Following the Inauguration after a very contentious election and lame duck period, what can we learn from the Israelites preparing to leave Egypt?
Parashat Bo
Earlier this week I finished rereading the 6th book of the Harry Potter series -- The Half-Blood Prince. Towards the end of the book, Harry and Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster at Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, are on a quest to find an object of extreme importance in their fight against the forces of evil led by Lord Voldemort. At each step along the way, Dumbledore notes the ways in which Voldemort has underestimated the strength and power of good people. In this particular instance, Voldemort has surrounded a site of importance with corpses shrouded in darkness that will attack if provoked. As someone who’s not at all into horror as a genre, the scene is creepy and scary—even though I know the outcome.
Sixteen-year-old Harry, too, is scared by the scene he has entered. He notes his fear to Dumbledore and Dumbledore responds as follows:
There is nothing to be feared from a body, Harry, any more than there is anything to be feared from the darkness. Lord Voldemort, who of course secretly fears both, disagrees. But once again he reveals his own lack of wisdom. It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.
Harry does not believe that there is nothing to fear from these corpses, and Dumbledore agrees that later “we shall find them less peaceable. However, like many creatures that dwell in cold and darkness, they fear light and warmth, which we shall therefore call to our aid should the need arise.” Though there is nothing to fear from darkness, ultimately, it is Harry and Dumbledore’s light that protects them and saves them.
This week’s parashah, Bo, and the parshiyot of previous weeks, also acknowledge the effect that our fear of the unknown can have on us. The whole context of our oppression in Egypt is predicated on the Pharaoh’s fear of an Israelite uprising. He looks around at his community and sees an extended family of foreigners that has flourished beyond expectation. Instead of supporting their presence and encouraging them to bring value to the Egyptian community, Pharaoh interprets their numbers and strength as a serious threat. So he oppresses them, orders the murder of their children, and enslaves them.
After hundreds of years of bondage, God hears the cries of the Israelites and sends Moses to help save them from their suffering. First Moses and Aaron convince the Israelites that God will redeem them from the oppressive Egyptians. Their spirits rise and they offer thanks to God. But when Moses and Aaron go to Pharaoh to ask for permission to take the Israelites into the wilderness for a few days to worship God, Pharaoh assumes that they won’t return. (To be fair, he’s right.) As a result, Pharaoh orders the taskmasters to make the work harder for the Israelites—now they have to find their own straw with which to make bricks, it won't be provided for them. And they are forced to produce the same number of bricks per day.
With this decree, the Israelites’ hope vanishes. The next time Moses tries to rally the Israelites to prepare for redemption, for the leaving of Egypt, they reject him. In fact, they blame Moses and Aaron for their plight. Hopeless, angry, and afraid, the Israelites turn on the very people who would help bring about their redemption.
As a consequence of being unable, or perhaps unwilling, to see the very real possibility of redemption, the Israelites suffer through the first three plagues along with Egyptians. When the Egyptian magicians recognize God’s power, the Israelites begin to hope again. Through the next five plagues, Egypt suffers, but the land of Goshen, where the Israelites live, is spared. By the end of the 8th plague—the plague of locusts—Egypt is decimated. Nothing has ever been so bleak. And then they are plunged into the very deepest darkness. A darkness so thick you could cut it with a knife. A darkness so impenetrable you can’t see enough even to stand up or sit down, let alone walk. This is where terror should set in.
But, as we read in Bo, this week’s parashah, "וּֽלְכָל־בְנֵי יִֵשְרָאל הֵָיָה אֵוֹר בְֵמוֹשְבֹתֵּֽם —all the Israelites had light in their dwelling-places." A midrash notes an important difference between the Israelite experience of this plague and their experience of the previous five: earlier plagues affected all of Egypt except the land of Goshen. The plague of darkness, however, spared the individual Israelites. Wherever they went, the Israelites had light, even if they entered the homes of the Egyptians.
They no longer need light to shine for them—they are the light, and this light protects and saves them.
Though the rabbis focus on the importance of this light for fulfilling God’s command that the Israelites empty Egypt of everything of value, this is not a light for plundering like Draco Malfoy’s Hand of Glory. Instead, as we can glean from another midrash, this is the light of faith and hope—a light kindled by the mighty acts of God and nurtured by the Israelites’ newfound optimism. An internal light that shines brightly. A light that cannot be quenched no matter how thick the darkness. They no longer need light to shine for them—they are the light, and this light protects and saves them.
This light also shows God that the Israelites are ready to be redeemed. And more than that, this light shows that they are ready to help bring on their own redemption. And they do. The tenth plague is the only one that requires the Israelites to act in order to protect themselves. They slaughter lambs and paint their doorposts with blood. They gather as families to partake of the lamb offering, sharing their blessings and light with each other. And when Pharaoh sets them free, they go.
Many of us, for many different reasons, have been struggling through difficult times, stressful or oppressive situations, challenges that we weren’t sure we could overcome. Our country, with the deep divisions between us that are driven by fear and mistrust, is suffering its own night. The insurrection of an attempted coup a couple of weeks ago threatened to plunge us further into the darkness, though democracy prevailed. But there is still a long way to go to bring us to redemption.
We have to forge paths to a future together, where each of our lights shine the way for those who walk alongside us and behind.
First and foremost, we need to find the light of good, compassion, and love inside us and let it shine brightly. When we honor our own light and that of others, when we uphold the dignity and worth of each and every person, we can push away the shadows that evoke fear and mistrust. We also need to shine the light on those who, by word or deed, have threatened our democracy. Our tradition, both Jewish and American requires accountability from those who have caused harm. I would also hope for repentance, which moves us beyond the past into the future. And then we have to forge paths to a future together, where each of our lights shine the way for those who walk alongside us and behind.
I want to make clear an important difference between our Torah and our situation today. In the story of the Exodus we read about being freed from our oppressors. It’s a zero-sum game—if one wins, the other loses. For the Israelites to be redeemed, Egypt has to be decimated. While today we seek redemption from oppressive forces, our only option for a future is to find the way to liberty together. Yes, the future is unknown, but when light shines from each of us, the darkness that threatens is held at bay and we can move forward with confidence and courage. To quote our first National Youth Poet Laureate, Amanda Gorman:
But one thing is certain:
If we merge mercy with might,
and might with right,
then love becomes our legacy
and change our children's birthright
So let us leave behind a country
better than the one we were left with
Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,
we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one
We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the west,
we will rise from the windswept northeast
where our forefathers first realized revolution
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states,
we will rise from the sunbaked south
We will rebuild, reconcile and recover
and every known nook of our nation and
every corner called our country,
our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,
battered and beautiful
When day comes we step out of the shade,
aflame and unafraid
The new dawn blooms as we free it
For there is always light,
if only we're brave enough to see it
If only we're brave enough to be it
Comments