DO YOU HAVE BARRIERS IN LIFE?

The opening verse of the tenth chapter of Exodus—this week’s Torah portion, Bo—contains one of the most unsettling and psychologically profound statements in the entire Torah:

“And G-d said to Moses: Come to Pharaoh, for I have hardened his heart and the hearts of his servants, in order that I might show My signs in their midst…”

Two glaring questions immediately demand attention.

First: Why does G-d say, “Come to Pharaoh”?
Would it not have been more appropriate—more grammatically and logically correct—to say “Go to Pharaoh”? Lech el Pharaoh, not Bo el Pharaoh.

Second—and far more troubling—the sequence of the verse seems backwards.
“Come to Pharaoh because I have hardened his heart.” How does Pharaoh’s hardened heart justify approaching him? On the contrary—if G-d hardened Pharaoh’s heart, that should be a reason not to go.

The Torah itself seems to contradict this formulation earlier in Exodus, where G-d clearly states the order: first Moses speaks to Pharaoh; then G-d hardens his heart to multiply His signs. Why is the Torah suddenly reversing the logic?

The question is not grammatical.
It is existential.

Moses’ Fear 

The Zohar, the foundational text of Kabbalah, offers a daring and deeply human answer.

Moses was afraid.

Not mildly uncomfortable. Not hesitant.
Terrified.

Terrified to confront Pharaoh, the embodiment of raw power, cruelty, and unrestrained ego. G-d could not say to Moses, “Go to Pharaoh,” because Moses could not go alone.

So G-d says something radically different:

“Come to Pharaoh.”
Come with Me.

“I am not sending you,” G-d tells Moses.
“I am accompanying you.”

Hold My hand. Walk with Me. You are not facing this force alone.

And then G-d adds something even more startling:

“Come to Pharaoh, because I have hardened his heart.”

In other words:
The very thing you fear is the proof that I am present.

It Is All From Me 

G-d was telling Moses something revolutionary:

Pharaoh is not the source of his own power.

His stubbornness, his cruelty, his resistance—these are not autonomous forces. They exist only because G-d allows them to exist. Pharaoh does not control reality. He merely occupies a role within it.

“I hardened his heart.”

Not him.
Not a chance.
Not politics.
Not personality.

Me.

And why would G-d do this—if the goal is redemption?

“So that I might show My signs in their midst.”

The resistance itself is what makes redemption visible.

So why should Moses be afraid?

What he is facing is not an enemy—it is a Divine setup.

Hardships 

This teaching, emphasised repeatedly by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, is not ancient theology. It is a survival manual for modern life.

Each of us meets Pharaohs.

People. Circumstances. Diagnoses. Bureaucracies. Inner demons. External pressure. Situations that refuse to budge and seem designed to crush momentum and joy.

They trigger fear. Anger. Paralysis. Resentment.

That reaction is human.

But it is not the final perspective.

There is always a third lens—one that changes everything.

Vodka Story 

Why vodka?

Because vodka refuses to freeze.

Everything around it turns solid and immobile—but it stays fluid.

That is not chemistry.
That is a life lesson.

The question is not whether the freezer exists.
The question is how you respond when you’re placed inside it.

Portals, No Barriers 

“When I encounter a Pharaoh in my life,” the Torah is teaching, “I must remember one thing above all else:

‘I hardened his heart.’”

This obstacle was not sent to block you.
It was sent to activate you.

Not to stop your mission—but to draw out powers you didn’t know you possessed.

These are not barriers.
They are portals.

Not blockades.
Coordinates.

Not punishment.
Preparation.

The Donkey 

Life will shovel dirt on you.

Guaranteed.

The question is not whether the dirt will come, but whether you will let it bury you or elevate you.

Shake it off.
Step up.

Every challenge contains concealed Divine energy. Every hardened heart hides a seed of growth. Every pit can become a ladder.

Yes—it is exhausting.
Yes—it is frightening.
But it is never meaningless.

So do not surrender composure.
Do not surrender hope.
And never surrender your sense of mission.

Instead, ask the only question that matters:

Why did G-d bring me here—and who am I being asked to become now?

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky