Parashat Bo 5785
On January 20th of this year, the strangely and eerily coinciding events of MLK day and the inauguration of Donald Trump, I–like many of us–had a choice to make. Watch and despair, or fight to stay grounded in a reality in which some things–if not all things–are good. In an effort to fill ourselves with wonder (or at least distraction), my friend Sonia and I took the Q train all the way down to the New York Aquarium. In our exhausted and despairing state, we lovingly forced ourselves and each other to marvel at the giant neon red octopus and its thousands of suction cups gripping the glass. To laugh at the sea lions playfully gliding on their backs through the water. At the furry topped sea anemones that looked like cartoons. At jellyfish that undulated through the water with such grace and ease–the opposite of how our nervous systems were feeling in that moment, an aspirational state of safety and ease. And we walked by the ocean, on the snow covered beach, listening to the waves and watching the snow blow in the wind down the shore, trying to remember that–like the snow and the wind demonstrated so beautifully–gam zeh ya'avor–this too will pass.
This week, as the Israelites are in their darkest moment before the dawn, they too are given a choice. As they are about to cross their threshold from slaves to free people, with no sense of what freedom even feels like, it would be natural for them to despair (as they do throughout their time in the desert). Hashem gives them another option, or rather command, the first Mitzvah, which is to create a calendar, observe festivals, observe Passover for generations to come.
This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you.
Before I share my take on why this is the first mitzvah, I’m curious to hear what you think—why do you think this is the first mitzvah the Israelites are given, and why do you think it’s given in this moment of liminal darkness, before they are freed from Egypt?
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One explanation that makes sense to me is that, in this fearful place, when plagues are befalling the Egyptians all around, as they encounter not knowing whether they will live or die, G!d is reassuring them through this commandment; you will survive. Not only will you survive, you will celebrate. You will thrive. Or, perhaps even, you must celebrate, you must thrive.
Another explanation that my Aramaic Grammar teacher from Rabbinical school very much dislikes–is that the word Mitzvah is connected to the Aramaic word Tzavta–meaning connection. This isn’t technically correct, grammatically, but the Talmud itself makes the connection between the two words, even if just by sound, so I think we can trust there is some wisdom there. This mitzvah–like all mitzvahs–is meant to connect the Israelites to each other, to Hashem, and to the cycles and seasons of the earth. In this scary time, as they are about to cross an identity defining threshold, they are being offered a hand to hold in the form of a mitzvah. Here, God is saying, hold on to me, hold onto this.
In this time of darkness and chaos for our country and our world, when many of us want to escape our reality in some way or another–our Parsha is begging us instead to root more deeply into our reality, to our seasons, to community with one another. May we be blessed to hold onto the hands–literally and metaphorically–that are available to us to hold onto right now, in this way we will make it through the darkness and the chaos, one step at a time.
Shabbat Shalom.
