Today’s Torah and Tea is on Parshat Beshalach. As you know, the Rebbe’s sichos are very rich and detailed. What I share here is only a small takeaway—something practical we can carry with us. The full discussion is often too technical to cover in the time we have, so we’ll go slowly and keep it clear.
We’re also going to do something a bit different today: we’ll start “backwards.” We’ll begin with Volume 16 and then go back to Volume 11. Volume 11 is more technical and halachic, and if we start there, we may get lost. So we’ll begin with something more direct in the parsha—something that’s also very engaging.
Part 1: A Difficult Rashi—and the Rebbe’s Approach
At the beginning of the parsha, we have a Rashi that is genuinely hard to accept at first glance. But the Rebbe, with his insight, shows a simple way to understand it so it doesn’t remain a problem.
After the ten plagues, Pharaoh finally sends the Jewish people out. Everything seems to be going well. But then Pharaoh changes his mind: “What did we do? We let our free labor go!”
Pharaoh mobilizes an army and chases Bnei Yisrael toward Yam Suf. In Shemos 14:7, the Torah says Pharaoh took 600 choice chariots, along with the rest of Egypt’s chariots, with officers appointed over them.
Rashi asks an obvious question: chariots need animals to pull them. But weren’t the Egyptian animals wiped out in the plagues?
Rashi proves the question from two places:
-
By the plague of dever it says: “Vayamas kol mikneh Mitzrayim”—all Egypt’s livestock died.
-
And the Jewish people said: “Vegam mikneinu yelech imanu”—we are taking our livestock with us; none will remain.
So where did Pharaoh get the animals?
Rashi answers: these animals belonged to the Egyptians who are described earlier as “Hayarei es dvar Hashem”—those who feared Hashem’s word and brought their animals indoors before the hail. Their animals survived.
Now here comes the surprising part: these “G-d-fearing Egyptians” are the ones whose animals were used to chase Bnei Yisrael.
And on this, Rashi quotes Rabbi Shimon:
-
“Kasher shebamitzrim harog”—the “best” of the Egyptians should be killed,
-
and “Tov shebanachashim ratzotz es mocho”—even the “best” of snakes, crush its head.
This is extremely troubling as a blanket statement. It sounds like it’s talking about all Egyptians, and it raises serious questions:
-
We know there were decent Egyptians. Pharaoh in Yosef’s time treated Yaakov respectfully and gave them Goshen.
-
Pharaoh’s daughter saved Moshe.
-
And later the Torah says explicitly: “Lo sesa’ev Mitzri”—do not despise an Egyptian.
-
And an Egyptian can even convert, and in the third generation they may fully join the Jewish people.
So how can Rashi bring a statement that sounds like “kill even the best Egyptian”?
The Rebbe’s Explanation
The Rebbe explains that Rashi is not teaching a universal statement about every Egyptian in history. Rashi is drawing a conclusion from this specific episode—and that’s why Rashi says “mikאן” (“from here”).
Here is the key: the Torah says that at the sea, none of the Egyptians were left—“Lo nishar bahem ad echad.” They all drowned.
But the Torah also says Hashem hardened their hearts to chase Bnei Yisrael—meaning the chase itself was not logical and not purely “their choice.”
So why were they punished so completely?
The Rebbe explains: the drowning at the sea was not “punishment for chasing” as a separate sin. It was the continuation and completion of Egypt’s punishment for their cruel oppression and suffering they inflicted earlier. Hashem hardened their hearts as part of the punishment process—similar to how Hashem hardened Pharaoh’s heart during the plagues.
Now comes the important inference: if even those Egyptians who seemed “better”—the yerei dvar Hashem—were included in the total destruction, it reveals that they, too, were not innocent. Something was rotten beneath the surface. We might not have known it, but the severity of the Divine judgment reveals that they were also deeply complicit.
That is what Rashi means: “From here we learn…” In that Egypt, at that time, even the ones who looked “good” were still part of the same hatred and cruelty.
And that also explains the snake line. A snake can appear quiet and harmless—but it carries a built-in danger. So too, says the Rebbe, there are situations where something looks “fine” on the outside, but underneath it is destructive. The snake language also carries a deeper message: the Yetzer Hara is compared to a snake. Sometimes it comes dressed up as something “reasonable,” even “religious,” and says: “I’m a good snake.” Rashi says: don’t be fooled by the disguise—crush the argument at its root.
The lesson is not paranoia, and it is certainly not a license for wrongdoing. It is vigilance: don’t be naïve about evil when it reveals itself, even if it wears a smile.
And this does not contradict halacha’s clear approach to how we treat non-Jews today, including matters of safety and life-saving. Rashi is explaining a specific historical reality in Egypt at that time—and the Torah’s broader instructions remain intact.
That is the first subject.
Part 2: Techum Shabbos—Quantity vs. Quality
Now we move to a different topic, based later in the parsha (Volume 11, Beshalach 3). When the Jewish people enter the desert, Hashem gives them manna and rules for collecting it: each day they collect, and on Friday they receive a double portion—lechem mishneh.
The Torah says:
“Al yetze ish mimkomo bayom hashvi’i”—a person should not go out from his place on the seventh day.
Rashi connects this to the concept of techum Shabbos—the Shabbos boundary of 2,000 amos (roughly a kilometer) beyond the edge of a settled area.
Inside a city, you can walk as needed. But once you leave the city limits, you cannot go more than 2,000 amos further.
Now here is the case: someone is rushing toward the city before Shabbos but doesn’t make it in time. When Shabbos begins, their “place” is outside the city, which means their permitted walking area is limited to 2,000 amos from where they are. If they are just beyond the boundary, they cannot enter the city at all.
That’s one opinion.
Rabbi Shimon says a surprising thing: even if you are within a small distance, he allows you to enter—because otherwise you will sit outside alone, miserable, unable to enjoy Shabbos at all.
This becomes an important principle: quantity vs. quality.
-
If you don’t enter, you won’t violate anything—but your entire Shabbos will be lonely and painful.
-
If you do enter, you commit one violation—but you gain an entire Shabbos of oneg and kedushah within the community.
Rabbi Shimon weighs the overall Shabbos experience—the quantity of Shabbos joy and observance—against a single act.
To illustrate the same idea, there is a classic halachic example:
A dangerously ill person needs meat. One option is to feed them readily available non-kosher meat—then every bite is an act of eating treif (many small violations). Another option is to shecht on Shabbos (one major violation) so they can eat kosher meat afterward. In certain discussions, the halachic reasoning favors doing one larger violation to prevent many repeated smaller violations.
Again, this is not a rule you apply everywhere—but it helps us understand Rabbi Shimon’s logic.
And there’s also a positive application: sometimes consistent small mitzvos can outweigh a single large act. The Rebbe encouraged keeping a pushka and giving a coin daily. A big donation is wonderful—but daily giving builds constancy, habit, and spiritual momentum. Quantity matters.
The Rambam writes that a person should always view the world as balanced—half merit, half guilt—and one good deed can tip the scale for oneself and for the entire world.
May our steady mitzvos, day after day, tip the scale and bring the Geulah—speedily in our days. Amen.