It goes all the way back to the Exodus, to the very night God spared the Israelite firstborn while striking down the Egyptians. But there’s more to it than just remembering a historical event. It's about a constant, living connection to that moment of liberation.
Shemot Rabbah, a classic collection of Midrashic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, delves into the commandment, "Consecrate to Me every firstborn" (Exodus 13:2). Rabbi Nehemya offers a powerful insight: God, in essence, tells the Israelites that when they enter the Promised Land, they must transfer "the first issue of the womb" to Him (Exodus 34:19). But does this mitzvah, this sacred obligation, only begin once they’re settled in their new home?
The text pushes back against this idea. The verse explicitly states, “You shall transfer the first issue of the womb to the Lord" (Exodus 13:12). God cautioned them to consecrate the firstborn immediately, not just when they arrived in Canaan, because He had spared them in Egypt. Think about that – the act of redemption, of giving back to God what is rightfully His, is inextricably linked to that initial act of salvation.
It’s not just about following a rule; it's about remembering. "And when your son asks you tomorrow, saying: What is this? You shall say to him: With strength of hand the Lord brought us out from Egypt, the house of bondage" (Exodus 13:14).
The Midrash emphasizes the importance of transmitting the story. When your child asks about the meaning of this ritual, you must tell them of the miracles performed in Egypt when Pharaoh stubbornly refused to let the Israelites go. "It was when Pharaoh resisted" (Exodus 13:15). We are meant to actively engage with the narrative, to relive the Exodus each time we perform this mitzvah.
And the physical reminders? They're crucial. "Make it a sign on your hand and on your head, as it is stated: 'It will be a sign on your hand, [and as an ornament between your eyes]' (Exodus 13:16)." This, the Midrash suggests, alludes to tefillin – the phylacteries worn on the arm and head during prayer. These aren't just accessories; they're tangible connections to the Exodus, constantly reminding us of God's intervention.
The Midrash then offers a beautiful analogy: A king throws a grand celebration for his daughter who had been captured by enemies. To ensure she never forgets her ordeal and his love, he asks her to recreate the celebration – to wear a crown as a constant reminder. Similarly, God performed miracles for Israel, most notably killing the firstborn of Egypt while sparing the Israelites. Thus, He commands them regarding the sanctity of the firstborn because He Himself "smote every firstborn" (Exodus 12:29).
Therefore, the tefillin, the "crown" on the head of Israel, serve as a perpetual reminder of the miracle. The tradition is not just about the historical event, but about internalizing the meaning of redemption, of acknowledging God's presence in our lives, and of passing that understanding on to future generations. Tefillin serve as a crown, a daily reminder of this foundational event.
So, what does it mean to wear that metaphorical crown today? How do we keep the memory of liberation alive, not just in ritual, but in our everyday actions? Perhaps it's about recognizing the "Egypts" in our own lives – the oppressions, the limitations, the things that hold us back – and actively working towards freedom, for ourselves and for others.