A Legacy of Compassion (Bo)

Parshat Bo finds us in the heart of the plagues, in the moment just before our people’s liberation. And yet, something striking happens as we leave Egypt. The Torah tells us (Exodus 12:38): “A mixed multitude went up also with them.” Who were these people? Rashi teaches that they were a mixture of converts from different nations. Other commentators suggest that they were Egyptians who chose to leave with the Israelites. Imagine that: At the very moment of our liberation, it was not only the Israelites who rose up — it was others as well, people moved by the vision of a better world, for their children’s sakes.

The miracle of the Exodus was not just the breaking of physical chains but also the radical reimagining of belonging. To leave Egypt was to rise — to fight inequity, to resist corrupt power, to insist on something more. And those who joined us on that journey were not bound by lineage alone but by shared purpose and courage. The fight for freedom needs to be completely universal, or it is not true even for some of us. If my sister is not free, how can I be free?

And so, we are called — not just to tribal strength, but to a deep, expansive compassion. This is not new. The Talmud (Beitzah 32b) teaches:

“Anyone who has compassion for God’s creatures, it is known that they are a descendant of Abraham our father.”

What makes us part of Am Yisrael is not just our history but our capacity for rachamim, for compassion. Even in moments of deep trauma — especially in these moment — we are called to remember this.

Yes, our fight for Jewish dignity is urgent. Yes, we must continue to demand the safe return of our hostages. Yes, we must fight for the institutions that sustain our people. Let us also remember: We do not struggle alone. The work of tikkun olam, of repairing this fractured world, is not just for us — it is with and for others as well.

Let us be connected. Let us be loving. Let us be inclusive while fiercely protecting our people’s dignity. The boundaries of community are meant to be porous. The circles of belonging must expand. Because to be truly free is to remember that we belong to each other.

And so, in this tender moment, I invite you to take a breath. To send your heart to the East. To pray like we have never prayed before — for our people, for our hostages, for all who suffer, for a world that so desperately needs healing. To be a descendant of Abraham and Sarah means to wield compassion and strength together. Together, we can do it all. We must.

And we will.