Shalom Brother: Speak to Pharaoh (Parashat Va’era)

Rabbi Noam Raucher, MA.Ed — Executive Director, FJMC International

Parashat Va’era פָּרָשַׁת וָאֵרָא  January 17, 2026 | Tevet 28, 5786

The world feels like it’s on fire. Iran, ICE, Epstein, Venezuela, Greenland are just a few easy one-word examples.

But when the temperature rises, a certain kind of masculinity shows up right on cue: the performative strong-man. Loud certainty. Public rage. A brand of courage that’s mostly volume. Of course, it’s fair to say that strong-man politics and performance is what got us here today. Unfortunately, this type of strength is also associated with hardness.

Luckily for us, parashat va’era offers something challenging and more useful: a man learning to speak without becoming hard.

God tells Moses, again and again, to go to Pharaoh. Not to defeat him in an argument. Not to dunk on him. Not to “own” him. To speak. To deliver words with stakes. And Moses — who already knows he’s not polished, not charismatic, not the kind of leader who fills a room — pushes back: “I am of uncircumcised lips!” The Torah’s language is blunt. Moses feels blocked. Tongue-tied. Unworthy. Afraid that his voice will fail, or that it won’t matter.

That’s not weakness. That’s honesty.

A lot of men don’t struggle to speak because they have nothing to say. They struggle because speaking costs something: approval, status, the illusion of control, the ability to pretend they didn’t notice. Silence can feel like safety. Speech can feel like stepping into fire.

But here’s the masculinity prompt embedded in God’s command: “Speak to Pharaoh” means boundaries. Not vibes. Not hints. Not passive-aggressive distance. Boundaries are words. They are statements that tell the truth about what is happening and what will not continue.

And Va’era teaches that boundary speech requires three things: moral clarity, steadiness, and a soft heart.

First, moral clarity. Moses is not sent to negotiate Pharaoh’s self-image. He is sent to name reality: this is oppression, and it has to end. In a burning world, men are tempted to replace clarity with posture. We deliver speeches that sound brave but cost us nothing. We offer a “spin” so as to make the story more acceptable to those who don’t want to hear the truth. We “take a stand” in ways that conveniently avoid the one conversation we actually need to have — at work, at home, with a friend, with ourselves.

Clarity is not a hot take. It’s alignment. It springs from a toughness of mind that isn’t easily fooled and embraces curiosity. It’s the inner line that says: This is wrong. This is right. This is the next step I will take.

Second, steadiness. Moses’ mission is repetitive. Say it. Again. And again. Pharaoh resists. Again. And again. That’s how real boundaries work. They’re not a single dramatic declaration; they’re a practice. They require steady follow-through when the other party tests whether you meant it.

A lot of men mistake anger for power because anger feels immediate. Steadiness feels slower and, therefore, more vulnerable. But steadiness is what reassures people over time and for good. Rather than a powerful miracle that comes and goes, it is Moses who shows up- constantly. Moses becomes a stable presence that interrupts the slavish system and serves as a constant reminder of what freedom can look like.

Third — and this is the part most men miss — a soft heart. The Torah will talk about Pharaoh’s hardened heart, and generations will debate what it means. But whatever the metaphysics, the human lesson is clear: there is a risk when we confront evil that we will become evil-adjacent in the process. Sometimes, when we fight cruelty, cruelty may colonize our spirits.

This is where the performative strong-man thrives: he treats hardness as virtue. He confuses being unfeeling with being strong. He turns every moral issue into a stage, and every conversation into a contest. He speaks in slogans because slogans can’t be wounded. And he grows addicted to the rush of righteous aggression — especially when the world is burning and everyone is scared.

But Moses is not commanded to become Pharaoh in order to defeat Pharaoh.

He is commanded to speak as himself: a man with fear, limits, and responsibility. A man who does not need to be a spectacle to be authoritative. A man who can stand in front of power without needing power’s approval.

So what does “Speak to Pharaoh” look like for us, right now — when everything feels overheated? It looks like saying hard things cleanly: I won’t be gaslit- I know what I saw. / I won’t participate in this conversation if it turns demeaning. / I’m not okay with that joke. It’s cruel. / I need you to stop speaking to me that way. / I was wrong. I’m sorry. Here’s what I’m changing. / I can’t be silent about this anymore.

Notice what’s missing: threats, theatrics, humiliation. Boundary speech is not an attempt to crush the other person. It’s an attempt to stop the harm and reclaim integrity.

And there’s another hidden spiritual risk here, especially for men who are becoming more self-aware: when you finally find your voice, you can become intoxicated by it. You can turn moral clarity into moral performance. You can confuse being “right” with being righteous. You can start speaking at people instead of to them. You can harden in the name of “strength.”

The Torah’s warning is not subtle: Pharaoh hardens. Moses must not.

So here’s a practice for the week: before you speak, ask two questions — is this true, not “is this viral,” not “will this win,” not “will this impress,” but true; and can I say it with a living heart, not a trembling, appeasing heart, but one that refuses numbness and doesn’t need cruelty to feel powerful. Because in a world on fire, your voice matters — but your voice isn’t just volume; it’s the courage to draw a line without turning into a weapon. Va’era is the beginning of that courage: a man learning to speak to Pharaoh so he can help liberate others without enslaving his own soul.