Jewish people are told that in every generation, we must see ourselves as if we personally left Egypt. If Jewish journalists saw themselves in the midst of the Exodus story, what angle about the story should they report on? The Chronicle asked community rabbis, and the following had some advice:
Rabbi Elizabeth Bonney-Cohen, Hyman Brand Hebrew Academy
A reporter standing in Egypt at the time of the Exodus might capture the plagues, the political drama, even the spectacle of a sea splitting. But, in focusing on the physical experience, they would likely miss the inner geography of the story: its narrowness. While we know the setting as Egypt, the Torah calls it Mitzrayim, echoing the Hebrew term meitzarim, meaning “tight places, constriction.” And, the people were the Mitzrim, literally “the narrow people.” They come to represent a mindset of constriction, felt most palpably by the image of Pharaoh’s heart hardening.
When we are narrow, it takes very little to justify cruelty. We stop seeing others as complex, divine beings — with stories, relationships and inner lives — and instead cast them in fixed roles in our own narrative, easily used and abused however suits us. This is the warning embodied in the Mitzrim: God-forbid we become like them, unable to see one another as sacred vessels to be understood, celebrated and supported.
Rather, the message at the heart of the Exodus comes in the climactic image of the parting sea. Unlike the Mitzrim, the Israelites make their way through a kind of collective birth canal, a narrow channel that leads towards the expanse that awaits them on the other side.
This physical transformation is ultimately a spiritual calling to look inward at our own narrow places: Where am I unable to see expansively? When do I miss the fullness of another standing in front of me, because of my prejudice, my fear, my haste, my hate? What restricts the possibilities that surround me?
When we move through this narrowness, sacred expanse awaits. The deepest truth of the Exodus is that liberation begins when we learn to see more widely, to encounter others (and ourselves) with depth, dignity and divine image.
Rabbi David Levinsky, Ph.D., New Reform Temple
We are taught in the Haggadah that “in every generation, a person must see themselves as if they personally left Egypt.” Imagine, however, that a reporter had actually been present in Egypt during the events of the Exodus. What would they have seen? Most likely, they would have reported a dramatic political story: a powerful empire shaken by disasters, a stubborn ruler confronting a prophetic leader and a large population of slaves suddenly leaving the country. It would have looked like a geopolitical crisis or a mass migration.
But one of the most important dimensions of the story would likely escape them. What an outside observer might miss is the inner transformation taking place within the Israelites themselves. Slavery is not only a physical condition; it shapes the human spirit. People who have lived under oppression for generations often internalize fear and dependency. The Exodus, therefore, is not only the defeat of Pharaoh. It is the beginning of a long psychological and spiritual awakening.
If I were advising that reporter, I would tell them to look beyond the spectacle. Do not focus only on the plagues or the confrontation with Pharaoh. Watch how the people begin to change — how slaves slowly begin to imagine themselves as free. Because the deepest story of the Exodus is not simply that Israel left Egypt, but that they began learning what freedom truly means.
Rabbi Linda Steigman
If I were sending a reporter to cover the Exodus, I would send her first to Egypt, to understand the conditions from which the Hebrews were escaping — the living conditions, the hard labor and Pharaoh’s stubbornness at not letting us leave. I’d suggest she first contact Miriam, and ask for women our reporter might befriend and follow through the Exodus. Even though Miriam is not mentioned in the struggle for freedom, she is very close to her brothers, Moses and Aaron, and is most likely to know what is happening.
When the word comes to pack up and leave, we hear about the men sacrificing a lamb, but it is most likely the women doing the cooking and cleaning up, in addition to packing up whatever meager household goods, medical supplies, and clothing they can take. They have to prepare the children for the unknown and make sure everyone has sandals that will withstand the journey. It is the women who prepare the dough that will turn into matzah and gather any other rations that they can take with them.
While it is Moses who will lead them, there are probably other men detailed with pulling things together. Six-hundred-thousand people, so the text tells us, is a big crowd to manage, especially on the move. Yet it is the women who feed the family, ensure the safety of the children, nurse the babies and tend to blisters and other injuries. They are the ones who urge their children through the Sea of Reeds, making sure they don’t get lost in the surge of people.
And at the end, while Moses and the men sing the “Song of the Sea” (Exodus, Chapter 15), it is Miriam leading the women in celebration.
Our text says (Exodus 15:20-21), “Then Miriam the prophet, Aaron’s sister, picked up a hand-drum, and all the women went out after her in dance with hand-drums. And Miriam chanted for them: And Miriam chanted for them: Sing to GOD, who has triumphed gloriously; Horse and driver have been hurled into the sea.”
I would urge your reporter to grab a drum and join in the dancing, to feel her feet touching the soil of freedom and to rejoice with her sisters as their journey begins.
