Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

Egypt, 1313 BCE

The past year has been a masterclass in the unexpected.

For most of it, we have sat and watched. We saw how the Nile turned to blood. We saw frogs invade every Egyptian home. Then the ground turned to lice.

…And then things got exciting.

It’s been a roller coaster of natural disasters, political upheaval, and what can only be described as “miracles.”

At this point, I’m pretty convinced that this “God of the Jews” is real. Not completely convinced, mind you—but it’s likely the best explanation. After all, Egypt has always been the world’s greatest superpower, and there’s no way that two old men—Moshe and Aharon—are doing this themselves.

Then again, maybe at least some of it is fake news? Some kind of conspiracy? Wasn’t Moshe the boy who was once adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter? Maybe this is some kind of family power struggle, and we’re just pawns in someone else’s game?

Either way, Egypt is unraveling. The economy is collapsing, and Pharaoh is still playing hardball. Truthfully, we haven’t done any real work for a few months. No one knows what happened to the guys who were dragged off by the wild beasts. And most of the crops were destroyed by hail and locusts.

But it’s not like we’re all of a sudden free to do whatever we want. Jews are still not safe. And short of hiding when the Egyptians get violent, we don’t really have a solution.

Oh! By the way, the darkness thing was insane. At least that’s what we’ve heard. Truth is, nothing changed for the Jews—but apparently, the Egyptians had no light for days on end? Not sure what that means, but it sounds intense.

I guess I want to believe that all of this is part of God’s plan. Maybe we do have some ancestral homeland. Maybe those stories were real. But how does that answer the pain and suffering and bloodshed for centuries?

If this is all part of the plan… well then, I don’t understand the plan.

So much is so hard to believe, but it’s getting harder and harder to deny that something is happening here. Someone—or something—is pulling strings that we didn’t know existed.

Rumor has it that Pharaoh is finally starting to crack. Moshe told him that all the firstborn are going to die, and he’s getting nervous.

Okay, now here’s the craziest part.

Apparently, Moshe told us that this Saturday, we’re supposed to take a sheep, tie it to our bedposts, and get ready to slaughter and eat it. Wild.

He says we’re going to paint the blood on the doorposts, and then God will save us when He kills the Egyptians. I’ll be honest with you—I don’t really get it.

If He wants to save us, just save us already. Why do we need to risk our lives killing their sheep-gods? And the blood on the doorposts is a bit much. It’s like a neon sign screaming, “Look at what I did!”

There are a lot of guys who told me they’re not doing it.

But I think we are going to. If the Egyptians try to attack, they can’t kill all of us. It’s kind of a make-or-break moment.

I think I’ve spent most of the past year sitting on the fence. Do I even want to go to this Promised Land? Do I really want to be free? Do I even know what that means? Then again, I don’t really want to spend my whole life a slave.

The truth is, I have no idea what happens next. All I know is that after this, everything will be different. How? I cannot even begin to imagine.

But I can’t hold myself back any longer. For years, we’ve waited, screaming into the void for something to change—for a chance, an opening, a way to become something more. And now, that something is here.

It’s not what I would’ve guessed. It’s strange, terrifying, and confusing. But maybe this is it.

So here’s the plan.

In a few days’ time, on the night of the full moon, we’re going to slaughter that sheep. We’re going to lock ourselves indoors, bags packed, ready to go.

Once we paint the blood on the doors, there’s no turning back. By the time morning comes, either we’ll be dead, or we’ll be free. There’s no other option.

If you’re reading this letter, you know more than I do.

You know what happens next. I wish I did… but I don’t. Maybe that’s the whole point here.

For the first time in our lives, He’s forcing us to choose. After everything I've seen, I can't deny it any longer. This seems right. It seems real.

If you’re reading this letter—and if your life is anything like mine—just know that it was never that clear for us either. But I'm pretty sure I'm making the right decision here. And just maybe, if you do as well, we'll meet on the other side of history.