Parshas Bo 5785
As a prisoner in Auschwitz, Dr. Viktor Frankl spent an incredible amount of time analyzing his own thinking and motivations. Based largely on his own experience, Dr. Frankl insisted that a sense of purpose and meaning plays an oversized role in one’s happiness and wellbeing, and could permit a person to enjoy such states even when otherwise beset by torturous or catastrophic realities. This analysis ultimately coalesced into the concepts set forth in his book, Man’s Search for Meaning, which has positively influenced millions of people worldwide.
Likely none of Viktor Frankl’s major life accomplishments would have been possible without his experience in Auschwitz, the crucible in which his breakthrough outlook on mental health was forged. Yet for all Dr. Frankl’s advice to his patients and readers, there’s one thing he never suggested. And that’s to spend time in Auschwitz.
The time had come to unleash the plague of locusts upon Egypt, and Moshe is sent to Pharaoh to deliver a warning before the country would be ravaged even further by the Divine hand. In doing so, Hashem gives Moshe an interesting directive: “Bo el Paroh.” Not to go to Pharaoh, but to come to him.
The Kotzker Rebbe noted the clear meaning of this choice of words. When instruction is given for someone to come to a place, the implication is that the speaker is himself already there and is asking for the other to join him. Hashem is not sending Moshe as His emissary to Egypt, to go perform a mission and then return and provide Him with a full report. No, Hashem is Himself already in Mitzrayim, as it were, and is beckoning for Moshe to come join Him there.
The Kotzker explains that Hashem meant to convey to Moshe that He is accessible anywhere and everywhere. Although certain locations may indeed be endowed with a greater concentration of Hashem’s Presence, a Jew should never presume that a given location is wholly bereft of spirituality and the possibility for divine connection. Every place on earth—even one suffused with idolatry and immorality as Pharaoh’s palace was—can serve as an access point to G-d.
But that doesn’t mean you should go there.
If you’ve ever had to spend a Shabbos in a hospital, daven mincha in the parking lot of a rest stop in the middle of nowhere, or reach deep into your reservoir of emunah to remember that Hashem was by your side in the midst of a challenging period of life, you know how powerful this idea is. To know that Hashem can be accessed from any place and from any situation, rescues us from the despair—or at least spiritual monotony—of those locations and experiences.
Should I bother singing the zemer and holding a proper Shabbos seudah? Yes, because Hashem is here with me. Should I bother closing my eyes and trying to squeeze out some kavannah while I pray? Yes because Hashem is here with me. Should I see the meaning in the experience and maintain the belief that somehow it’s all for the best? Yes, because Hashem is here with me.
But there is a dark side to this mentality. Because if Hashem is with me in every place and every situation, I can begin to lose the interest in striving for more. For experiences that are more naturally rich with kedusha, that provide an easier access point, and that prove less risky to my overall spiritual wellbeing, especially over the long haul.
If I could make that Shabbos in the hospital room, how critical is community? If I can daven in a parking lot, how important is shul? If Hashem is everywhere, I’ll find Him wherever I land.
If He’s even in Mitzrayim, should I bother going elsewhere?
Yes, you most certainly should. And not just for physical comfort, but for spiritual ascent.
This period of the year is a time referred to as “Shovevim,” an acronym comprised of the first letter of each of the parshiyos between Shemos and Mishpatim. Shovevim is a time traditionally dedicated to developing greater sensitivity to issues of sexual morality and propriety. This practice stems from the content of the parshiyos we read, detailing the emergence of the Jewish People from Egypt, a land rife with licentiousness and immorality. We attempt to draw strength from this section of the Torah, and thrust ourselves towards a more ideal state of purity.
Yes, Hashem is in Egypt. And yes, one can access spiritual greatness even in that place. But no, do not stay there a moment longer than you have to.
The realities of our environment shape us, oftentimes in ways that are undetectable, at least at first. They influence our behavior and shape our values. And while as conscious human beings we have the ability to transcend our environments, the longer we remain in them, the more challenging that becomes.
“Bo el Paroh—Come to Pharaoh,” is a reality that halacha would classify as a bedieved, a regrettable situation in which we must nevertheless do the best we can. “I am here,” Hashem tells us. Don’t believe spiritual development is impossible and don’t let yourselves off the hook. But don’t stick around, either. There are far greater spiritual vistas beyond Mitzrayim. Beyond the Shabbos in the hospital room. Beyond the mincha in the parking lot. Beyond the period of pain and darkness. Don’t allow the bedieved to become the new norm. Work toward the lechatchilah, the ideal state of being, as quickly as you can.
Viktor Frankl would likely not have developed the thinking that would positively influence the millions of people who would later read his work and benefit from his insight. And we must believe that that was by design. That Hashem deposited him into those hellish conditions—and stayed right by his side—so that he could accomplish what he ultimately did.
When we find ourselves in trying situations, we should remember, “Bo el Paroh.” Hashem is here, I can access Him, I won’t let the moment go without reaching out to Him, without fulfilling whatever purpose He intended for me in this place. But I won’t remain here and I won’t remain in this mentality. Hashem may be here, but I’ll have a far easier time accessing Him around my own Shabbos table, and davening from my proper makom in my own shul. He may be here in the darkness, but I’m going to move towards the light.