When Liberation Begins in the Hard Places

Sunday, January 18, 2025

Lis K. Regula, PhD

LGBTQIA+ Person of Faith

Quote

“So, Moses and Aaron went to Pharaoh and said to him, “This is what God, God of the Hebrews, has said: ‘How long will you refuse to humble yourself before Me? Send forth My people, so they may serve Me! For if you refuse to send forth My people, I will bring locusts into your territory tomorrow. They will cover the surface of the land, so that no one will be able to see the ground. They will consume the surviving remnant of vegetation that was left for you after the hail, and they will eat away all your trees that grow in the field. Your houses and all your courtiers’ houses and the houses of all the Egyptians will be filled with them—something that your fathers and your fathers’ fathers have never seen from the day they appeared on earth until this day.’” And with that they turned and left Pharaoh’s presence.”

~Shemot 10:3–6

Devotion

The sages teach that in every generation, we must see ourselves as if we personally came out of Egypt. But I find myself wondering: What does it mean to leave Egypt when Egypt refuses to let you go? What does it mean to insist on liberation in a world that keeps narrowing the terms of our freedom?

In Parshat Bo, God sends Moses back to Pharaoh with a command that has already been repeated many times: “Let My people go.” Yet God adds something else—this struggle itself will become a story for future generations. Liberation here is not instant; it is formed through repeated acts of courage in the face of repeated refusals.

Midrash invites us to linger in that space.

Pharaoh asks Moses a deceptively simple question: “Mi vami haholchim?”—“Who are the ones going?”

I imagine Moses looking around him:

the children who have only known labor,

the elders who remember the world before oppression,

the women whose quiet acts of resistance sustained life,

the shepherds, the dreamers, the weary, the hopeful.

And Moses answers with clarity and conviction:

“We will go with our young and our old, with our sons and our daughters, with our flocks and our herds.”

In other words: All of us.

Not some. Not the strongest. Not just the men.

Not only the people Pharaoh finds convenient.

This is the Torah’s first great lesson in equity:

A liberation that leaves anyone behind is no liberation at all.

Pharaoh attempts to bargain, as systems of power always do.

“You can go,” he says,

“But leave the children.”

“Leave the women.”

“Leave your animals.”

“Leave something behind so I still control you.”

Oppression loves partial liberation.

It loves the illusion of freedom without the substance of it.

It loves to decide who counts.

But Moses refuses each bargain.

Midrash imagines him saying:

“If one child remains in bondage, none of us are free.

If one elder is left behind, our celebration cannot begin.

If anything, that sustains us is held hostage, then we have simply traded one Egypt for another.”

Many readers struggle with the idea that God “hardens Pharaoh’s heart.”

But midrash gives us another possibility:

Perhaps God is not hardening Pharaoh so much as strengthening the people.

Perhaps the repeated refusals teach them persistence.

Perhaps liberation needs rehearsal—

the building of spiritual muscle memory in the face of stubborn power.

Equity is learned not in ease, but in the places where resistance seems futile, yet we speak anyway.

And Moses becomes a model for every movement since:

Keep showing up. Keep speaking. Keep insisting on the wholeness of your community, even when the world says you’re asking too much.

Every generation has its Pharaohs: systems that narrow dignity, policies that decide who is worthy, leaders who ration freedom.

Today’s Egypts include attacks on LGBTQIA+ youth, restrictions on reproductive freedom, disparities in safety and healthcare, and ideologies that insist some lives matter less.

And every generation has its Moseses: the advocates, teachers, parents, and communities who say, “We will all go.”

When the rights of Queer youth are threatened, Moses says, “All of us will go.”

When reproductive freedom is restricted, Moses says, “All of us will go.”

When the vulnerable are asked to wait their turn, Moses says, “All of us will go.”

The midrash for our time is clear: Half-freedom is another kind of bondage. Our liberation must be collective.

Reflection

1. Where am I accepting partial liberation? Where am I tempted to leave someone behind?

2. Who is my Pharaoh—and who is my Moses?

3. Whose freedom must I tie my own to, so none of us are left in Egypt?

Action

I would be remiss in my duties as co-chair of Ohio Equal Rights if I did not highlight the importance of building a tent in Ohio by protecting our rights at the state level. Ohio Equal Rights is working alongside the Ohio Coalition to End Qualified Immunity to pass a total of three citizen-led ballot initiatives- 1) the Ohio Equal Rights Amendment incorporating broad ERA language into Ohio’s Constitution and providing a path to recourse regardless of the status of federal protections; 2) the Right to Marry Amendment overturning the state’s constitutional ban on same-sex marriage equality to align with current federal protections; and 3) the Protecting Ohioans Constitutional Protections Amendment restricting the ability of governmental employees’ ability to avoid consequences when they cause harm while on the job. If you haven’t yet, sign those petitions and reach out if you’d like to learn more.