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Bo
Exodus 10:1–13:16 

By Jen Smith 

Parashat Bo is one of the most dramatic portions in the Torah. It is here that the final plagues strike Egypt, Pharaoh’s resistance is broken, and the children of Israel take their first steps toward freedom. But if we look beyond the historical narrative, we find a mystical and deeply personal story that speaks not only of ancient redemption, but of our own spiritual journey today. 

The Kabbalists teach that Egypt (Mitzrayim) is not just a place; it is a state of constriction, a symbol of the spiritual exile that traps us in cycles guided by negative habits, fears, and limiting beliefs. The Hebrew word Mitzrayim shares its root with meitzar, meaning “narrow place,” or a place that confines us not just physically, but intellectually and spiritually as well. 

The ten plagues, seen through a mystical lens, were not only punishments but also tools for dismantling the illusions of Pharaoh, the ultimate embodiment and symbol of ego. Each plague shattered a layer of arrogance and false power, revealing the presence of the divine; or at the very least, a power that transcended human control. Just as Pharaoh had to let go, so too must we break free from the Pharaohs within us. These are the inner voices that say, “I cannot change, it is too hard,” “This is just the way things are,” or “I am in control of everything.” 

During the chaos of the plagues, something incredible happens: God gives the Israelites their first commandment as a nation; the mitzvah of sanctifying the new moon (Rosh Chodesh). Why is this the first mitzvah? Perhaps because it characterizes one of the most important values in Judaism: time does not happen to us – instead, we sanctify it and shape it with free will. 

The moon, waxing and waning in an endless celestial cycle, represents the Jewish people and the human soul; sometimes feeling full and bright, and other times dim and diminished. But the lesson we can extract from Rosh Chodesh is that even when the moon disappears entirely, it always returns. So too, no matter how dark things seem, we always have the power to renew ourselves. 

This is a powerful message as we approach Shabbat and every new beginning in our lives: rather than some earth-shattering one-time event, redemption is cyclical. We rise, we achieve, we exceed our grasp, we fall, we rise again. We struggle, we transform. The first mitzvah given to us is not about laws or rituals, it is about knowing that we are never stuck – our paths to freedom from within and our external struggles are only temporary, and we can always begin again. 

Before the final plague, the Israelites are commanded to mark their doorposts with the blood of a lamb (korban Pesach). On a simple level, this was a sign that distinguished the Israelites from the Egyptians, marking the sacred from the profane, protecting the Israelites from the plague. But on a mystical level, this act symbolizes something deeper.  

The doorpost (mezuzah) represents the threshold between the world inside and our world outside, creating a tangible border that separates our personal commitments and the challenges of society. By marking the door with the blood of the lamb offering, the Israelites made a public declaration of faith. They weren’t just physically leaving Mitzrayim (the narrow place) – spiritually, they were stepping over the threshold to a new identity. This reminds us that true freedom requires courage. The moments that define the chapters in our lives sometimes require us to step outside of our comfort zones and declare our values. Whether it’s through acts of kindness, supporting justice, or simply living our Jewish values in an increasingly complex world, redemption begins when we choose to make our commitments visible. 

Far from a fable of the ancient past, Parashat Bo is an invitation to examine our own “narrow places.” What is your Egypt? Which inner Pharaoh must you overcome to grow, heal and embrace your spiritual path? 

Jewish mysticism teaches that every day, we must relive the Exodus—because redemption is not something that happened once; it is a journey we walk in every generation and in every heart. May we have the courage to break free from whatever holds us back, the wisdom to see the light in the darkest times, and the faith to keep moving forward, knowing that the journey itself is sacred. 

Shabbat Shalom. 

Parshat Shemot
Exodus 1:1 – 6:1

By Jen Smith

Shemot is my favorite book of the Torah (doesn’t everyone have one?!)  I am what you might call a desertphile. The hot sand, the incomparable sense of space, and the dry sunshine (great hair weather) sound positively dreamy as I look out on our frozen landscape. And while these qualities alone would be enough (Dayenu!), Shemot “drops the mic” with the most epic story of all: OUR origin story – the one where we become a People. This chapter contains all the elements of a true masterpiece: slavery and oppression, heroes and heroines, supernatural geology, resilience and redemption. 

“And these are the names of the sons of Israel who came to Egypt with Jacob; every man came with his household.” (Exodus 1:1)

Parsha Shemot begins not with Moses, but with a list of names. These names are more than a census; they are a testament to identity, legacy, and the enduring strength of our ancient community. Even as the Israelites descended into oppression and fear, their names are symbols of individuality within a collective and they remind us that the people behind these names are not just slaves – they were the b’nai Yisrael, the children of Israel, inheritors of the covenant, upon whose shoulders we’ve built a thriving Jewish community.

The idea of Kehillah (community) is deeply embedded in Jewish tradition. In Pirkei Avot, Rabbi Hillel teaches “Do not separate yourself from the community.” (Pirkei Avot 2:4) The Israelites, though enslaved, retained their sense of peoplehood. They did not assimilate entirely into Egyptian culture or lose their connection to one another, and by proxy, their community. It was the Israelites’ steadfast unity that served as the solid foundation for their future redemption.

When Moses is introduced, his first act is undeniably one of communal solidarity. Though raised in Pharaoh’s palace as a prince of Egypt, he steps outside the walls to witness the suffering of the Israelites. When he sees an Egyptian beating a Hebrew slave, Moses is compelled to intervene. Later, when two Israelites are fighting, Moses is again driven to intervene to restore peace. In these moments, we see that Moses has a deeply rooted understanding of arvut (mutual responsibility) as a cornerstone of Jewish communal life.

In our modern world, community is both a blessing and a challenge. We are more connected than ever through technology, yet loneliness and isolation persist. Shemot calls us to reaffirm our bond to one another, leaning in to experience the joys and pains of our community as if they were our own. Like Moses, we are called to step outside the refuge of our “palaces” and engage with the needs of our community.

Rabbi Tarfon taught that it is not our responsibility to complete the work of perfecting the world, but neither does that absolve us of the responsibility to try (Pirkei Avot 2:21). We stand on the shoulders of our ancestors: our parents and our grandparents, all the way back to Abraham and Sarah as a young couple setting off on an adventure of a lifetime, driven by faith in a God that was to be found inside the human capacity to dream and love.  Shemot is a startling reminder of life’s infinite cycle of birth and creation, a cycle that requires each one of us to embrace our unique role in God’s divine plan. By engaging in Jewish communal life, we embody the concept found in Talmud: [we] found a fruitful world because [our] ancestors planted it for [us]. Likewise, we must continue their work by cultivating and caring for our community, safeguarding our collective dreams, traditions, and values for future generations. (Talmud Ta’aniet 23a).

Jewish mystical tradition teaches that every soul contributes unique sparks of holiness to the world, and when someone dies, those sparks never vanish. This light dwells within us, the community, and within the Torah by which they lived. We honor their legacies by fanning the sparks of Divine light left behind by our loved ones. When we honor this legacy, we are reminded that each of us bears a responsibility not just to preserve the embers of this Divine spark, but to nurture them, exponentially increasing the light that was left behind.

The sukkah of Shemot – our sacred community – becomes its own sanctuary; a place where we remember and rebuild, transforming memory into enduring legacy. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, once wrote about the Torah’s vision of society as community driven by a common covenant: a people bound together not by power or wealth, but by shared values and collective destiny.

This Shabbat, let us be like Moses, stepping forward when the world calls for leadership. Let us be like the Israelites, holding onto our names, our community, and our connections to each other and to God. May we move forward on our journey with steady hearts, honoring the memories of those who came before us by living meaningful lives that nurture the raging flame of our collective Divine light.

Shabbat Shalom.