Remembering Miracles—and Recognizing Them Today: Bo 5786

 This piece by Rabbi Kenigsberg was first published in Hanassi Highlights, 22 January 2026.

Every day, twice a day, we fulfill the command to remember Yetziat Mitzrayim—the Exodus from Egypt. The Torah anchors this memory in countless mitzvot: Tefillin, Mezuzah, Shabbat, Kiddush, Matzah and many others are all described as zecher l’Yetziat Mitzrayim. The Exodus is more than a historical event; it is meant to shape our Jewish outlook on life itself.

This week’s parsha recounts that extraordinary moment when the Jewish people left Egypt amid open and dramatic miracles. The ten plagues marked the complete suspension of the natural order. For a brief period, the impossible became real.

Why is the Torah so insistent that we remember these events constantly?

The Ramban explains that the Exodus was not only about the past; it was meant to transform the way we see the world in the present. Through the open miracles of Egypt, we are supposed to learn to recognize the hidden miracles that surround us every day. As he famously writes:

“Through the great and obvious miracles, a person will come to recognize the hidden miracles, which are the foundation of the entire Torah… A person has no portion in the Torah of Moshe Rabbeinu until they believe that all our experiences are miraculous, and that there is no such thing as mere nature or coincidence.”

The open miracles of the Exodus happened only once, but they were meant to teach an eternal lesson: the world we call “natural” is itself miraculous. We simply become accustomed to it and stop noticing.

Yet this idea applies not only to the laws of nature, but also to the laws of history.

In our generation we have been granted the privilege, and at times the challenge, of witnessing modern miracles with our own eyes. Over the past two years we have lived through a period of war and uncertainty, with real pain and loss that have touched so many families. There have been moments of fear, grief, and deep anxiety.

And yet, alongside the hardship, we have also seen remarkable resilience and extraordinary acts of Divine protection: communities that have stood strong, soldiers who have fought with incredible bravery, a nation that has refused to break, and countless stories that can only be described as miraculous. Even in the midst of darkness, there have been rays of unmistakable light.

More broadly, only one lifetime ago the Jewish people were shattered and homeless, and the idea of a Jewish state seemed unimaginable. Today Israel stands as a centre of innovation, strength, and Torah learning on a scale never seen before. What once appeared impossible has become everyday reality.

Centuries ago, Rav Yaakov Emden wrote that the continued existence of the Jewish people is the greatest miracle of all—greater even than the splitting of the sea. How much more true is that statement in our times, when we have witnessed not only survival, but renewal and rebirth.

When we mention the Exodus each day, we remind ourselves that our world is not governed by chance. Even in difficult times, we live in miraculous times.

Shabbat Shalom!

You can also read this piece in Hebrew, thanks to ChatGPT, here. 

Blood on the Doorposts: Becoming a People

Blood. Its connotations and symbolism are rich, pointing to both life and death. Blood also plays a central role in the birth of the Jewish nation. Our member Rabbi Paul Bloom explains:

The night of the Exodus was not merely the end of slavery. It was the birth of a nation.

When the blood of the Korban Pesach was placed upon the doorposts, something irreversible occurred. Until that moment, the descendants of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov were a collection of individuals—families bound by ancestry and suffering, but not yet a people in the fullest sense. On that night, in the land of Egypt, Klal Yisrael came into being. From that moment onward, Jewish history no longer speaks about individuals alone. It speaks about destiny, collective responsibility, and a people bound together by covenant.

“Mishchu”—The First Word of Redemption

Moshe Rabbeinu introduces the command of the Korban Pesach with a striking phrase:

מִשְׁכוּ וּקְחוּ לָכֶם צֹאן לְמִשְׁפְּחֹתֵיכֶם וְשַׁחֲטוּ הַפָּסַח

“Draw forth and take for yourselves a lamb for your families, and slaughter the Pesach offering” (Shemot 12:21)

The word מִשְׁכוּ (mishchu) is unusual. It does not simply mean “take.” In Biblical and rabbinic Hebrew, it means to be drawn toward, to be attracted, to form a bond. In Shir HaShirim, the language of love between the Beloved and the beloved, we find the same root:

מָשְׁכֵנִי אַחֲרֶיךָ נָּרוּצָה

“Draw me after You—let us run” (Shir HaShirim 1:4).

To be redeemed, the Jewish people were not merely commanded to perform a technical act. They were commanded to be drawn toward a mitzvah—to engage emotionally, spiritually, and existentially. Yet Chazal point out something profound. The very same root, מ־ש־ך, can also mean the opposite: to withdraw, to disengage. In later Hebrew usage, limshoch et yadayim means to resign, to step back. This dual meaning reveals a deep truth about human transformation: One cannot be drawn toward holiness unless one is also willing to disengage from what contradicts it. Klal Yisrael had to be drawn toward the Korban Pesach—and simultaneously withdraw from the idolatry of Egypt. As the Midrash teaches, the gods of Egypt were lambs. To take a lamb, tie it to the bedpost, and slaughter it publicly was an act of spiritual rebellion. Redemption required courage, separation, and clarity.

The Tragedy of Those Who Could Not Let Go

Chazal tell us that not all Jews were able to make this break. Many had become deeply assimilated—emotionally invested in Egyptian culture, success, and belief systems. They could not disengage, and therefore they could not engage. During the plague of darkness, they perished unseen.

Rashi explains: Why was darkness brought? Because there were wicked Israelites in that generation who did not want to leave Egypt, and they died during the days of darkness, so that the Egyptians would not see them and say, “They too are being afflicted like us.” Midrash Tanchuma adds that these Jews were comfortable, respected, and prosperous in exile. They did not want redemption. This is a sobering truth: redemption is offered to all, but embraced only by those willing to leave exile behind.

Redemption Requires Mitzvot

There is another obstacle that had to be addressed. The prophet Yechezkel describes the moment of redemption with startling imagery:

וָאֶעֱבֹר עָלַיִךְ וָאֶרְאֵךְ מִתְבּוֹסֶסֶת בְּדָמָיִךְ… וָאֹמַר לָךְ בְּדָמַיִךְ חֲיִי

“I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your blood… and I said to you: By your blood, live” (Yechezkel 16:6).

Rashi explains: They were naked of mitzvot. Redemption was ready—but the people were not yet worthy recipients. A fundamental principle emerges: even when God wishes to bestow infinite kindness, we must create vessels to receive it. Those vessels are mitzvot. Two mitzvot were given at that moment: Korban Pesach and Brit Milah.

Blood That Gives Life

Blood usually signifies loss of life. Here, it signifies life itself.

וָאֹמַר לָךְ בְּדָמַיִךְ חֲיִי – בְּדַם פֶּסַח וּבְדַם מִילָה

“By your blood, live—by the blood of Pesach and the blood of circumcision.”

A national revival of Brit Milah took place in Egypt because no uncircumcised male could partake of the Pesach offering. These were not passive merits, such as not changing names or clothing. As the Kli Yakar explains, redemption requires active mitzvot, not merely restraint. These two mitzvot transformed a group of slaves into Am Yisrael.

Inner and Outer Strength

The Chatam Sofer offers a penetrating insight. Brit Milah represents mastery over the inner negative forces—ego, jealousy, desire, and aggression. It is a covenant inscribed upon the body itself. Korban Pesach represents resistance to external corruption—the rejection of foreign gods, values, and identities. Redemption demands both. The Maharal deepens this further. He distinguishes between mitzvot of doing and mitzvot of being. Many mitzvot involve actions we perform. Brit Milah defines who we are. It is not something we do repeatedly; it is something that defines our identity forever.

Darkness and Destiny

The plague of darkness was not only punishment—it was separation. Those who could not envision a future in the land of destiny could not survive the transition. Chazal debate how many Jews left Egypt—one-fifth, one-fiftieth, even fewer. Whatever the number, the message is clear: comfort in exile can be more dangerous than oppression. Yet God, Who sees beyond the present, preserved those who—even while flawed—would soon stand at Sinai and proclaim:

נַעֲשֶׂה וְנִשְׁמָע

“We will do, and we will hear.”

A Template for All Redemption

The redemption from Egypt is the blueprint for every redemption—national and personal. It begins with mishchu: disengaging from inner and outer negativity, and being drawn toward covenant, mitzvah, and destiny. God is always willing to give. The question is not whether redemption will come—but whether we are ready to receive it. And when we are, He says to us again:

בְּדָמַיִךְ חֲיִי

“By your blood, live.”

A Nation in Sheep’s Clothing

Sheep are among the most useful of creatures. There is literally no part of them that we cannot use one way or another. But, contrary to popular belief, it seems that the Egyptians didn't worship them at all. So what's the big deal with our forefathers killing them as a prelude to our exit from Egypt? Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger explains.

The first act of defiance that Hashem requested from Bnei Yisrael was for each household to take a sheep on the 10^th day of the newly designated first month of Nisan. They were to safeguard this animal until the 14^th day of the month and then slaughter it. They would then place some of the blood on their doorways and they would roast and eat the meat that evening  (Shemot 12: 3-8).

Many assume that this ritual, which has became a generational fixture as the korban pesach (Shemot 12:23) was symbolic of a rejection or conquest of the Egyptian gods especially since the process in Egypt began with the four-day period of flaunting the restrained sheep. (See, Rashi on Bereishit 46:34).

There is one problem with this. Examining the “pantheon” of Egyptian deities, one will find many animals and human/animal hybrids. A brief search disclosed more than 20 – ranging from crocodiles and hippopotamuses, lions, baboons, wolves, cows, rams (and even frogs) – but NO sheep!!

Why of all animals did Hashem specify/choose the sheep for this important moment – one that would echo through the ages? What was the message for then and now?

The key to unlocking this message is a strange incident that occurred many years earlier, when Yosef invited his brothers to join him for a meal. Bereishit 43:32 relates that he sat separately from them because it was an abomination for Egyptians to break bread with Hebrews. This is quite perplexing.  At most there were seventy Hebrews in the entire world. How is it possible that there was an Egyptian rule of etiquette, a harshly discriminatory practice directed at such an insignificant family (one could not even call them a nation or a people)?

The answer is revealed a few chapters later. In Bereishit 46:32 the Bnei Yisrael are identified as “ro’ei tzon” – shepherds. Bereishit 46:34 reveals, “ki to’avat Mitzraim kol ro’ei tzon” – shepherds were an abomination to the Egyptians. Thus Yosef could not have seated the brothers with him because they, this family of Hebrews, were known as shepherds – and thus were abominations.

When they first met Pharaoh, he segregated them in the Land of Goshen because they were shepherds. This was Yosef’s plan to slow assimilation, but it was also quite consistent with the core values of Egyptian society – to keep the abominations away.

Fast forward through several hundred years. The Bnei Yisrael have been enslaved. They are at best second-class citizens. They are mistreated and addressed in a most derogatory fashion. In modern times, under similar circumstances, the “N-word” garners an intense level of emotional attention and evokes trauma. Considering that the very notion of being a shepherd or a family/people of shepherds was considered an abomination in Egyptian society, it is not a stretch to think that this was a pejorative label used to diminish and dehumanize them.

Thus, when the time of their liberation arrived and it was time for them to take their first action, what could be more fitting than for them to flaunt their association with the lowly sheep. To stick it in the face of the Egyptians, so to speak.

“Look here mighty Egypt – the abominable shepherds are displaying our sheep freely in our yards.” Next, “now look, we are killing it, painting our door with its blood and eating it – and sitting formally TOGETHER.”  We are not compliant sheep; we are not mere shepherds: we are the masters. We are not passive, meek sheep: we are the wolves who spill the blood and eat. We are not abominable sheep; we are social units, a family, a strong nation.

The generation of Hebrews in Egypt understood the symbolism of the sheep and likewise Hashem understood just how defiant and empowering a message it was for them to incorporate it into process of their redemption. For all future generations this message is, perhaps, even more important. Every culture in every era will find an excuse to separate us, isolate us and to identify us as abominations. But Hashem does not want us to hide from or be ashamed of who we, His people, are. He wants us to place our identity proudly out front and to reject any notion that we are sheep. That is how redemption is earned and that is how it is sustained.  

Bo: The devil is in the details

This week’s parsha introduces the halachic process of observing the commandments of the Torah. Every commandment contains numerous layers of meaning and importance: there is the social and moral value that it conveys. There are also the technical minutiae—complex details that comprise its very fabric. This week we encounter the laws that govern the observance of Pesach and of the structuring of the Jewish calendar, the general values of which are apparent to all. Pesach represents for us the concept of freedom from bondage, teaching us the beginning of our people’s history, while the calendar has always been vital for social and commercial life and keeps us in tune with the changing seasons of the year.

 Though the general idea of our commandments is easy to grasp, the devil always lies in the detail. Theories are wonderful—but they rarely survive the tests of time and ever-changing circumstances. So what mechanism can enable the story of our departure from Egyptian slavery to freedom to remain fresh after thousands of years? Values only come to life if they are translated into human action and normative behavior.

 Scientific theories can be tested by experiment and validation. Values are different. Freedom is a great theory but it must be tested by the realities of everyday existence. Pesach is a symbol of freedom but only its practical implementation through matzah, chametz, the haggadah and so forth can preserve the value and validate the theory and guarantee its meaningfulness for generations to come. The uniqueness of the Jewish calendar lies also in its technical details. The permanent calendar that we now follow, established in the fifth century CE, is a lunar calendar with adjustments to make it fit into a solar year. How the last Sanhedrin squared this circle is too large a topic for Hanassi Highlights.  However, if it were not for their calculations, our calendar would long ago have disappeared—just as did the ancient calendars of Egypt, Babylonia, Greece and Rome.

Many people look at the calendar not as a commandment but as a convenience, a neat way to mark our passage through time. But, for Jews, the details are of equal if not even greater importance than the convenience that they represent. In our time, those Jews who for various reasons only concentrated on the values, who were good Jews at heart but observed no commandments or details, were rarely privileged to have Jewish descendants. We must be careful, though. Concentrating only on the details is also a distortion of the divine word. To see the general value of a commandment and to observe its necessary technical details in practice is our guarantee that the Torah will survive amongst the people of Israel for all time.   

 Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Reflections on Parshat Bo and the Journey of Personal Redemption

This week's parsha features some of the most heavily-discussed features in the landscape of Jewish religious observance. In the piece that follows, our member Rabbi Paul Bloom takes a deeper view, contrasting the perspectives of the Rambam and the Baal HaTanya on the Exodus and examining the symbolism of three iconic mitzvah items.

Parshat Bo introduces numerous mitzvot, ranging from Rosh Chodesh to tefillin. As Pesach approaches, just two short months away, we are reminded of a profound and timeless message: the potential to transform our lives. The mitzvot of Pesach, Matza, Maror, and the recounting of Yetziat Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt) hold within them the power to inspire change.

Experiencing Yetziat Mitzrayim in Every Generation

רַבָּן גַּמְלִיאֵל הָיָה אוֹמֵר, כָּל שֶׁלֹּא אָמַר שְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים אֵלּוּ בְּפֶסַח, לֹא יָצָא יְדֵי חוֹבָתוֹ, וְאֵלּוּ הֵן, פֶּסַח, מַצָּה, וּמָרוֹר. פֶּסַח, עַל שׁוּם שֶׁפָּסַח הַמָּקוֹם עַל בָּתֵּי אֲבוֹתֵינוּ בְמִצְרַיִם. מַצָּה, עַל שׁוּם שֶׁנִּגְאֲלוּ אֲבוֹתֵינוּ בְמִצְרַיִם. מָרוֹר, עַל שׁוּם שֶׁמֵּרְרוּ הַמִּצְרִים אֶת חַיֵּי אֲבוֹתֵינוּ בְמִצְרָיִם. בְּכָל דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת עַצְמוֹ כְאִלּוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּצְרַיִם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר (שמות יג), וְהִגַּדְתָּ לְבִנְךָ בַּיּוֹם הַהוּא לֵאמֹר, בַּעֲבוּר זֶה עָשָׂה ה' לִי בְּצֵאתִי מִמִּצְרָיִם

Rabban Gamliel would say: Anyone who does not say these three things on Pesach has not fulfilled his obligation, and these are they: PESACH, MATZA, AND BITTER HERBS.

In each and every generation a person must view himself as though he personally left Egypt, as it is stated: “And you shall tell your son on that day, saying: It is because of this which the Lord did for me when I came forth out of Egypt” (Exodus 13:8).

The concept of “Ma’aseh Avot Siman L’Banim” (“what happened to our forefathers is a sign for future generations”) teaches us that the experiences of the Jewish people in Egypt—their suffering, redemption, and spiritual growth—will echo throughout history and guide future redemptions. Pesach is not merely a historical commemoration. It is a living, personal event meant to be re-lived. As our Sages teach: “In every generation, a person is obligated to regard himself as if he personally left Egypt” (Exodus 13:8).

Rabban Gamliel emphasized the centrality of three elements in the Pesach Seder: Pesach (the Paschal lamb), Matza, and Maror. These symbols form the foundation of our obligation to recount the story of the Exodus, serving as tools for both reflection and personal growth. They remind us that just as Hashem liberated our forefathers from Egypt, so too can we be freed from our own personal “Mitzrayim”—the limitations, challenges, and blockages that prevent us from achieving our spiritual potential.

Two Approaches to Experiencing the Exodus

The Rambam and the Baal HaTanya offer complementary perspectives on how to internalize the Exodus.

1, The Rambam’s Approach: Imagination and Gratitude The Rambam encourages us to use our imagination to relive the Exodus. He acknowledges the difficulty of feeling gratitude for an event that occurred thousands of years ago. To overcome this, he suggests we mentally place ourselves in the shoes of those enslaved in Egypt: imagine the beatings, the humiliation, and the oppression. Then, contrast that with the freedom and dignity Hashem has granted us. This “method acting” approach helps us cultivate a profound sense of gratitude. Even in recent history, we’ve witnessed similar brutality and oppression. Yet, our nation has endured, and this resilience demands recognition and appreciation.

2. The Baal HaTanya’s Approach: Overcoming Personal Limitations The Baal HaTanya expands the concept of “Mitzrayim” to mean “metzarim”—limitations and constraints. Each of us faces personal struggles that confine us, whether it’s arrogance, laziness, materialism, or self-doubt. These are attributes that are blocking us, they're paralyzing us, they're stopping us from moving forward and achieving our spiritual goals in life. Our goals can be learning more Torah, doing more Chesid or moving to Israel. Every single person has a mitzrayim and every single person needs see it within themselves Just like Hashem took our forefathers out of Egypt , we look for Hashem to help us out of our personal mitzrayim

The verse in Tehillim (118:5) encapsulates this idea:

מִן־הַמֵּצַר קָרָאתִי יָּהּ, עָנָנִי בַמֶּרְחַב יָה

 David Hamelech said: In my distress I called on the LORD.

The LORD answered me and set me free

Just as Hashem freed our ancestors, He empowers us to break free from our personal constraints and grow spiritually.

The Symbolism of Pesach, Matza, and Maror

1. Maror: Acknowledging Bitterness Maror symbolizes the bitterness of slavery. It teaches that the first step to freedom is recognizing one’s enslavement. Whether it’s anger, selfishness,materialism or bad habits, we must honestly confront our shortcomings. Without this self-awareness, there’s no motivation for change. As Albert Einstein famously said, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” Maror reminds us to confront our challenges head-on.

2. Matza: Taking Action Matza represents humility and decisive action. Unlike chametz, which rises and ferments naturally, matza requires vigilance and effort to prepare. The Maharal explains that chametz symbolizes inertia—the tendency to let things happen passively. Matza, on the other hand, signifies seizing the moment and taking proactive steps toward growth. Insight alone is insufficient; it must lead to concrete action.

3. Pesach: Unity and Commitment The Korban Pesach emphasizes community. It could not be brought alone; individuals were required to join a group. This underscores the importance of connection and mutual support. As Shlomo Hamelech writes in Kohelet: “Two are better than one, for if one falls, the other can lift him up.” True growth often requires the help of others—friends who inspire and challenge us, and whom we can support in return.

The Journey of Redemption

The sequence of Maror and Matza offers a profound lesson. While logically, one must first identify their limitations (Maror) before taking action (Matza), the Seder reverses this order. Why? Because focusing solely on one’s flaws can lead to despair and paralysis. By first recognizing our capacity for growth and positive change (Matza), we build the strength to confront our challenges (Maror) and ultimately integrate the two (eating them together) to create the personal change for real growth..

A Collective and Personal Exodus

Although every individual’s “Mitzrayim” is unique, we do not journey alone. The Pesach Seder reminds us of the dual nature of redemption: it is both personal and communal. Each of us faces our own struggles, yet we support and uplift one another along the way. Just as Hashem orchestrated the redemption from Egypt, He continues to guide us in overcoming our personal limitations.

As we prepare for Pesach, may Hashem grant us the clarity to identify our “Mitzrayim,” the courage to take action, and the support of a loving community to accompany us on our journey. Together, we can experience our own Yetziat Mitzrayim and grow closer to our ultimate spiritual goals.