Parshas Bo 5783
Even if you had no idea what a zoo is, it would become immediately apparent upon visiting one who is in charge and who is not. Despite the beautiful and spacious habitats the animals enjoy, despite the many employees who busily prepare and provide their food, the fact is that the humans roam free and the animals can not. Being stuck behind a border, a fence, or a wall, means that you are imprisoned.
How intriguing it is, then, that on the very night that would clinch liberation for the Jewish People, they were stuck behind a wall. As the Plague of the Firstborns raged throughout Egyptian households, the Jews were commanded to remain indoors as well, to not venture beyond the homes in which each korban pesach would be consumed. Surely an allowance to loiter in the public thoroughfares would have served as a fitting indicator that the tables had turned, that Hashem had passed control from Pharaoh to the Jews. Why keep them penned up inside?
Imagine being alive in that generation and actually living through the Ten Plagues. You’ve witnessed all that’s happened to Pharaoh and his once-glorious empire, and you can’t help but feel that justice is being served, that ultimately Hashem will not favor anyone who uses his power to manipulate and subjugate, rather than to uplift and provide.
And while these are important lessons, it’s hard to fully personalize them. You, after all, are not Pharaoh and never will be. You do not wield the authority and influence that he does, and simply have no ability to be cruel or kind towards others as he has. Though you may soon go free, liberation creates freedom, not power.
But then, just at the plagues reach a crescendo, you look around the home in which you are prohibited from leaving and see the faces of your children and siblings and closest friends, the members of the chaburah with whom you are sharing the korban Pesach. And suddenly, you realize that while a king or monarch may hold limited influence over an enormous number of people, you hold enormous influence over a limited number of people. To the loved ones gathered around to celebrate, you are a king. Your word is weighty, your thoughts and ideas can shape the very lives of those dining with you. The ability to uplift or to provide, and conversely, to manipulate or subjugate is indeed yours.
Perhaps it is for this reason that Hashem insisted that we remain home on that fateful night. With respect to the masses, the throngs that comprise our community, nation, and planet, our influence is diluted. By locking the doors, Hashem reminded each and every Jew of their status as a king or queen to those who occupy the orbit closest to them. What do we do with that influence? Enjoy a power trip? Make demands? Leverage relationships for personal satisfaction without feeling the responsibility to reciprocate? Or do we use that influence as a platform to care for and provide to those around us? Those most in need of our love and affection, those for whom a word of approval and consideration coming from our mouths means so much more than if it came from a true leader or monarch.
It is an entertaining mental exercise to allow your mind to drift every so often and answer the question, “What would I do if I were king or queen? If I had all that power, what would I do with it?” Perhaps the doors had to be shut for that very first meal we ever ate as a People to remind us all: You are kings and queens. You have all that power. Now what will you do with it?