The Pascal sacrifice in Egypt was to teach the Jews that they were no longer under Egyptian rule, just as it was to teach the Egyptians that their entire society was based on a lie.
The Korban Pesach: Freedom Requires Jewish Pride
One of the very first mitzvot we received as a people was the Korban Pesach, the Pascal sacrifice. What’s striking is when this mitzvah is given: between the plague of darkness and the death of the firstborn—right at the threshold of redemption.
God commands the Jews to take a lamb, bring it into their homes, slaughter it, roast it, eat it publicly, and place its blood on the doorposts. This blood would mark Jewish homes so that God would pass over them during the final plague.
At first glance, this seems strange. Why this act? Why now?
But we have to remember something fundamental: just as the plagues were judgments on Egypt—its gods, its economy, its ideology—they were also building the Jewish people. Redemption is not only about leaving Egypt physically. It’s about leaving slavery psychologically.
And this mitzvah is all about that.
The lamb was an Egyptian god. God is telling the Jews:
Take your former master’s god. Bring it into your home. Slaughter it. Roast it. Eat it. And then advertise it by putting its blood on your doorposts.
Imagine what that takes. These people had been slaves their entire lives. Publicly defying Egyptian religion wasn’t just dangerous—it was unthinkable. And yet God is saying: You are not leaving as frightened slaves. You are leaving as a proud nation.
Freedom requires Jewish pride.
I once heard a powerful story that captures this idea. A Jewish refugee from Austria in the 1930s was drafted into the U.S. Army during World War II. Because many Jewish refugees spoke fluent German and understood German culture, the army grouped them into a special intelligence unit.
On the first day of basic training, the sergeant—a rough Southern man—walked up to the most Jewish-looking soldier and barked, “You a Jew?”
Everyone froze.
The soldier answered quietly, “Yes.”
The sergeant shouted, “I can’t hear you!”
So the soldier yelled:
“Yes, Sergeant! I am a Jew, Sergeant!”
The sergeant replied:
“That’s how I want you to say it. If someone doesn’t like that you’re a Jew, you deal with them. And if you don’t—I will.”
That sergeant understood something profound. You don’t send people into battle ashamed of who they are. You build them up with identity and pride.
That is exactly what Hashem—and Moshe—were doing in Egypt.
Before freedom could happen, the Jewish people had to learn:
Don’t hide who you are.
Don’t deny your identity.
Live Jewishly, publicly, proudly.
Our responsibility is not to worry about who doesn’t like it.
Our responsibility is to do the mitzvot, to live as Jews, and to wear that identity with pride.
That was true in Egypt.
It was true then.
And it’s something worth thinking about now.
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