A few weeks ago I traveled to Rochester NY to see the solar eclipse. Rochester was in the swath of the totality which meant that we were to experience up to over 3 minutes of total darkness in the middle of the afternoon. Unfortunately for us, the sky was filled with thick clouds which precluded us from seeing the eclipse itself. Despite this, what followed for me was an experience of pure holiness. The natural world became silent, the light slowly began to dim, and then suddenly we were plunged into complete darkness in the middle of the afternoon. I was filled with awe … and then immediately thought of the plague of darkness.
The Talmud, Avodah Zarah 8a, describes the first night that Adam and Eve experienced darkness. As their world darkened, Adam understood the existence of darkness to be because he had sinned and thus the world would descend to darkness and chaos. He fasted and wept while Eve wept alongside him. Once dawn broke and light began to return to the sky, he said, “Evidently, the sun sets and night arrives, and this is the order of the world.” He then offered up a sacrifice and they went on with their lives.
Today we find a variety of reactions to darkness ranging from fear to acceptance to appreciation. Some find great inspiration in the dark while others only find monsters under their beds.
Just as there are different ways that people experience darkness, so too are there different ways that people experience the recitation of the 10 plagues during the Seder. These run the gamut from childish plays and silliness to serious discussion. They all end with us removing 10 drops of wine from our cups to remind ourselves not to rejoice at the downfall of our enemies and that experiences of freedom contain moments of pain.
I remember being fascinated when I first learned of a common rabbinic interpretation of the plague of darkness. The darkness was explained as something palpable, with texture, density, and weight. Those who were seated when the plague descended were unable to stand and those who were standing were unable to sit. Simply put, they could not move without literally bumping into the darkness. Nor could they see. The darkness we experience, whether at night or during the totality of an eclipse, can be pierced by the light of a candle or a flashlight. The darkness of the plague was impenetrable. Imagine the terror that accompanied this darkness. The fear that the darkness would never leave and that for many their lives were going to end.
Today I share the fear of the darkness that has descended upon us all. I worry about the long-lasting effects of the state of the world that are manifesting in physical, emotional, psychological, and theological ways. I share an experience akin to paralysis that the war and the rise in antisemitism and general hatred worldwide have wrought.
I take comfort in the knowledge that the Jewish day begins in the evening with darkness and then continues on to be filled with light. I yearn for the day that that light shines brightly again.
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I am a rabbi at Congregations Hevrat Shalom and Shirat HaNefesh in Montgomery County, MD and also am a community chaplain and lifecycle officiant.
This Dvar originally appeared in the Washington Jewish Week, Passover 5784
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