This week’s Parsha marks the culmination of the events that lead to the Jewish people’s liberation from Egyptian bondage. Moshe Rabbeinu leads them toward freedom, as the final three plagues unfold, and all the foundational laws of Pesach are introduced.
One of the plagues described is choshech, darkness. But this was not merely the absence of light. The Torah describes a darkness so thick and overwhelming that a person could not rise if seated, nor sit if standing. It was a palpable darkness, a physical, immobilizing force. For three days, Egyptian society was paralyzed.
Rashi, citing the Midrash, reveals something even more sobering. During these days of darkness, a large portion of the Jewish population in Egypt also perished. This tragedy preceded the plague of the firstborn. Jews, too, died, quietly and mysteriously, in a way the Torah does not fully describe.
Later we read that the Bnei Yisrael left Egypt chamushim. While the simple meaning is “armed,” the Midrash understands it as echad me’chamishim—only one out of fifty. Even according to the more generous interpretation, only one out of five Jews left Egypt. That means that the overwhelming majority of Jews died in Egypt. Why?
Because they no longer believed. They had abandoned Moshe and relinquished their traditions and identity. They chose to remain former slaves who assimilated into the lower strata of Egyptian society. When Pharaoh and his army were destroyed at the sea and slavery was abolished, those Jews who remained behind disappeared from Jewish history altogether.
This moment becomes a painful paradigm for Jewish history.
Throughout the generations, we see a recurring process of attrition. Not everyone who begins Jewish history remains part of it. Over time, numbers diminish and entire branches fall away. It is estimated that tens of millions of people in Europe today have Jewish ancestry, yet are no longer Jewish. In the 19th century alone, massive waves of conversion erased whole communities from the Jewish future.
This is not accidental. The Torah itself states explicitly: “Lo merubchem mikol ha’amim... ki atem hame’at mikol ha’amim” (Devarim 7:7). Hashem did not choose us because we are many, because we never would be. We are destined to be few.
Even today, the pattern continues. Traditional communities grow, while assimilated communities struggle to sustain themselves. This, too, is part of the darkness.
And yet, the Torah tells us something astonishing: “U’lechol Bnei Yisrael haya ohr bemoshvosam—And for all the Jewish people, there was light in their dwellings” (Shemos 10:23). The commentators explain that this is not merely physical light; it is symbolic. There are people who live in full daylight and still cannot see, like the blind person feeling his way at noon, surrounded by sunlight yet unable to perceive it. That is the deepest darkness of all.
The irony of choshech is precisely this: for those willing to see, there was light everywhere. But for those who refused to see, the light meant nothing. That influence lingered. Throughout the desert journey, whenever hardship arose, voices cried out, “Let us return to Egypt.” Egypt was no longer a place, but a mindset, an inability to rise to challenge, a refusal to trust the future.
This pattern repeats throughout exile.
There is a segment of the Jewish people who live in light, and when one lives in light, one can see one’s shadow. “Hashem tzilcha al yad yeminecha.” Hashem is your shadow. As you move, the shadow moves. You shape your own destiny.
But for those who cannot see, there is no shadow at all. No awareness of Divine presence. No sense of responsibility or direction. Those are the ones who remain in Egypt. That is what it means “to see the light.”
Rashi adds that one of the purposes of the plague of darkness was to allow the Jewish people to bury their dead without the Egyptians noticing. Had the Egyptians seen Jewish suffering as well, they would have dismissed the plagues as random tragedy. It would have been viewed as something that happens to everyone and the message would have been lost.
The darkness therefore concealed, but also revealed. It revealed to the Jewish people a truth that echoes through every generation: survival requires vision. Faith requires choice. Light must be sought. We cannot control what happens to everyone. But we are responsible for ourselves and for our families and our communities.
That is the enduring message of the ninth plague. May we merit to be among those who see the light, choose the light, and walk forward with clarity and faith.
