By Aharon Loschak
What exactly does it mean that “no one rose from their place?” Were the Egyptians literally frozen in place, the first and last time a whole nation was actually “glued to their seats?”
For many commentators, the answer is a definite yes! This was not any ordinary darkness. This was pandemic-level darkness, a miraculous feat G-d pulled off to shroud Egypt in such a thick blanket of gloom, it froze them in their places.
Others understand it a bit more loosely, explaining that the darkness was so frightening and disorienting, people ended up quarantining at home, not “rising from their place” to venture outside while the terrifying darkness shrouded the world.
The Chassidic interpretation sheds light (pun intended!) on how to be a better person.
The first nuance to look at is the Hebrew word mitachtav, which we previously translated as “from his place.” While that is a fine translation, a more literal reading would be, “from underneath it.” Understood simply, this is a reference to the physical space a person occupies, hence the conventional translation. But what’s the deeper significance of this anomalous phraseology?
The Chassidic masters interpreted the entire verse as a reference to how we ought to relate to others and, in turn, what that does to us.
“They did not see each other.” This is a person who does not “see” his or her fellow—not that he or she is blind, obviously, but that he or she is oblivious, or worse yet, too wrapped up in him or herself to be able to see, let alone hear, another person’s point of view. It happens to the best of us.
You’re in the store minding your own business, and down the aisle a parent is struggling. His eight-year-old is bickering with the toddler about which type of candy they should strong-arm dad into buying, and dad is quickly losing his patience. He loses his cool at the kids, and all of a sudden there’s a full-blown tantrum going on in the produce section. “Tsk, tsk,” you think to yourself, wondering why he can’t keep it together and respond calmly.
You’re in synagogue, trying to collect your thoughts and devote some attention to G-d. Sitting next to you is the Kiddush King, enthusiastically expressing his thoughts about the elections. You roll your eyes and try not to lash out, frustrated that your Herculean efforts to bring a little spirituality into your life are being thwarted by silly chatter.
You’re not “seeing each other.” At that point, you’re seeing yourself, and yourself only. And you know what happens when you lose that sight? Well, it’s right there in the next words of the verse (as per our literal reading)—“No one rose from underneath.” You get quashed under your own deficiencies. If you’re throwing shade at people around you (even in your own head), you won’t spot their positive qualities, and the one who ultimately suffers will be you. If you can’t see the redeeming quality of the Kiddush King talking in shul, your prayer efforts will continue to be frustrating, and the discord and negativity you’ve introduced into the world will eat away at what you’re trying to accomplish. If you figure that he’s an excellent person, his efforts to set the lox so deftly on the platter are his way to connect with G-d, and his gossip is just part of his overall likeable chatter, well, that will make you more likeable, and it will make you more prone to connect with G-d. If you’re empathetic to the harried dad in the supermarket and understand he’s doing his best, he’s overall a great father, and he’s simply overwhelmed, that will make you more kind. It will make you a better parent when you arrive home that night. When you’re able to “see” another person and revel in the positivity and unity it brings, it will automatically make you better, as well.
