Tefillin: Souvenirs from the Exodus

Originally written for Parashat Bo 5779 (January 2019)

The story of the ten plagues in the book of Exodus follow a reasonable narrative arc, until the story breaks down after the tenth plague — the death of the first born. Right after that plague is carried out, in the middle of that night, Pharaoh gathers his courtiers, calls for Moses and Aaron, and tells them to “be gone.”

But then the story pauses, and the biblical text turns to a set of instructions about how to commemorate the Exodus. We start reading passages that are not connected to the story, but instead focus on how to remember the story.

This year, I’ve been reading to my daughter the story of Little Red Riding Hood in Hebrew — in that version she is called Kipah Adumah. Imagine reading that Little Red Riding Hood has entered her grandmother’s house and just realized that the body in the bed is not actually her grandmother, but is a hungry wolf — and then stopping the story for a set of meta-instructions about not talking to strangers. That was this interruption of the Exodus story is like.

What exactly is so important to tell the reader that it is worth pausing one of the greatest stories known to humanity — the story of the Exodus — right as the Israelites are about to escape?

The pause in the narrative contains three instructions, each one instructing us in a way of remembering the Exodus.

First, we are commanded to sacrifice a lamb and have a big meal. Why? So that when our children ask us about it, we will tell them, “It is the Passover sacrifice to God, because God passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt when God smote the Egyptians, but saved our houses” (Exodus 12:26–27).

Second, we are commanded to eat unleavened bread for seven days. Why? So that when our children ask us about it, we will tell them, “It is because of what God did for me when I went free from Egypt” (13:8).

Third, we are commanded to sacrifice or redeem every first-born living thing from an Israelite womb. Why? So that when our children ask us about it, we will tell them, “When Pharaoh stubbornly refused to let us go, God slew every first born in the land of Egypt, the first-born of both man and beast. Therefore I sacrifice to God every first male issue of the womb, but redeem every first born among my sons” (13:15).

But the text adds one more instruction and repeats it twice. This one does not follow the educational Q&A format with children.

13:9: “And this shall serve you as a sign on your hand as a reminder on your forehead — in order that the Teaching of God may be in your mouth — that with a mighty hand God freed you from Egypt.”

13:16: “And so it shall be as a sign upon your hand and as a symbol on your forehead that with a mighty hand God freed us from Egypt.”

In these instructions we are commanded to do two things: first, put an ot on our arm. “Ot” is probably best understood as a sign of some sort. Second, put something between our eyes — in one verse it is called a zikaron and in the other it is called a totafot. Zikaron clearly means reminder, but totafot is anyone’s guess — it is often translated as symbol.

Many are familiar with the fact that these two verses — along with verses in Deuteronomy 6 and 11 — have been interpreted over the millennia in physical form, the ritual objects that we know today as tefillin.

I married a girl (now Rabbi) from Cleveland, and early in our marriage I learned from her that winter doesn’t work for her if we don’t take a break and go somewhere warm for a week. This winter, our wandering to a warmer climate took us to the Yucatan peninsula of Mexico. One of the many amazing aspects of the Yucatan are the extraordinary Mayan ruins, the most famous of which is Chichen Itza, one of the “new” seven wonders of the world.

We arrived at Chichen Itza early in the morning — just as the gates were opening — to avoid the crowds. As we walked around the vast complex, imagining what life was like for the Mayan people 1,000 years ago, we witnessed hundreds of local Mexican and Mayan vendors setting up their wares, or what we called tchotchkes. Every inch of every walkway of the entire compound was lined with sellers of souvenirs.

My children, of course, were quite interested in all of these tchotchkes. They struggled to choose something worthy of spending their allowance. They also struggled with the art of haggling. But they each got something. One bought a small chess set with a Mayan calendar inscribed on it. One bought a colorful pyramid. And one bought an elephant, because, well, he likes elephants.

As I studied the Exodus text again this year, I realized that there are many similarities between the souvenirs of Chichen Itza and tefillin. As I reconsidered the verses that instruct us to put an sign on our arm and a symbol between our eyes to remind us that God freed us from Egypt with a mighty hand — I came to see tefillin as a souvenir from the Exodus.

Inside these tefillin are four passages from Torah, three of which explicitly connect the instruction to put a sign on our arm and a symbol between our eyes to the Exodus. Unlike the three sacred rituals I mentioned earlier, the Passover meal, the eating of matzah, and the redemption of the first-born, tefillin — like a souvenir — are physical, tangible. They are a thing we can pick up, and take with us wherever we go — and each time we touch them and put them on and reflect on the sacred words that are carefully placed inside of them, we remember what God did for us by bringing us out of Egypt. We feel the harsh conditions of slavery as well as the exultation of having our cries heard by God.

I happened to have done a deep dive into studying tefillin. My hevruta partner and I took it upon ourselves to study every rabbinic text that mention tefillin. It took us five years, studying three times a month, to do it. We worked our way through every mention of tefillin in the Mishnah, the Talmud, and the ancient and medieval midrashim. During our years of studying texts related to tefillin, my respect for these objects deepened tremendously. I also discovered some fun facts that I never learned in rabbinical school.

I learned, for instance, that some rabbis recited a blessing not only when they put on tefillin, but also when they removed tefillin: (v’tzivanu lishmor hukav), though it seems that this blessing never entered the canon (Pesikta Rabbati 22). And I learned that when the Messiah comes, tefillin are among just a half dozen mitzvot that God will bring to all the nations (R. Tanhuman, Midrash Tehilim 21:1).

I also learned a midrash from our study that I’d like to share, one that connects tefillin to the moment when the Israelites crossed through the sea. When the sea parted, the water formed into a wall, a homah, on either side of the Israelites as they walked on dry land. This surprised the ministering angels. They said to God: “Why are you rescuing these humans who engaged in idol worship?” The rabbis explain that we know the angels were angry by reading the word for wall — homah — as hamah — anger. And then the rabbis debate what these walls of water were that protected the Israelites as they crossed the sea. One rabbi said that the wall on one side was the Torah and the wall on the other side was prayer. Another rabbi said, the wall on one side is the mezuzah, and on the other side tefillin. This is a powerful image: that the mezuzah and tefillin in our homes represent the two sides of the sea that protected the Israelites as they escaped slavery.

Tefillin are our souvenir from the Exodus. By wearing them we are reminded of how God rescued us from Egypt with a mighty hand. And perhaps, depending on your theology, they are not only a reminder, but a form of spiritual protection as well.