This week’s Torah portion, Bo, covers Exodus 10:1 to 13:16. The narrative intensity hits its peak here. The last three of the ten plagues descend on Egypt: locusts devour the crops, impenetrable darkness shrouds the land, and finally, the firstborns of every Egyptian family are killed during the night.
The portion begins with a command from God to Moses: “Go to Pharaoh; for I have hardened his heart and the heart of his officials, so that I may show these signs of mine among them” (10:1).
There is a fascinating linguistic twist here. The word translated as “Go” is actually Bo in Hebrew, which means “Come.” So a more accurate translation is “Come to Pharaoh” and not “Go to Pharaoh. God was telling Moses, “Come with me to Pharaoh.” The Pharaoh’s palace was the heart of the beast, the center of Egyptian idolatry. But by saying “come with me to Pharaoh,” God was reassuring Moses that he would not be walking into that throne room alone. God was already there, waiting.
Be sure to subscribe to Bible Fiber on YouTube and Follow Bible Fiber wherever you listen to your podcasts: Bo (Exodus 10:1–13:16)
The Swarm and The Silence
The eighth plague, locusts, is described as a force that “covered the face of the whole land, so that the land was darkened” (10:15). Even today, locust swarms are a terrifying natural potential in Egypt. The country lies directly on the Desert Locust’s migration path. Thick clouds of locusts can sweep in from the Red Sea or Sudan. One swarm can cover hundreds of square miles. In 2013, millions of locusts descended on Cairo and its surroundings. They stripped palm trees bare and coated the ground. Farmers in the region still fear these invasions today.
Following this devastation comes the ninth plague: Darkness. This wasn’t just a cloudy day. The text describes it as a darkness that “can be felt” (10:21). “People could not see one another, and for three days they could not move from where they were; but all the Israelites had light where they lived” (10:23).
There is also a natural explanation for the plague of darkness. In Egypt, there is a weather phenomenon known as the khamsin—a fierce, hot wind that blows in from the Sahara Desert. It typically strikes Egypt in the spring. The wind whips up massive walls of sand and fine dust. These clouds can become thick enough to block out the sun entirely.
It is quite possible that after the locusts stripped the land of all vegetation, there were no crop roots left to hold the soil in place. When the hot winds arrived, they lifted the loose earth easily. The air would become heavy with grit. Breathing becomes difficult, and the dust stings the skin. This fits the biblical description of a darkness that one could physically “feel.” It is a suffocating, gritty blackness rather than simple night.
By offering natural explanations for these supernatural plagues, I am not denying that God performed a miracle. I am saying God may have used his creation to accomplish his will. Each of the plagues uniquely attacked a core of Egyptian belief by demonstrating God’s power over an Egyptian god. Ra was the sun god. He was the supreme ruler of the sky. The Egyptians believed Ra fought back chaos every morning to make the sun rise. A total blackout meant Ra had lost. Pharaoh was the “son of Ra.” Still, he was helpless in this faceoff with the one true God.
For the tenth and final plague, God warns, “For I will pass through the land of Egypt that night, and I will strike down every firstborn in the land of Egypt… I am the Lord” (12:12). That statement sounds like God himself is doing the killing of the firstborn. However, several verses later the text describes another agent doing the killing: “the Lord will pass over that door and will not allow the destroyer to enter your houses to strike you down” (12:23).
In the retellings of the Passover story, the destroyer figure is often referred to as the “angel of death,” but that specific phrase never appears in the Hebrew text. Instead, the word mashchit (destroyer) is used, which some scholars interpret as a supernatural messenger. Another possibility is that destroyer is as a personification of the plague itself. The meaning of the Hebrew word Pesach is central here. Rather than just “skipping” a house, it suggests a protective “hovering” or “shielding,” much like a bird fluttering over its nest. In this view, God acted as a divine barrier, standing at the door to block the destroyer from entering the homes marked with blood.
The Passover Haggadah, what Jews read every year as part of their seder dinner, rejects the idea that a different being inflicted the final plague. The Haggadah emphasizes God’s direct intervention. It states: “I and not an angel; I and not a seraph; I and not a messenger.” This tradition insists that God did not delegate this moment to anyone else. It was his own hand that brought both the judgment and the rescue.
A Feast in the Midst of War
On the night of the final plague, the Israelites were instructed to sacrifice a lamb as their Passover offering. They were to take the blood of the lamb and paint their doorposts with it as a sign to the Destroyer that God-fearing Israelites were present. Every household that obeyed this command was spared, or passed over.
Pharaoh only then would understand that God distinguishes between Egypt and Israel. But that same night, God instituted the first Passover Seder dinner. Jews were instructed to eat the roasted lamb offering with bitter herbs and unleavened bread (matzah). They were commanded to eat in haste.
“This is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall devour it. It is the Lord’s passover” (12:11).
It is striking to me that before the fog lifts from a plague-ridden Egypt and before the Israelites are out from under Pharaoh’s hand, God commands the Israelites to ritualize a new feast.
Think about the timing. It would have been much more strategic for Moses to spend his time planning an exit route, gathering weapons and supplies, or establishing leaders. Instead, they have a sacred dinner. God is already making provisions so that they do not forget the miracles He has performed before He is even finished performing them.
God writes a holy script for sacred remembrance. Jews are to abstain from leaven for seven days. They are to rest from work and hold assemblies at the start and the finish of the week. Essentially, God designed a ritual that would make sure that the Jews institute the Exodus in their collective memory. Their Egyptian experience binds them as a people who share a history of oppression, but also one where they are commanded to remember God’s signs and wonders and his outstretched arm.
The Memory vs. The Event
According to Israeli statistics, 82% of Israelis conduct a Seder every year, and 70% of Jewish Americans do. This makes Passover the most commonly observed feast on the Jewish calendar, even more than Yom Kippur or Sukkot.
So, why are more Christians starting to observe the Passover dinner?
The first and most obvious answer to that question is that Jesus did it. The Last Supper was the disciples’ meeting to observe the Passover with wine, matzah, and herbs. When Jesus commands his followers to eat this bread and drink this cup in remembrance of Him, He is referring to the ritual elements of the Passover dinner, including the wine and matzah.
In my opinion, there is no richer and more authentic way to take communion than in the context of a Passover Seder.
I remember once in Israel, my husband and I were having a Seder dinner with our Orthodox Jewish neighbors. When the father of the house, our friend, got to the last cup of wine, he looked over to us and said, “I bet you are thinking about Jesus during this part.” From that goosebumps kind of moment on, we have held our own Seder dinners in our home every Passover.
The Prophetic Thread
The essence of the Passover dinner for both Jews and Christians is to celebrate God’s perfect plan of redemption. God’s pattern of calling for substitutionary sacrifice started with Abraham and Isaac on Mount Moriah, and it climaxed on that night in Egypt when the Israelite firstborns were consecrated instead of killed.
For Christians, Jesus’s death was the final act of substitutionary sacrifice, but his death meant nothing without these prior moments where God communicated the theology of redemption. So, as Christians, when we observe Passover, we are not only continuing the example of Jesus and the Last Supper; we are also following a prophetic thread from Genesis to the Gospels.
It is also not my intention to take something Jewish and Christianize it. I always try to make that clear to Jewish friends. When we observe the miracles of the Exodus and relive God’s acts of deliverance for the Israelites, we are also allying with them and, I hope, partnering with Jews in the commitment to continue fighting for the freedom of the oppressed in today’s world.
Shabbat Shalom and Am Israel Chai
Study Questions
The Power of Presence (Exodus 10:1): In the opening of this Torah portion, God commands Moses to “Go to Pharaoh,” but the Hebrew word used is Bo, which literally means “Come.” This implies God was not sending Moses alone but was inviting him to join him where he already was—in the heart of the Egyptian palace. How does the realization that God says “come with me” rather than “go for me” change your approach to the daunting or intimidating
“palaces” in your own life?
A Tangible Judgment (Exodus 10:21-23): The text describes the ninth plague as a darkness that can be felt, potentially a physical wall of gritty dust whipped up by the khamsin winds after the locusts stripped the land. This darkness directly challenged Ra, the sun god, and his “son,” the Pharaoh, by silencing the sky for three days. When you face seasons of “suffocating darkness,” do you look for how God might be using the natural world to speak his name or dismantle the false “gods” of comfort and security?
Ritual Before Rescue (Exodus 12:11-14): Before the Israelites were even out of Egypt, God commanded them to sit down for a sacred meal with their sandals on and staffs in hand, ready to leave. He established a ritual for remembrance before the actual rescue was complete. Why is it significant to ritualize gratitude and memory while the fog of a crisis is still thick, and how can you practice sacred remembrance in the middle of your own unfinished stories?
Bo (Exodus 10:1–13:16)
Welcome to Bible Fiber, where we explore the textures and shades of the biblical tapestry. I’m Shelley Neese, president of The Jerusalem Connection, a Christian organization dedicated to sharing the stories of Israel’s people, both ancient and modern. I’m also the author of the book Bible Fiber, a 52-week study of the Twelve Minor Prophets, available on Amazon.
Bible Fiber is doing a one-year sprint through the foundational narratives of the first five books of the Bible, the Torah. We follow the weekly Jewish reading calendar so that conversations around Sunday lunches might coincide with Saturday Shabbat tables.
This week’s Torah portion, Bo, covers Exodus 10:1 to 13:16. The narrative intensity hits its peak here. The last three of the ten plagues descend on Egypt: locusts devour the crops, impenetrable darkness shrouds the land, and finally, the firstborns of every Egyptian family are killed during the night.
The portion begins with a command from God to Moses: “Go to Pharaoh; for I have hardened his heart and the heart of his officials, so that I may show these signs of mine among them” (10:1).
There is a fascinating linguistic twist here. The word translated as “Go” is actually Bo in Hebrew, which means “Come.” So a more accurate translation is “Come to Pharaoh” and not “Go to Pharaoh. God was telling Moses, “Come with me to Pharaoh.” The Pharaoh’s palace was the heart of the beast, the center of Egyptian idolatry. But by saying “come with me to Pharaoh,” God was reassuring Moses that he would not be walking into that throne room alone. God was already there, waiting.
The Swarm and The Silence
The eighth plague, locusts, is described as a force that “covered the face of the whole land, so that the land was darkened” (10:15). Even today, locust swarms are a terrifying natural potential in Egypt. The country lies directly on the Desert Locust’s migration path. Thick clouds of locusts can sweep in from the Red Sea or Sudan. One swarm can cover hundreds of square miles. In 2013, millions of locusts descended on Cairo and its surroundings. They stripped palm trees bare and coated the ground. Farmers in the region still fear these invasions today.
Following this devastation comes the ninth plague: Darkness. This wasn’t just a cloudy day. The text describes it as a darkness that “can be felt” (10:21). “People could not see one another, and for three days they could not move from where they were; but all the Israelites had light where they lived” (10:23).
There is also a natural explanation for the plague of darkness. In Egypt, there is a weather phenomenon known as the khamsin—a fierce, hot wind that blows in from the Sahara Desert. It typically strikes Egypt in the spring. The wind whips up massive walls of sand and fine dust. These clouds can become thick enough to block out the sun entirely.
It is quite possible that after the locusts stripped the land of all vegetation, there were no crop roots left to hold the soil in place. When the hot winds arrived, they lifted the loose earth easily. The air would become heavy with grit. Breathing becomes difficult, and the dust stings the skin. This fits the biblical description of a darkness that one could physically “feel.” It is a suffocating, gritty blackness rather than simple night.
By offering natural explanations for these supernatural plagues, I am not denying that God performed a miracle. I am saying God may have used his creation to accomplish his will. Each of the plagues uniquely attacked a core of Egyptian belief by demonstrating God’s power over an Egyptian god. Ra was the sun god. He was the supreme ruler of the sky. The Egyptians believed Ra fought back chaos every morning to make the sun rise. A total blackout meant Ra had lost. Pharaoh was the “son of Ra.” Still, he was helpless in this faceoff with the one true God.
For the tenth and final plague, God warns, “For I will pass through the land of Egypt that night, and I will strike down every firstborn in the land of Egypt… I am the Lord” (12:12). That statement sounds like God himself is doing the killing of the firstborn. However, several verses later the text describes another agent doing the killing: “the Lord will pass over that door and will not allow the destroyer to enter your houses to strike you down” (12:23).
In the retellings of the Passover story, the destroyer figure is often referred to as the “angel of death,” but that specific phrase never appears in the Hebrew text. Instead, the word mashchit (destroyer) is used, which some scholars interpret as a supernatural messenger. Another possibility is that destroyer is as a personification of the plague itself. The meaning of the Hebrew word Pesach is central here. Rather than just “skipping” a house, it suggests a protective “hovering” or “shielding,” much like a bird fluttering over its nest. In this view, God acted as a divine barrier, standing at the door to block the destroyer from entering the homes marked with blood.
The Passover Haggadah, what Jews read every year as part of their seder dinner, rejects the idea that a different being inflicted the final plague. The Haggadah emphasizes God’s direct intervention. It states: “I and not an angel; I and not a seraph; I and not a messenger.” This tradition insists that God did not delegate this moment to anyone else. It was his own hand that brought both the judgment and the rescue.
A Feast in the Midst of War
On the night of the final plague, the Israelites were instructed to sacrifice a lamb as their Passover offering. They were to take the blood of the lamb and paint their doorposts with it as a sign to the Destroyer that God-fearing Israelites were present. Every household that obeyed this command was spared, or passed over.
Pharaoh only then would understand that God distinguishes between Egypt and Israel. But that same night, God instituted the first Passover Seder dinner. Jews were instructed to eat the roasted lamb offering with bitter herbs and unleavened bread (matzah). They were commanded to eat in haste.
“This is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall devour it. It is the Lord’s passover” (12:11).
It is striking to me that before the fog lifts from a plague-ridden Egypt and before the Israelites are out from under Pharaoh’s hand, God commands the Israelites to ritualize a new feast.
Think about the timing. It would have been much more strategic for Moses to spend his time planning an exit route, gathering weapons and supplies, or establishing leaders. Instead, they have a sacred dinner. God is already making provisions so that they do not forget the miracles He has performed before He is even finished performing them.
God writes a holy script for sacred remembrance. Jews are to abstain from leaven for seven days. They are to rest from work and hold assemblies at the start and the finish of the week. Essentially, God designed a ritual that would make sure that the Jews institute the Exodus in their collective memory. Their Egyptian experience binds them as a people who share a history of oppression, but also one where they are commanded to remember God’s signs and wonders and his outstretched arm.
The Memory vs. The Event
According to Israeli statistics, 82% of Israelis conduct a Seder every year, and 70% of Jewish Americans do. This makes Passover the most commonly observed feast on the Jewish calendar, even more than Yom Kippur or Sukkot.
So, why are more Christians starting to observe the Passover dinner?
The first and most obvious answer to that question is that Jesus did it. The Last Supper was the disciples’ meeting to observe the Passover with wine, matzah, and herbs. When Jesus commands his followers to eat this bread and drink this cup in remembrance of Him, He is referring to the ritual elements of the Passover dinner, including the wine and matzah.
In my opinion, there is no richer and more authentic way to take communion than in the context of a Passover Seder.
I remember once in Israel, my husband and I were having a Seder dinner with our Orthodox Jewish neighbors. When the father of the house, our friend, got to the last cup of wine, he looked over to us and said, “I bet you are thinking about Jesus during this part.” From that goosebumps kind of moment on, we have held our own Seder dinners in our home every Passover.
The Prophetic Thread
The essence of the Passover dinner for both Jews and Christians is to celebrate God’s perfect plan of redemption. God’s pattern of calling for substitutionary sacrifice started with Abraham and Isaac on Mount Moriah, and it climaxed on that night in Egypt when the Israelite firstborns were consecrated instead of killed.
For Christians, Jesus’s death was the final act of substitutionary sacrifice, but his death meant nothing without these prior moments where God communicated the theology of redemption. So, as Christians, when we observe Passover, we are not only continuing the example of Jesus and the Last Supper; we are also following a prophetic thread from Genesis to the Gospels.
It is also not my intention to take something Jewish and Christianize it. I always try to make that clear to Jewish friends. When we observe the miracles of the Exodus and relive God’s acts of deliverance for the Israelites, we are also allying with them and, I hope, partnering with Jews in the commitment to continue fighting for the freedom of the oppressed in today’s world.
Shabbat Shalom and Am Israel Chai
Study Questions
The Power of Presence (Exodus 10:1): In the opening of this Torah portion, God commands Moses to “Go to Pharaoh,” but the Hebrew word used is Bo, which literally means “Come.” This implies God was not sending Moses alone but was inviting him to join him where he already was—in the heart of the Egyptian palace. How does the realization that God says “come with me” rather than “go for me” change your approach to the daunting or intimidating
“palaces” in your own life?
A Tangible Judgment (Exodus 10:21-23): The text describes the ninth plague as a darkness that can be felt, potentially a physical wall of gritty dust whipped up by the khamsin winds after the locusts stripped the land. This darkness directly challenged Ra, the sun god, and his “son,” the Pharaoh, by silencing the sky for three days. When you face seasons of “suffocating darkness,” do you look for how God might be using the natural world to speak his name or dismantle the false “gods” of comfort and security?
Ritual Before Rescue (Exodus 12:11-14): Before the Israelites were even out of Egypt, God commanded them to sit down for a sacred meal with their sandals on and staffs in hand, ready to leave. He established a ritual for remembrance before the actual rescue was complete. Why is it significant to ritualize gratitude and memory while the fog of a crisis is still thick, and how can you practice sacred remembrance in the middle of your own unfinished stories?