Where is the fairness? Where is the justice? Reading the story of our miraculous redemption from slavery these weeks, we are almost inclined to feel sympathy for Pharaoh. Not because of the intensity of the plagues that he and his people endured, which was well deserved, but because of our sense of justice. The verses imply, repeatedly this week and next week, that Pharaoh was deprived of his free will in deciding whether to free the Jews. To cite just one example among many in this week’s Torah portion, a verse that has been the focus of much discussion in the commentaries and among classical Jewish philosophers: “And I will harden Pharaoh’s heart” (Exodus 7:3), suggesting that God will harden the King’s heart, apparently cutting off the possibility that he will change his ways.

It is axiomatic that every individual is given free will, to choose either the path of righteousness or of evil. Absent that choice, it would be difficult to assign any guilt, and certainly any consequences, to the sinner. If so, how can it be morally acceptable for Pharaoh to be stripped of his ability to choose?

A number of approaches can be found in the literature, including even the possibility that this verse, at least, does not mean that. Rather, it simply indicates that God will cause such anguish to Pharaoh through the plagues, that will bring suffering to his heart. However, most interpret this verse in line with numerous other indications that it has to do with a hardening of his will.

There are some who suggest that here we refer to an outlier situation, that of world leaders, who are perhaps an exception to the rule. Because their decisions affect the path of history, there may be times that God will interfere in their decision-making process to guide the unfolding of His destiny. However, here too, we would seem to fall short, as this would not explain the imposition of harsh consequences on these rulers, even if their decisions were necessarily foreordained.

There are those who suggest, alternatively, that the reference here is not to moral choice, but simply to resolve in withstanding the plagues. In fact, it is argued that the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart actually preserved his free will. Had he buckled under the pressure of the plagues, perhaps he would have released the Jews, but without any degree of personal repentance. By providing him the fortitude to resist this pressure, Pharaoh was actually granted the possibility of expressing his actual character.

There is a different explanation, one mentioned by Nahmanides, as well as Maimonides in his *Hilkhot Teshuvah*. It is true that every individual is given the ability to choose between righteousness and evil, between making the morally correct decision and the wrong one. However, in this context we are talking about something different: the ability to repent and gain absolution. Repentance, in contrast to moral agency, is a gift, the grace of God. For one who has egregiously inflicted suffering on others that endures long afterward, there is no justice involved in allowing the perpetrator a quick out from the consequences of his actions.

Our portion reminds us that when one has transgressed severely, has caused others suffering that continues long after, to allow for an easy escape from consequences and judgment is the farthest thing from justice. When there are victims who cannot heal, and have been neglected and ignored, it is a further offense upon them when their oppressor is excused without any effort to address his actions.

Further, as the verses repeatedly indicate, the process of the plagues had to proceed so that the full impact of God’s message to the Egyptians and the world could be conveyed. Here, too, it is not only the perpetrator that must be addressed; a message must ring out loudly and clearly, that abuse can never be tolerated, that victims must not be silenced, that the sympathy and responsibility of the community is with those who suffer at the hands of those who would exploit their trust.

There is another perspective, as well, that the early commentators point to in explaining the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart. They note that God only advanced a process that Pharaoh himself had begun. For the first five plagues, it is only Pharaoh who hardens his own heart; what happens later is a natural continuation of the path he deliberately chose.

This notion has great relevance for understanding the parameters of moral change. All of us struggle with conflicting impulses and inclinations; we face the constant challenge of choosing between right and wrong. We are reminded here, as well, of the actual parameters of free will. It is true that we are given the moral agency to choose between right and wrong. Nonetheless, every decision that we make, every step that we take in a given direction, narrows our range of choices. It affects the context in which we make our next decision, and, more significantly, it impacts our own recognition of the character of the decision itself. This is what Rav Eliyahu Dessler discussed as the *Nekudat HaBeḥirah*, or the shifting locus of choice, and it is what the Talmud speaks of when it teaches, “once one has sinned and repeated his sin, it becomes to him as permitted”.

There is an ancient parable that depicts an elder telling his grandson of two wolves battling within him. “One is evil – he is anger, envy, greed, arrogance, lies, and ego. The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, humility, kindness, empathy, truth, and compassion. This fight is going on within you as well, and within everyone else too”. The grandson asks him, “Which wolf will win?” The elder answers, “The one that you feed.”

We are all given free will, and it is the exercising of that free will that changes who we are and what we are capable of doing. That is the key to the possibility of repentance; but it also means that to ignore the impact and the harm that comes to others from one’s repeated decisions, to treat it as nothing, is the opposite of fairness and justice.

This perspective teaches us something profound about the balance between the possibility of change and the demands of justice. The capacity for moral transformation exists, and we must always leave room for genuine repentance. Yet when severe harm has been inflicted, when victims continue to suffer, fairness requires that there be accountability, that consequences not be evaded, that the process of confronting one’s actions be thorough and real. The message of the plagues, then, is not that change is impossible, but that justice cannot be circumvented, that the impact on victims matters profoundly, and that the community bears responsibility to stand with those who have been harmed.

The axiom of free will and the possibility of repentance are cherished pillars of our belief system. Both of those, however, mean treating our choices as real and requiring genuine engagement with their consequences and effects. It is only with an authentic process that these promises have the potential to allow for truth, mercy, and compassion to walk together towards a better future.