Creating Light Through Human Connection

“ friendship is not a luxury of calm times but a necessity in moments of darkness”

At first glance, Parashat Bo seems like an unlikely place to speak about friendship. The parashah is filled with plagues, darkness, urgency, and the dramatic birth of a nation. Yet embedded within this intense moment of history is a quiet but profound lesson about the power of human connection.

Just before the plague of the firstborn, HaShem commands Moshe: “Please speak to the people that each person should ask from his fellow…” (Shemot 11:2) The Torah uses the word (re’ehu) his friend. Rashi explains that this refers to Egyptians, yet the language is striking. At the height of oppression, the Torah deliberately chooses the language of friendship. Redemption does not begin with revenge or triumph, but with restored dignity and human connection. The Midrash emphasizes that these Egyptians were not coerced, they gave willingly. How is this possible after years of subjugating? The answer lies in the presence of relationships that survived oppression. Even in a broken society, bonds of kindness and familiarity endured. In the final moments before freedom, walls of hatred give way, if only briefly, to recognition and human empathy. Friendship, or at least mutual regard, became a vehicle for justice and restoration.

But Parashat Bo teaches an even deeper lesson about friendship within Bnei Yisrael themselves. When darkness covers Egypt, the Torah tells us: “For all the Children of Israel, there was light in their dwellings.” (Shemot 10:23) Chazal teach that this light was not only physical, it was the light of clarity, trust, and unity. True friendship shines brightest in moments of darkness. When the world feels closed in, a friend becomes a source of orientation, warmth, and hope.

Friendship, or at least the seeds of it, often emerge in moments of shared vulnerability. The plague of darkness did not merely remove light; Chazal explain that it paralyzed Egyptian society. Each person was trapped in place, forced into isolation. Bnei Yisrael, by contrast, “had light in their dwellings” (10:23). Light here is not only physical; it is relational. A people capable of seeing one another, supporting one another, and preparing together for redemption.

This idea continues with the Korban Pesach. The lamb is too large for one individual to consume alone, so families must join together: “If the household is too small… he and his neighbor shall take one.” (Shemot 12:4) Redemption is not a solo experience. It requires sharing and cooperation. The Torah teaches that redemption begins in homes, around tables, in circles of trust. True freedom requires companionship. A neighbor becomes a partner; survival becomes communal. The first mitzvah given to the Jewish people as a nation requires cooperation, trust, and shared space. This first mitzvah performed as a free people is one that demands relationships. Friendship in Judaism is not merely emotional, it is covenantal. A friend is someone with whom we fulfill mitzvot, face fear, and take responsibility. In Egypt, isolation was a tool of oppression. In Parashat Bo, connection becomes a tool of liberation.

True friendship is not merely emotional closeness; it is responsibility. That night in Egypt, no one could isolate themselves and still fulfill the mitzvah. One needed another person. The korban itself had to be eaten together, reinforcing that geulah is a collective experience.

Parashat Bo reminds us that friendship is not a luxury of calm times but a necessity in moments of darkness. When the world feels unstable, when systems collapse, it is the presence of others that provides light. Redemption, personal or national, does not come to those who stand alone, but to those who know how to stand together.

There is a powerful message here for us. Before Bnei Yisrael could leave Egypt physically, they had to leave behind the mindset of isolation. Friendship was not a byproduct of freedom, it was a prerequisite for it. Parashat Bo points out that redemption is not only about breaking chains, but about forming bonds. A free nation must learn how to care, share, and stand together. Friendship is not a luxury of freedom; it is its foundation.

As we reflect on Parashat Bo, we can ask ourselves:

Who are the people who bring light into our darkness?

Whom do we invite into our “Korban Pesach,” into our sacred moments?

Who walks with us toward freedom?

Whom do we invite to our table?

How do we ensure that our personal and collective journeys are shaped not only by faith in HaShem, but by faith in one another?

And how can we be a true (r’eh) friend who helps others move from constraint to freedom?

May we learn from Parashat Bo that redemption begins when we stop walking alone, and start walking together. And may we merit friendships that strengthen us, elevate us, and help us move, from darkness to light, and from slavery to freedom, together.