In “How to Read Literature Like a Professor,” Thomas C. Foster explains that “Flight is freedom.” Whether it’s the ancient myths of Icarus, Disney’s Peter Pan, or Superman’s many adventures, flight is often associated with freedom from cages, be they physical, spiritual or emotional.
And yet, in the story of Exodus, the epitome of the freedom narrative, flight is barely invoked. God does not gift the Israelites the ability to fly away from Egypt. He does not command his angels to lift them out of bondage. He does not even summon the fiery chariot that picked up Elijah to carry the Israelites off into the sunset.
Instead, God keeps the Israelites landbound, forcing them to walk on their own two feet to Israel. Their travels do not just occur on any land, but specifically in the desert — an arid, dry, barren ground, full of coarse, rough, irritating sand that gets everywhere. Having just witnessed the splitting of the sea, the miracle of miracles, the Israelites turn around to face their freedom — only to be greeted by the driest and least lively of all the terrains.
But this does not imply the Israelites are not free. Quite the opposite. The Israelites are free, just not in the classical sense of the word. As it says in the Midrash Tehillim:
In the night [of the plague of the first-born] Pharaoh arose and went to Moses and Aaron, as is said And he called for Moses and Aaron by night (Ex. 12:13). And in the night he knocked on the doors of Moses and Aaron, and said to them: Rise up, get you forth from among my people (ibid.). They answered: Fool, are we to arise in the night? Are we thieves that we should go forth by night? In the morning we shall leave. It was thus the Holy One, blessed be He, charged us: None of you shall go out of the door of his house until the morning (ibid. 12:22). Pharaoh said to them: But by that time all the Egyptians will be dead! — as is written They said: “We are all dead men” (ibid. 33). Moses and Aaron replied: Seekest thou to end this plague? Then say: “Behold, you are free, behold, you are your own men, you are no longer servants of mine; you are servants of the Lord.”
Whereupon Pharaoh cried out, saying: Formerly you were my servants, but now behold you are free. Behold, you are your own men. Behold, you are servants of the Lord, and being His servants, you are now obligated to praise Him. [113:2]
God could have left us alone after leading us to freedom, as we sing in the Seder, “Had he brought us out of Egypt … that would have been enough.” But while that may have been enough for our physical safety, it would not have been enough for our human growth. Freedom by itself lacks purpose and direction. There is no call to action with freedom except to be more free, to keep flying further and higher.
But not only does freedom without boundaries lack purpose and direction, it is dangerous. As Icarus tragically learns, fly high enough, and you will find yourself too close to the sun, watching your wings melt as you plummet to the ground. It is why the Darling children return from the lawless and magical island of Neverland and why Superman creates the persona of Clark Kent. We do not want to be Lost Boys and Girls, and we cannot be Superman all the time. The former would leave us empty and floundering with nothing, while the latter would leave us overwhelmed and burdened with the possibility of everything.
So God keeps the Israelites grounded — literally and figuratively. He does not give us the opportunity to fly aimlessly into the sun. He continues our servitude, creating boundaries for everything from how we talk to what we eat. He instructs us to build His Temple, specifying exactly how and when it should be built and utilized. He makes Himself our ultimate master, commanding us to “praise Him” and follow His word. But God is not Pharaoh, and we are not simply slaves. We are our “own men” (and women). His boundaries are ours to interpret, expand and constrain. They allow for human expression and compassion, yet keep us from losing ourselves in the process.
For the people of Israel, then, freedom is not the open skies—a world of unlimited and unguarded possibilities. It is the hot and dry slog through the desert, full of prickly rules and regulations. Sometimes, the thorns need to be trimmed. Other times, we need them to keep us from falling off the edge, even if that may sting sometimes, so we can reach our final destination, one step at a time.
Samuel Gelman is the assistant director of communications and operations for the Straus Center, and chief of staff to Rabbi Meir Soloveichik.
