The blood on the houses where you are staying shall be a sign for you: when I see the blood, I will pass over you, so that no plague will destroy you (negef laMashchit) when I strike the land of Egypt.
Shemot 12:13
In the story of the Exodus from Egypt, we are confronted with a strange phenomenon: the mashchit (destroyer). After the Jews were told to mark their doorposts with the blood of the korban pessah (paschal lamb), they were informed that God would pass over their doors and not allow the destroyer (mashchit) to enter their homes.[1]
Only later, at midnight, would Moshe call for them to leave their homes after they had had a family meal, and they would subsequently leave Egypt. Commentators struggle with the term “the destroyer.” Who or what was this? God? A plague? Some other power? One of the most remarkable explanations is that the destroyer was freedom itself.[2]
The threat of chaos
Often in history, national liberations have been followed by long periods of chaos and violence. Many bloody and ruthless insurrections have been instigated by slaves eager to settle scores with their cruel masters. At the time of the French revolution, many of those who were liberated subsequently initiated massacres, in which both the innocent and the guilty perished. The same is true of the upheavals after the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia. Victims of harsh slavery tend to throw off the shackles of moral behavior and become criminals themselves, taking their revenge on innocent bystanders. The brutish drive for vengeance, for gratification of the worst impulses within us, can often seem irresistible.
And so, it is significant that the mashchit was not, in fact, connected with the Israelites themselves. There was no upheaval of revenge. No Egyptian babies were snatched from the embrace of their mothers and thrown into the Nile, as had been done to the Jewish male babies just a short time before. Not one Jew beat up the taskmaster who had tormented him mercilessly only a few days earlier. Nor was there an Egyptian house destroyed or vandalized.
At that crucial hour, when the Jews had the motivation, opportunity and ability to take revenge for 210 years of exceedingly cruel treatment, they chose to be restrained and quiet. Instead of rioting in the streets of Goshen, they remained in their homes, as they had been instructed, ate a festive meal — which included the korban pesach — sang praises to God, and waited until they were told to leave. Would anyone have blamed them for beating up a few taskmasters who had thrown their infants into the Nile? Yet, not one Jew raised a hand against his enemy. Once it was certain that they would be free at any moment, and that there was no longer a need to defend themselves, revenge would be meaningless.
This is one of the greatest lessons that Judaism has to teach: freedom should be experienced in a prudent manner, far removed from chaos, bloodshed, and revenge.
Freedom and the unlived life
But even individual freedom can be very dangerous if one does not think it through, control it, and apply it carefully. It is therefore quite understandable that Pessah, the Jewish festival of freedom, is associated with so many restrictions and obligations. All forms of chametz (leaven), are forbidden to be in one’s possession, and even a crumb becomes an issue. The precise rituals to be followed on the Seder night, when Jews celebrate their release from bondage, are painstaking and even grueling to the modern, carefree soul. What kind of freedom are Jews celebrating on the very evening of their forefathers’ departure from Egypt? A life of even more restrictions?
Today, freedom is defined as the ability to do whatever one wants. Entire generations have been thrown into a life of meaninglessness, passivity, and boredom in the name of this artificial freedom. It wreaks havoc on many fine souls who no longer have a sense of what they are living for. After all, a life with no mission and commitment is not worth living.
Even in the religious community we find many youngsters who observe the commandments by rote, either out of social pressure or fear of punishment. They dream of freedom, of liberating themselves from their many obligations. Yet, they are unaware that these very obligations are the manifestations of genuine freedom, that a life with no boundaries is a life of confinement.
In our chaotic world, the symbolic restrictions of Pessah teach a most important lesson.
Embracing obligation
When speaking of obligation, people say, “duty calls”. The metaphor is clear: a duty calls. It is far removed and needs to call us, or else we may not hear. For us to hear, we must come closer. But we may decide to keep our distance, living our lives free of duty.
This is not the case in the Hebrew language, which expresses the concept of obligation very differently. In its worldview, duty has arms that embrace us and will not let us go. When describing one who has not yet done his duty, the Mishna uses the phrase: Lo yatza yedei chovato, “He has not yet left the hands of his obligation”. In Judaism, our duties are not “long distance calls”. Rather, they hold us in their grasp, and only when we have lived up to our duty can we claim to be free. It is the refusal to do one’s duty that casts us into confinement.
Judaism is the art of making a problem out of every solution. It correctly believes that what is taken for granted is boring; it does not get our attention and therefore has no significance. Only when we see something as a challenge and give it thought do we come alive.
Judaism is the art of making a problem out of every solution. It correctly believes that what is taken for granted is boring; it does not get our attention and therefore has no significance. Only when we see something as a challenge and give it thought do we come alive. A sense of duty reflects awareness that the trivial is critical. There is no growth except in the fulfillment of one’s duty. Without it, we do not live fully; we merely exist without experiencing the seasons in our souls.
Surely we must hear the music of our obligations and realize the privilege of being charged with a sense of duty. We must simultaneously be aware that by restraining ourselves, we prove that we are not hostage to our own desires, but the master who rises above our limitations. We need to know what we are free from, to daily experience this freedom and, above all, to know how to use it.
Johann Wolfgang Goethe wrote: “In der Beschraenkung zeigt sich erst der Meister und das Gesetz nur kan uns freiheit geben.[3]” (“Only through his limitations does the master really prove himself. And only the law can provide us with freedom.”) This expresses a fundamental Jewish concept: A man is never more free than when he is involved in a life of Torah. (See Pirkei Avot, 6:2)
Today, when so much freedom has been given to us, many of us do not know what they are free from. We have confused the free with the “free and easy”, the license to do whatever we like, regardless of how it may impact others.
“He only earns his freedom and existence,” Goethe also wrote, “who daily conquers them anew”.[4]
In these days, when we hear calls for violence on the background of increasing political polarization, the lesson of the mashchit is of utmost importance.
Notes
[1] Shemot 12:23.
[2] Rabbi Ahron Soloveichik, Logic of the Heart, Logic of the Mind (Jerusalem: Genesis Jerusalem Press, 1991) pp. 137-142.
[3] From the Sonnet: “Was wir bringen”.
[4] Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, Act V, Scene 6.
Questions to Ponder from the DCA Think Tank
- Rabbi Cardozo suggests that the mashchit, the destroyer, is freedom. What else might the mashchit be? From what other force might the Israelites need protection?
- Had you been there that night, do you think you would have left as calmly and politely as our ancestors apparently did? Have there been times in your life when revenge was the preferred option? Does not acting on the need for revenge feel good or bad?
- Rabbi Cardozo asserts that many people today do not know what they are free from. Do you know? Do you feel free? Might there be advantages to not knowing the hardships of lacking freedom?
- While Goethe’s character tells us “He only earns his freedom and existence, who daily conquers them anew,” Karl Marx tells the workers that if united, they have nothing to lose but their chains. How might these differing ideas about status, humanity, and freedom relate to Rabbi Cardozo’s assertion that freedom can be a very dangerous thing?
- What do you think freedom is? Do you believe that the definition of freedom varies from one culture to another?
