Where We Stand is What We Learn
As a Talmud teacher, I am constantly aware of the dynamic web of relationships in which learning takes place—between me, the students, and the text we explore together—each quietly and continually shaping the relationship between the others. But as Director of the Beit Midrash, I am especially attuned to the role of the surrounding environment: how the space itself can either nurture or inhibit those relationships.
In this second role, I am often in conversation with faculty about the pedagogical value of bringing their students into the Beit Midrash—a space designed for learning out loud and in partnership, where students’ thinking becomes visible and professors gain opportunities to offer more targeted and nuanced feedback. I am also in constant dialogue with students about how to upgrade the physical space to better support their learning: Can we bring in more light? Provide different kinds of seating for different bodies? Create quieter corners for those with auditory sensitivity? What kinds of textual aids should we be adding to the shelves?
Such attention to relationships and environment draws on David Hawkins’s pedagogical framework, often referred to as the relational triangle. Originally developed to help educators evaluate and improve learning experiences, this framework has since been extended beyond education to other professional areas as well—wherever two people (or roles) stand in relationship to a shared object of work, inquiry, or concern, such as community organizing, counseling, and supervision. Even in our daily roles as family and community members, the framework offers a shared language for attending not only to the individuals involved and the task at hand, but also to the context—and to how that context either facilitates or impedes the unfolding of relationships and shared purpose.
The relational triangle can also help us reflect on the surrounding environment in which God chose to deliver to Moses and Aaron the first mitzvah, inviting us to consider how context shapes even moments of divine instruction. In Parashat Bo, the Torah introduces what Rabbi Yitzchak (Yalkut Shimoni, 187) considers to be מִצְוָה רִאשׁוֹנָה שֶׁנִּצְטַוּוּ בָּהּ יִשׂרָאֵל/the first mitzvah given specifically to the Israelites, the commandment to sanctify the new month (Rosh Hodesh):
הַחֹ֧דֶשׁ הַזֶּ֛ה לָכֶ֖ם רֹ֣אשׁ חֳדָשִׁ֑ים רִאשׁ֥וֹן הוּא֙ לָכֶ֔ם לְחׇדְשֵׁ֖י הַשָּׁנָֽה׃
This month shall mark you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you. (Exodus 12:1)
Why begin with Rosh Hodesh?
One possible answer is that through the commandment of sanctifying the new month, God was empowering the Israelites to partner in determining the calendar that would set their new shared occasions and shape their common history. In this way, Rosh Hodesh marked the beginning of the Israelites’ transition from slavery, where others controlled their time, to freedom, in which they became masters of their own time.
Yet before the Torah tells us what this first mitzvah is, it is careful to tell us where it is given—and it is this emphasis on place that troubles the commentators. Exodus 12:1, the preamble to the introduction of the mitzvah of Rosh Hodesh, says:
וַיֹּאמֶר יְהֹוָה אֶל־מֹשֶׁה וְאֶל־אַהֲרֹן בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם לֵאמֹר׃
“God said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt“ (Exodus 12:1).
Given that the Torah had just stated that God “had stiffened the heart of Pharaoh so that he would not let the Israelites go from his land” (Exod. 11:10), it seems obvious that they were still in Egypt. Why, then, does this verse emphasize this context again in relation to the first mitzvah?
The Mekhilta interprets this apparent redundancy as meant to convey that God gave the first mitzvah specifically in the אֶרֶץ /land of Egypt, as opposed to the כְּרָך/city. Just as Moses went outside the city to pray for the cessation of thunder and hail (Exod. 9:29), so, too, God would not speak about mitzvot within the city, a place filled with idolatry.
According to this midrash, the handing over of time, granting the Israelites ownership of their own calendar, would be less distracting and more effective in an isolated space, away from the modus operandi of the surrounding culture that had been so deeply ingrained in them.
In his early collection of sermons, Derekh Hamelekh, the Piaseczno Rebbe (Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, Poland, 1889–1943) rejects the Mekhilta’s interpretation. According to the Rebbe, by emphasizing that the mitzvah of Rosh Hodesh was given בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם—in the land of Egypt—the Torah wanted to teach that being within the city, and not outside it, was essential in order to show that changes can start anywhere, גַּם לַמָּקוֹם שֶׁאַתֶּם נִמְצָאִים/even where they are currently located. God k new that this was only the beginning of the challenge. For many years to come, the Israelites would need to learn how to organize their time in a new way, different from the patterns of life they were conditioned to and from those that would continue to surround them. So, according to the Piaseczno Rebbe, rather than introducing Rosh Hodesh in ideal conditions, away from everything and everyone, God wanted to show that it was possible to begin imagining this new way of life and working toward it even while they were still embedded in the old Egyptian patterns.
Later, while living in the Warsaw Ghetto, the Piaseczno Rebbe revisited the expression בְּאֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרַ֖יִם and offered a slightly different interpretation. As he himself was trying to find new meanings in the Torah to offer consolation and hope to the Jews locked with him inside the ghetto, the Piaseczno Rebbe understood that God was especially concerned about Moses’ ability to transmit and guide the people into the implementation of this mitzvah, כֵּיוָן שֶׁלְּצֹרֶךְ יִשְׂרָאֵל שֶׁבְּמִצְרַיִם לְבַד דִּבֵּר ד׳ מִצְוָה זוֹ/since this commandment was spoken solely for the sake of the Israelites who were in Egypt. So, God wanted to make sure that Moses himself heard it, בְּאֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרַ֖יִם. If Moses were to understand the wisdom of Rosh Hodesh and be an effective leader, he needed to receive it from God while very much connected and attuned to the plight and suffering of the people he was guiding.
Whether through a safer and more secluded space—where the Israelites could focus and feel comfortable experimenting with new ways of living, as suggested by the Mekhilta—or through immersion in challenging circumstances—where the Israelites could begin to imagine incremental change and Moses could remain attuned to the lived realities of the people he was meant to lead, as suggested by the Piaseczno Rebbe—these interpretations of בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם in Exodus 12:1 converge on a shared insight: Even God—the teacher par excellence—understood that excellent students (Moses and Aaron) and an excellent lesson (the mitzvah of Rosh Ḥodesh) were not sufficient, on their own, to guarantee effective transmission. Careful attention to the surrounding environment in which that transmission would take place was essential to its success and for God’s words to take root and endure.
