Parashat Bo, Exodus 10:1-13:16

It is up to us to navigate through the darkness.

I've never been one for cliffhangers, be it on the silver screen or the written page. Perhaps that is why the story of the ten plagues has always raised a question in my mind. Why is it divided over two parashiyot (Torah portions)? Last week we read about seven of the plagues. This week in parashat Bo we read about the final three followed by the Exodus from Egypt. If the rabbis in ancient days wanted to leave us with a cliffhanger, why did they choose hail as the final plague for last week's reading? Does it make for a dramatic closing; and is this week's first plague – locusts –really a dramatic opening?

The plagues have been divided in all sorts of ways. Some mimic naturally occurring events and others –such as the death of the first born –cannot be explained in that way. There are those who divide the plagues into three groups of three and then add the final one. However we distribute the plagues, it doesn't explain why the last three were left for this week's reading.

There is one difference between the first seven and the last three. The plagues we read about this week all share the element of darkness. Plague number eight involves locusts. We are told that Locusts invaded all the land of Egypt and settled within all the territory of Egypt in a thick mass; never before had there been so many, nor will there ever be so many again. They hid all the land from view, and the land was darkened… (Exodus 10:14-15). The ninth plague is the actual plague of darkness, but this is no ordinary darkness. Then the Lord said to Moses, "Hold out your arm toward the sky that there may be darkness upon the land of Egypt, a darkness that can be touched." Moses held out his arm toward the sky and thick darkness descended upon all the land of Egypt for three days (Exodus 10:21-22). The final plague, the death of the firstborn sons, occurs in the dark. Moses said, "Thus says the Lord: Toward midnight I will go forth among the Egyptians… (Exodus 11:4). The blanket of darkness encompasses the terror of all three plagues.

Darkness is alien to us. Unless you are deep in the backwoods during a cloudy night, there is always some light somewhere, or a light readily available at the flip of a switch. We are not at the mercy of darkness, though we still have remnants of the fear and helplessness associated with the dark. Perhaps that's why so many horror films have the word "dark" in their titles.

We find remnants of this fear in Judaism. The hashkiveinu prayer recited as part of the evening service asks for God's protection from all sorts of terrible things that can happen at night. In midrash, night often symbolizes a time of oppression; and Rabbinic Judaism frequently refers to the long night of exile. Exodus Rabbah (14:2) describes the ninth plague as a primordial darkness that existed before God said "Let there be light," a darkness that is confined to Gehinnom (Gehenna). In our own day, Elie Wiesel titled his autobiography of survival in the death camps Night.

The Etz Hayim commentary sheds a modern light on the plague of darkness, seeing it as a psychological or even spiritual darkness.

Perhaps the Egyptians were depressed by the series of calamities that had struck them or by the realization of how much their own comfort depended on the enslavement of others. The person who cannot see his neighbor is incapable of spiritual growth, incapable of rising from where he is currently. In Jewish legal discussion defining how early one may recite the morning prayers, “dawn” is defined as “when one can recognize the face of a friend” (BT Ber. 9b). When one can see other people and recognize them as friends, the darkness has begun to lift.

Etz Hayim p. 377

It is the lack of concern for others that plagued the Egyptians, a callous darkness that engulfed their souls and could only be pierced when the terrible last plague struck those whom they loved.

This final dreadful plague occurs in the middle of the night. As it is set into motion and Israel prepares for the great Exodus, we are told: That was for the Lord a night of vigil to bring them out of the land of Egypt; that same night is the Lord's… (Exodus 12:42). Rashi picks up on the phrase "that same night," explaining that this was the night that God had spoken of to Abraham, that long-ago promise to the patriarch now being fulfilled.

Rashi's comment points to another view of darkness: Night also cradles hope and anticipation. How many poems and love songs eagerly anticipate the night? That fair lady Eliza Doolittle could have "danced all night." Tony and Maria in "West Side Story" found what they were looking for "Tonight." Jewishly, our days begin at night. Many holidays include a nighttime study session; Shavuot being the most well-known of these. Midrash Tehillim gives us the familiar statement that it is darkest before dawn–but this is something to anticipate:

At night, though it be night, one has the light of the moon, the stars, the planets. Then when is it really dark? Just before dawn! After the moon sets and the stars set and the planets vanish, there is no darkness deeper than the hour before dawn. And in that hour the Holy One answers the world and all that are in it: out of the darkness He brings forth the dawn and gives light to the world.

Midrash Tehillim 22 as quoted in The Book of Legends, 761:18

Yet our alienation from complete darkness means that we have lost numerous opportunities for powerful experiences, those breathtaking moments that Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel termed "radical amazement." In most places, we can no longer lift our eyes and see the countless stars that our patriarch Abraham saw. You have to get pretty far away from civilization to see the Milky Way caress the sky. Could it be that in making such experiences extinct, light has distanced us from God?

The middle of the night can either be the darkest, most dreadful time when everything is shadowy and things appear at their worst, or it can be the turning point that leads towards the light of dawn. It is up to us to navigate through the darkness. Fortunately, God has given us the tools to do so: Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. (Psalm 119:105)

Our challenge is to be able to walk along God's path at any time, whether the way is illuminated or not. Some find it hard to reach out to God when they face personal darkness. Our ancestors in Egypt had to wait for God to reach out to them. Others find it easy to stray from the path in broad daylight, when things are going well. Our ancestors were warned of this possibility once they neared the Promised Land. Squinting in the brightness of the day, does it matter that we can't see God in the distance? The task we face is realizing that God is there, no matter what time of day, no matter what point in our lives –whether we feel powerless and struggling, preparing for Exodus, wandering in the wilderness or nearing the Promised Land. Each step has its obstacles but also opportunities as we are reminded every Shabbat:
It is good to give thanks to Adonai
To sing hymns to your name, O Most High
To proclaim your lovingkindness in the morning
Your faithfulness at night.
(Psalm 92:2-3)

Shabbat shalom,
MS