Every sheep matters: The power of small deeds
It is hard to fathom Pharaoh’s stubbornness. After everything Egypt endured, Pharaoh harnesses his chariot, takes 600 choice chariots along with the rest of Egypt’s forces, and pursues the Jewish people to the Yam Suf.
Egypt is shattered. Its economy is destroyed. Its firstborn have been struck. And yet Pharaoh cannot let it go. The Torah itself records his bewilderment:
What is this that we have done, that we have sent Israel away from our service? —Shemos 14:5.
The Chidushei HaRim explains that this was not simply Pharaoh chasing the Jews to reclaim his workforce. He was fighting to preserve an entire worldview that was collapsing before his eyes. To understand that ideology, we must look back to last week’s parsha and the final exchange between Pharaoh and Moshe.
After the devastation of the ninth plague, Pharaoh appears to finally surrender. He tells Moshe that the people may go. But Moshe Rabbeinu responds with what seems like an unreasonable demand: “Our livestock too shall go with us … not one hoof shall remain” (Shemos 10:26). Pharaoh refuses, and that refusal sets the stage for the final plague.
Pharaoh is willing to let every man, woman, and child go. Why does Moshe insist on taking every animal? In truth, this is not a logistical disagreement, but a clash of ideologies, two fundamentally different ways of seeing the world.
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There is a single line in this exchange that, according to the Chidushei HaRim, contains one of the most foundational principles of Judaism. Moshe says, “Va’anachnu lo neida mah na’avod es Hashem ad bo’einu shamah (We do not know with what we will serve Hashem until we arrive there).” (Shemos 10:26).
The Chidushei HaRim explains that Moshe is speaking to each of us, in every generation. We do not know what Hashem will ultimately consider meaningful in our service of Him. We do not know which action, which moment, which quiet decision will carry the greatest spiritual weight.
We tend to assume that what matters most is what is visible and public. Judaism teaches the opposite. The smallest act can transform worlds. We simply do not know how Hashem weighs our actions.
A moment of self-control when anger is rising. Extra patience with a child. Choosing not to engage in gossip. These moments rarely draw attention, yet we have no idea what they accomplish.
There is a Gemara that captures this idea powerfully. Rav Yosef, the son of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, became gravely ill and later recovered. When his father asked him what he saw, he replied, Olam hafuch ra’isi (I saw an upside-down world),” where that which people considered great in this world was small there, and that which people dismissed as insignificant was revealed to be truly great. (Pesachim 50a).
This is the core difference between Moshe and Pharaoh. In Moshe’s worldview, every sheep matters. Every detail matters, because we do not know how significant our actions are until “we get there.” In Pharaoh’s worldview, people are fixed in place, locked into a rigid hierarchy. The pyramid never moves. Human choice and transformation are irrelevant.
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That is why Pharaoh cannot let the sheep go. And that is why he cannot let the people go either in our parsha. This is about acknowledging that small things matter, that destiny is not fixed, and that people can rise and become more than they were. In Pharaoh’s world, slaves cannot break out of their assigned places in the social pyramid. Their actions cannot affect any destiny other than what was predetermined for them.
Pharaoh reveals this mindset when Moshe first approaches him. He responds with contempt: “Who is Hashem that I should listen to His voice?” (Shemos 5:2). This is not merely defiance. It is a worldview. Pharaoh recognizes no authority higher than his own, and he cannot imagine a reality in which obedience, faith, and divine service could alter a person’s place in the world.
In Pharaoh’s mind, power is fixed, hierarchy is permanent, and slaves remain slaves. The idea that a nation of slaves could transform its destiny through serving Hashem is simply inconceivable.
This idea appears in the laws of Pesach. Even the smallest crumb of chametz is forbidden. A mashahu, something almost invisible, still matters.
This same principle sustained our people even in their darkest hour.
In 1945, in Czernowitz, the Skulener Rebbe managed to procure a small amount of wheat and bake matzah for Pesach. He informed other leaders that he could provide three matzos per Rebbe so they could hold communal sedarim. One week before Pesach, Rabbi Moshe Hager, the son of the Vizhnitzer Rebbe, approached him and said, “My father is requesting six matzos.” The Skulener Rebbe hesitated, knowing how scarce the supply was, but ultimately agreed.
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On Erev Pesach, Rabbi Moshe returned and asked the Skulener Rebbe whether he personally had any matzah for his own seder. Embarrassed, the Skulener Rebbe answered that he did not. “How could I,” he said, “when so many others needed it?” At that moment, Rabbi Moshe took out three matzos and explained that his father had anticipated this outcome all along.
This is what the argument between Moshe and Pharaoh is truly about. Not sheep and cattle, but the meaning of human action. Judaism insists that every detail matters. Every thought, every choice, every quiet effort counts. Pharaoh insists that small acts are irrelevant and that destiny is fixed.
We do not know what will matter until we arrive there. Until then, we live with faith that no sincere effort is ever wasted. May we learn to recognize the eternal significance hidden within the smallest deeds, and may that awareness guide how we live, choose, and serve Hashem every day.
Benny Berlin is the rabbi of BACH Jewish Center in Long Beach. Visit: bachlongbeach.com
Write: Columnist@TheJewishStar.com
