In this week’s Parsha, Hashem commands Moshe, “Bo el Paro— Come to Pharaoh.” He is not told to “go,” but to “come.” The message is profound and comforting. Hashem is telling Moshe, “You are not going alone. I am already at your destination. Come there and you will find Me. Do not be afraid. I am with you.”
This is a message that echoes across generations. When we strive to live higher, to do good, to make a difference, we often feel hesitation. We worry about what others will say. We fear standing out. Perhaps you are the only Jew in your office or it feels uncomfortable to stop lashon hara at your Shabbat table. You want to live with integrity, but it’s hard.
Bo. Come, Hashem says. You do not walk alone. I will walk with you.
In this Parsha, Pharaoh’s resistance is finally shattered. The mighty ruler of Egypt runs through the streets, desperately searching for Moshe and Aharon, urging the Jewish people to leave Egypt immediately. But within this dramatic turning point, the Torah offers a profound insight into the nature of choshech, darkness.
When the plague of darkness descends, the Torah describes it with chilling words: “Lo ra’u ish es achiv—One person could not see his brother.”
This, the Torah teaches us, is true darkness. Darkness is not merely the absence of light. Darkness is when one human being cannot see another. When a man cannot see his brother. When a woman cannot see her sister. When a child cannot see another child.
We live in a “selfie” world. Who could have imagined a time when people would take pictures not of others, but of themselves? And what happens right after the selfie is taken? The image is enlarged and magnified, so one can see oneself even more clearly.
When all we see is ourselves, we lose the ability to see others and we stop noticing pain. We fail to recognize joy, grief, disappointment, or quiet courage. When our eyes are turned inward alone, this is called choshech. This is darkness.
In context, the Torah then uses a striking phrase: “Vayamesh choshech—The darkness was tangible, thick, paralyzing” (Shemos 10:21).
My mother, of blessed memory, would speak about this verse every year when we reached this Parsha. She would ask: When does darkness become tangible and so heavy that it immobilizes a person?
There is a chilling allusion hidden within the word vayamesh, a reference to palpable darkness. If you take the letter that precedes each of the letters in the Hebrew alphabet from the word vayamesh (vav, yud, mem, shin), it spells a single name: Hitler (hei, tes, lamed, reish).
That was one of the darkest eras in Jewish history. A time of absolute choshech, when darkness ruled and humanity itself seemed paralyzed.
When I returned from an unforgettable trip to Vienna, where I had the privilege of speaking to a beautiful and resilient Jewish community, a particular incident stayed with me. As we had entered the grand and historic hotel where the event was being held, our hosts told us something astonishing. This was the very hotel where Hitler once stayed, and where he stood on the balcony and addressed the masses. They had chosen that location deliberately.
Where he once stood spreading hatred, we now stood sharing words of emunah. Where darkness once emanated, we gathered to celebrate Jewish strength, faith, and continuity.
We have endured terrible and unspeakable darkness. And yet, we are still here. We have carried light into the world and we have pushed back the darkness with faith, with courage and with connection.
The Torah is alive and it speaks to us in every generation. And in this week’s Parsha, it reminds us that we are never alone, that Hashem walks with us, and that even in the darkest moments, light can—and must—be brought forth.
