illustrious Rosh HaYeshiva, Rav Yitzchock Hutner, observes that there was something unique to the plague of blood, that differentiated it from others.

One of our earliest memories as children being taught the nature of the plagues, is the image of an Egyptian and a Jew both drinking out of the very same cup simultaneously, yet the Jew draws up water, and the Egyptian spewing out blood.

In contrast with the other plagues when the Egyptian was afflicted; whether by frog, beast or hail — the Jew walked about freely, unaffected by these elements, here there was a miracle within a miracle, the essence of the very liquid in front of them was blood for one and water for the other.

This baffled the Egyptians. They accepted a notion that natural law could possibly lapse and cease perforce a miraculous intervention, but they could not fathom how there is one reality for one person and a differently reality for another, that was simply incomprehensible.

Rav Hutner explains that G-d operates under two systems of kindnesses. There is benevolence, which is unconditional, with no need to earn it. G-d bathes the world with the warmth of the sun, independent of any single individual being worthy to receive its gifts, it shines for all equally. Although there are certainly those who deserve its warmth — that person’s worthiness is not readily apparent when he enjoys the sun’s warmth, for he shares it with others.

With the development of the burgeoning Jewish nation in Egypt, a new era of kindness began, a realm of kindness which is deserved and earned. But isn’t that oxymoronic, if one is ‘entitled’ to reward then it is not absolute kindness, but rather something that is due the person? 

But in truth, it is not a diminished kindness, rather a deepened one.

When G-d provides us the opportunity to earn His kindness, to gain a position of stature in G-d’s ‘business’, so to speak, it highlights each one of our unique relationship with G-d that is not contingent on being part of the crowd that is showered with his kindness — regardless of our personal value, but rather a ‘one on one’ connection, that the Talmud expresses with the adage: Every individual is obligated to exclaim, בשבילי נברא העולם — the world is created for me exclusively!

The greatest exhibition of this singular ‘reality’ was projected to the world when these two individuals drank from the same goblet, resulting in two individuals existing with two distinct realms, with the Jew drinking refreshing water while at the same time it was blood for his cruel taskmaster. (פחד יצחק פסח מח)

The Egyptians comprehended a world that provided kindness to its inhabitants. But they only accepted it by the law of a collective nature. To survive we would have to create an ecosystem patterned in the jungle of life. The stronger will rule, implanting a system of law and order that would require the lower echelons to serve those above them, and at times, if necessary, to be subsumed, for benefit of the greater good. It was never about individual worth, solely survival of the collective, for the ultimate benefit of the greater all.

The Jewish women knew though the secret of every child’s unique value, talent, and contribution to the promotion of G-d’s will. No one was expendable. Each one, no matter its apparent lack or weakness, could proclaim — בשבילי נברא העולם — the world is created for me exclusively!

The Egyptians’ philosophy would explode with this very first plague of blood, that would demonstrate loud and clear that one who earns his keep can survive quite well in a realm secure from laws of the jungle, without the need to quash others who stand in their path.

Perhaps this challenge to their entire philosophy wore their spirits down, trying desperately to find a cure to this new reality that crumbled their ivory towers.

We are told that the Ten Plagues correspond to the Ten Utterances by which the world was created. According to the Maharal the first plague of blood is matched to the very last utterance: Behold, I have given to you all the herbage yielding seed that is on the surface of the entire earth, every tree that has seed-yielding fruit; it shall be yours for food. (בראשית א כט)

The world is gifted to each one of us. It was created for 'you' alone. If only we absorbed this vital message, realizing our inherent and unique worth, we would be able to ward off all the barriers of the natural world that delude us, and cleave to G-d and live inspiringly in His secure realm.

באהבה,

צבי יהודה טייכמאן