It was one remarkable piece of wood.
A staff that turned into a snake - and then swallowed other snakes. A staff that unleashed plagues, split the sea, and drew water from a rock.
Moshe’s matteh accompanies him at the most pivotal moments of Jewish history. The Sages teach that it did not begin or end with Moshe. The staff was created on the sixth day of creation, used by Adam, passed to future leaders. King David is said to have wielded it. It was stored in the First Temple, and then it disappeared.
We may not be able to hold the original matteh, but its deeper power is one we each carry.
Moshe is a reluctant redeemer. At the burning bush he resists the mission, insisting he is unworthy, unprepared, and incapable. Eventually, he accepts his role and prepares to return to Egypt. Before leaving Midian, he takes leave of his father-in-law, and the Torah tells us that he brings the matteh with him, exactly as God instructed. This staff, God had said, would be the catalyst for the miracles in Egypt.
And then something curious happens. As Moshe sets out, God reiterates the mission but conspicuously omits any mention of the staff: “When you return to Egypt, see that you perform before Pharaoh all the wonders that I have placed in your hands.” Placed in your hands.
Rabbi Don Isaac Abarbanel is struck by the omission. Why the sudden shift? Why remove the matteh from the conversation entirely? Abarbanel explains that Moshe was afraid - and understandably so. He was returning as a fugitive to confront Pharaoh, the most powerful ruler on earth. The matteh gave him comfort. It felt like a guarantee, a security blanket, a visible sign that God was with him, something concrete to hold on to. So, God gently but firmly reminds him: the staff has no intrinsic power. It is only a tool. Samti b’yadecha - the power is already in your hands. The miracles will not come from the wood you carry, but from the courage and responsibility you embrace as My agent. Don’t let the staff become a crutch. You already have what you need.
The matteh helped Moshe take the first step. It was never meant to define him.
There is a time for training wheels, and a time to ride without them. A moment when support is necessary, and a moment when growth demands confidence. Moshe had reached that moment. This idea echoes in Jewish law as well. The Shulchan Aruch rules that one may not lean on a lectern or support while reciting the Shemoneh Esrei, barring physical necessity. When we stand before God in our most intimate moment of prayer, we stand on our own two feet. It is a quiet but powerful message: when it matters most, we do not lean; we stand.
This message could not be more relevant today.
We are living in a moment that feels like both the best of times and the worst of times. There is so much to be grateful for - blessing, opportunity, prosperity, community, Jewish life flourishing in ways previous generations could only dream of, Israel’s successes since October 7 despite the pain. And yet, there is no shortage of worry or anxiety. Israel faces existential threats. Iran looms large in the headlines. The world feels unstable. Politics are angry and polarized. Partisanship seeps into every conversation, dividing families, communities, and friendships. In moments like these, it is tempting to retreat. To disengage. To rely on crutches and to assume others will handle it. Is it easier to wait for institutions to fix things or to scroll past instead of showing up. It can feel safer to lean than to stand.
That is precisely when the Torah insists: samti b’yadecha. The power is already in your hands. Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm captured this moment beautifully: “We spend our time in search of magic wands, when there is magic in our hands.” It is a time for moral courage, responsibility, and confident engagement.
That truth resonates deeply in our Jewish lives.
We invest enormously in Jewish education - and rightly so. Schools, teachers, rabbis, and programs are invaluable. But Torah cannot be outsourced entirely. Torah is b’yadeinu. Jewish life must be lived and modeled in our homes: singing zemirot at the Shabbat table, pausing for Birkat HaMazon, having Jewish conversations that matter. These are not supplemental gestures; they are formative acts of leadership. When we own Jewish life with confidence, our children and all those around us learn that Judaism is not something you attend; it’s something you live.
The same is true of our support for Israel. We are rightly proud to be a pro-Israel community, but pride alone can become its own matteh, something we lean on rather than actively sustain. American support for Israel does not maintain itself. It requires engagement: financial support, political involvement, showing up, speaking out, and making our voices heard. Assuming that support will always be there without action is leaning on the staff. Keeping America pro-Israel remains b’yadeinu.
Moshe needed his matteh, and so do we. Support systems matter. Help is legitimate. Leaning, at times, is human. Growth, however, begins when God whispers to us what He whispered to Moshe: the power is already in your hands. In uncertain times, faith is not passivity. Confidence is not arrogance. Engagement is not extremism. It is responsibility. Moshe learned when to hold the staff - and when to let it go. May we have the wisdom to do the same, and may we discover that we can go farther and higher than we ever imagined.
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