A darkness so heavy, the thickness hangs in the air and you can’t see a person standing right next to you.

A not-knowing so vast, it stretches out before you.

And a sadness so deep...you know you will have to laugh again. 

This is how it feels to so many of us today, with all that has happened over the past year and weeks, as we await the transition to a new president, and also commemorate Dr. Martin Luther King and his legacy.

And so it was for the Egyptians and the Israelites in this week’s Torah portion.

Added to last week’s plagues that God brought down on Pharaoh are locusts that eat whatever crops remain after the hail, a heavy darkness so frightening, I imagine it could take your breath away, and, finally, perhaps worst of all, the death of every first born baby Egyptian boy and animal. 

It is from here that we get the famous story of Passover, which is laid out as a festival to be followed down through the generations--matzoh and lamb’s blood and all--to remember...

Remember the bondage and the suffering, the babies and the midwives that saved them; the cruelty of a Pharaoh whose heart was hard and wouldn’t be humbled; boils and locusts and lice and hail and fire--all sorts of things that reflect an imbalance in the physical world, all not so different from today. 

We are commanded to remember and observe this festival even before the Sea of Reeds has parted and we have walked to freedom. 

To remember--even before we’ve left. 

It is in this parsha that Moses says, “We won’t know how we will worship God until we get there.” For the Israelites, this means they don’t know what animals they will need for the sacrifice once Pharaoh lets them go up to the mountain to which their God has commanded them to go and worship. I guess for them, this was a big deal. 

For us, too, there is a big question. We don’t know what the transition will be like in the White House today or around the country, and we really don’t know what will happen in the next weeks, months or years.

We don’t know how much violence there will be going forward from the right wing militias that have developed in this country, we don’t know how much Trump will continue to play a role in this, we don’t know how strong Biden and Harris will be, how much real change will happen, we don’t know when and how the vaccine will work and be distributed, we don’t know when the pandemic will end.

The not knowing always seems the hardest part, as I’ve said before.

We don’t know, we don’t know, we don’t know. 

I heard an interview the other day from my favorite spiritual podcaster, Krista Tippett, with Nicki Giovanni, African-American poet and professor at Virginia Tech.

On slavery, she noted: it didn’t start with Europeans. (Duh.)

When speaking on her campus at Virginia Tech after the shooting over ten years ago, she said: 

We are sad today and we will be sad for quite a while.

We are not moving on. 

We are embracing our mourning. 

We are strong enough to stand tall tearlessly.

We are brave enough to bend to cry.

And we are sad enough to know that we must laugh again. 

Nicki Giovanni said of rape (specifically on the Virginia Tech campus): (sadly) there is no (true) justice that can come from it: only revenge. 

What we have seen from these right wing militias is lots of hatred and the intent of revenge for what they have been made to believe was an unjust election. 

There are many things we don’t know, but there is one thing we do know: taking revenge does not bring justice: only violence and more suffering. 

I’m not sure the Torah sets a good example here when God takes every firstborn Egyptian’s life. It seems a lot like revenge that can lead to more violence and suffering. 

The last thing we want to do is mirror the hatred, anger and violence coming from the carriers of Confederate and Nazi flags.

It is a spiritual practice to not hate one’s enemy.

It is also a spiritual practice to accept and live with the not-knowing.

I’m failing pretty miserably at both these days. The only thing that seems to help is not listening to the news, which doesn’t feel like an option at a time like this.

I guess all I can do is keep practicing.

And keep remembering that we are sad enough to know that we must laugh again.