Silence and darkness were all I craved.
Well, I get a certain amount of both. They being one.
Samuel Beckett (1906–1989)
Parashat Bo is shrouded in darkness.
All three plagues described in the portion – the final three of ten – encompass a darkening world, conveying a gloomy sense of imminent destruction for the Egyptians. At the start of the parasha, Egypt suffers from an infestation of locusts, which come in a dark cloud as they destroy the crops; later on, the devastating tenth plague brings the malach ha-mavet, the angel of death, sweeping through Egypt in the black of night. Between these two plagues is that of darkness itself.
What is this darkness, this ninth plague?
The text itself is brief – just two verses:
Moshe stretched out his hand toward the sky, and there was total darkness in the entire land of Egypt for three days. Man could not see his fellow man, nor could anyone rise from his place for three days; but all of the Israelites had light in their dwellings. (Exodus 10:22 – 23)
What is this plague of darkness? What is “the entire land of Egypt”? What is the meaning of the lack of visibility? And – in contrast to other plagues, such as locusts, hail, boils and cattle disease – what’s so bad about a little darkness?
Our commentators suggest two ways to read the text. The first approach is literal: the darkness was a physical blackness. The Midrash closely reads the verses and interprets two consecutive levels of physical disability imposed by the darkness:
There were seven days of darkness!...During the first three, “man could not see his fellow man”; during the last three days, he who sat could not stand up, and he who stood could not sit down, and he who was lying down could not raise himself upright.
(Shemot Rabbah 14:3, Tanchuma Bo 4)
First blindness and then paralysis. In responding to the Midrash’s description, Rabbi S.R. Hirsch tells of the terrifying power of the darkness: "It was the most complete, the most comprehensive literal suffering. It meant each man being held, chained and fasting, to the spot in which he happened to be." This was a malady of motionlessness, an affliction of imposed paralysis. (In a sweeping example of poetic justice, those who chained down others in harsh slavery became chained themselves.) They couldn’t see, and then they couldn’t move.
Other sources, however, teach that the darkness went well beyond the physical. This was a spiritual plague, causing shadowy behavior and darkness of the soul. The Chasidic commentator the Chidushei HaRim (Rabbi Yitzchak Meir of Gur) weaves his interpretation into the actual text:
There is no greater darkness than one in which man could not see his fellow man – in which a person becomes oblivious to the needs of his fellow man. When that happens, a person becomes stymied in his personal development as well – nor could anyone rise from his place.
In this symbolic reading, the Egyptians had become cold, hard, uncompassionate, sickly self-centered. Irretrievably rotten to the core. But perhaps the spiritual darkness was of another character altogether. Rather than being a moral malady, perhaps the darkness was emotional. The words of the Midrash –
he who sat could not stand up, and he who stood could not sit down, and he who was lying down could not raise himself upright
-- is a painfully accurate description of depression. Darkness that is not only blinding, but also paralyzing – this is the darkness of depression. Our Torah paints a picture of people covered in the shadow of sorrow. This is a darkness which extends well past the Egyptians. We have all known times of true darkness – moods so anguished that we cannot move, hours of nothingness, days of silence. For many of us, it often feels like a plague – tangible, unrelenting, black.
But is darkness always so bad? Always a plague? Must darkness lead to paralysis? Perhaps, at times, darkness is there for a reason – even, somehow, as a gift. There is a concept that lighting a torch in mid-day yields no particular light; but lit at night, even one small flame illumines the darkness. Darkness is sometimes necessary in order for light to be noticed.
Somehow, despite the blackness plaguing the Egyptians, “all of the Israelites had light in their dwellings”. How could this be? Did they not see the darkness?
They did see the darkness – most certainly. They saw it and perhaps even felt it. But – instead of letting it blind or paralyze them, they looked beyond it. Darkness was just one part of the landscape. In the words of Henry David Thoreau:
Humility like darkness reveals the heavenly lights. The shadows of poverty and meanness gather around us, “and lo! Creation widens to our view.” (in Walden)
Darkness is an invitation to experience God’s palpable presence on earth. Be like one who “would rather light a candle than curse the darkness”, seeing even in darkness – physical, spiritual, emotional – an opportunity to illuminate. If our eyes are dimmed we use our hands to reach out. If our feet are stopped we raise our voice to speak and sing out. If there is darkness around us – then we ignite a spark – and let Creation widen to our view.