Oasis Songs: Musings from Rav D
Friday, January 31, 2024 / 2 Shevat 5785
THIS IS THE LAST OASIS SONGS COLUMN BEFORE MY SABBATICAL. I WILL RETURN IN EARLY APRIL AND LOOK FORWARD TO CONTINUING OUR CONVERSATIONS THEN.
Summary: This week, I continue to explore the meaning, risks, and opportunities present in times of transition by referencing changes in the nation’s approach to immigration and deportation through the lens of the Plague of Darkness in this week’s Torah reading. Darkness can paralyze us or spur us to action and growth. As with so much in life, we rarely choose the darkness, but we do have some power on how we will respond to it.
Reading Time: Seven minutes
On Tuesday evening, a group of Portland area clergy had a virtual town hall meeting with Governor Tina Kotek. Given recent changes in immigration status and rules per the new administration in Washington, DC, there is tremendous confusion, fear, anger, and anxiety.
After all, in 1987, Oregon became the first sanctuary state in the United States when it enacted ORS 181A.820, which prohibited state and local law enforcement from using state resources to enforce federal immigration laws if a person had not committed any crimes beyond violating federal immigration laws. While this law was challenged in 2018, the citizens of Oregon rejected it by a supermajority, with over 60% of people affirming the validity of the 1987 rule. As you may know, our community sponsored a Jewish family who were displaced because of the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine, so the larger national debate about immigration touches our community directly. In a personal email, Jonna Papaefthimiou, who is Oregon’s State Resilience Officer, does not currently know of any threats to the Ukrainian community, but we will need to monitor this.
The meaning of these changes for people in Oregon is shrouded in a cloak of darkness. Indeed, as I wrote last week, we find ourselves on the threshold, in a period of “liminality,” which means that so many things we took for granted are no longer clear, while the future is unfolding in front of us in real time. Given that, I want to continue to develop this theme by exploring some different concepts of darkness as they appear in this week’s Torah reading, Parashat Bo, where we encounter the Plague of Darkness.
In Exodus 10:21, the Plague of Darkness is described with unparalleled intensity: “And Moses stretched out his hand toward the sky, and there was thick darkness throughout Egypt—darkness that could be felt.” What is this palpable darkness?
This event was more than just a miraculous suspension of natural order; it was a symbolic confrontation with Egypt’s very identity, rooted in their reverence for their sun god, Ra. According to Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, in his essay “Against Their Gods,” the purpose of the plagues was to deconstruct Egypt’s spiritual worldview. Darkness, in this context, served as a direct assault on their sun god, Ra’s domain, shattering the illusion that any force other than the God of Israel could sustain life. This was not simply punitive; it was a reordering of reality in which divine light and truth replaced idolatrous deception.
In the Midrash as well as commentaries by Rashi, Ibn Ezra, and others, this darkness is explored in depth. Rashi explains that there were two phases of darkness: during the first, Egyptians were unable to see one another, and during the second, they were physically immobilized. This paralysis symbolized a collapse of social structure—each person trapped in isolation, unable to interact with or even perceive those around them. Ibn Ezra draws parallels to maritime experiences where fogs over the Atlantic could create similar disorienting conditions, though the darkness in Egypt was far more profound and supernatural.
There is an old Jewish joke: How many Jewish grandmothers does it take to change a lightbulb? None, as the punchline explains. “Never mind, I will sit in the dark.” Despite this joke about Jewish perseverance and guilt, most of us aren’t comfortable sitting in the dark. It surfaces some of our oldest fears, both as young children and as a species.
The Kedushat Levi, an early Hasidic text by Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, applies this discomfort in spiritual terms. Darkness is not just an absence of light but a manifestation of concealed divine energy. According to this view, the “hidden light” of creation—too intense for ordinary perception—was temporarily unleashed, overwhelming Egypt’s spiritual defenses. In contrast, the Israelites experienced light in their dwellings, a reminder that divine presence illuminates those who remain spiritually attuned.
This is a powerful reminder that darkness need not trigger our ancient fears but can be a guide that deepens our connection to God. We find this early in Jewish thought, in which darkness is never an end in itself. For example, Psalms 23 reminds us, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no harm, for You are with me.” A more accurate translation emphasizes this thought, rendering the Hebrew “gai tzalmavet” as a “valley of deep darkness.”
Even in moments of profound despair, divine presence accompanies and redeems. The darkness that immobilized Egypt signaled the final stage of their downfall and the imminent liberation of the Israelites. It was a transitional space—paralysis giving way to movement, blindness yielding to vision.
Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg, one of the most vital contemporary interpreters of the Bible, suggests that this darkness was also a time of transformation for the Israelites. Hidden within the gloom was an opportunity for introspection, a confrontation with their own fears and uncertainties as they prepared for redemption. In this sense, darkness becomes not only a symbol of divine judgment but also of spiritual growth and renewal.
In the outer social or transpersonal realms, we confront darkness by changing the lightbulb, using existing legal frameworks, and staying focused. In the internal or intrapersonal realms of spiritual growth, the Torah teaches that light and redemption are always within reach. Our task is to remain attuned to that light, drawing strength from the knowledge that divine guidance accompanies us even in the darkest moments.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rav D
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