Parshat Bo – “I and Not an Angel”

In Parshat Bo, the Torah describes the final and most devastating plague in Egypt: the death of the firstborn. The verse is striking. G-d declares, “I will pass through the land of Egypt… I and not an angel, I and not a seraph, I and not a messenger.” The redemption begins not through intermediaries, but through direct Divine presence.

Why this plague, and why this emphasis?

The firstborn in every society represents continuity, identity, and the future. Egypt’s power, culture, and spiritual arrogance were embodied in its firstborn. By striking there, G-d was not only punishing cruelty; He was breaking a worldview that believed strength, hierarchy, and domination defined destiny. Redemption had to reach the very root.

Yet the deeper message lies in the words: “I and not an angel.”

There are moments in history when no system, no institution, no delegation can carry the weight of what must be done. Liberation cannot be outsourced. Healing cannot be bureaucratised. Responsibility cannot be deferred. G-d Himself steps in.

In our generation, we often live through “grey zones” — moral uncertainty, cultural confusion, rising hostility, quiet erosion of values, and the return of ancient hatreds in modern form. We build structures, committees, strategies, and safeguards. All are necessary. But Parshat Bo reminds us that there are times when only direct presence changes reality.

Not an angel. Not a messenger. Not “someone else’s problem.”

You.

Each soul carries a spark of that Divine responsibility. When fear spreads, when truth is distorted, when dignity is threatened, the question is not only what systems will do, but what each person will embody.

The Jewish people in Egypt were told to place blood on their doorposts. Not as magic, but as identity. A declaration: “This is who we are. This is where we stand.” Redemption begins with visible commitment, even when the world outside is dark.

In a modern context, our “doorposts” are our homes, our workplaces, our online presence, our conversations, our choices. Do they quietly declare Jewish confidence, moral clarity, and spiritual courage? Or do we hope that someone else will carry that burden?

“I and not an angel” also speaks to community life. Outreach, education, protection, kindness, and continuity cannot be left to institutions alone. Every act of warmth, every invitation, every defence of truth, every refusal to be silent is part of the Exodus story repeating itself.

And there is comfort here too. Just as G-d Himself descended into the darkest night of Egypt, He is present in the darkest moments of history and in the most private struggles of the soul. No Jew is ever abandoned to intermediaries alone. The Divine Presence walks with us through uncertainty, fear, and transition.

Parshat Bo teaches that redemption is both cosmic and personal. It begins when heaven touches earth directly, and when human beings reflect that closeness through courage, clarity, and compassion.

As we enter Shabbat, a day when the world slows and the soul remembers who truly guides history, we are invited to feel that closeness again — not in miracles of fire and plague, but in stillness, in prayer, in family, in community, in identity.

May this Shabbat bring us the quiet strength of knowing that we are not alone, that responsibility and protection walk together, and that even in challenging times, redemption begins when presence replaces distance.

Shabbat Shalom and a deeply meaningful Shabbat to all.

Maddie Myriam Schumann