This week's parsha finds Bnei Yisrael standing at the edge of redemption. G-d has heard the groan of their suffering and has declared His intention to liberate them from the dominion of Pharaoh. Yet they remain deeply submerged in the darkness of Mitzrayim. Moshe dutifully relates to the people some of the most hopeful promises in history, but still is unable to pierce the dull resignation of their "broken spirit." Even when they finally cross Yam Suf (a few parshiot from now), after days of experiencing the grace of G-d, they immediately long for the comforts of Mitzrayim. What is the nature of this place that held our ancestors in such a tenacious grip? Is it possible that today we are still under its spell?
The Beit Yaakov, in his commentary on parshat Vayechi, calls Mitzrayim ervat haaretz, loosely translated as "nakedness of the land." The primary characteristic of Mitzrayim was its promiscuity; it was a place of no boundaries, where the inhabitants fear neither G-d nor punishment. The Beit Yaakov attributes this to the fact that the land of Mitzrayim does not depend on rain for its sustenance; rather, the Nile provides a constant, plentiful source of water.
Essentially, the people of Mitzrayim lived with no sense of dependence on a higher force. The Nile provided a steady flow of abundance. Wealth was amassed with little or no effort. Without an identification with the source of this prosperity, life contained no existential meaning, and boundaries became irrelevant.
The antithesis of Mitzrayim is Eretz Yisrael, where the most basic sense of faith stems from an agricultural dependence on G-d. Man's ultimate purpose in the world is to acknowledge G-d's glory in every aspect of Creation (see R. Nachman's teaching on ayeh makom k'vodo). The agricultural community is seemingly the most conducive to the recognition of G-d.
The Arbarvanel, in his commentary on parshat Noach, says that the first fundamental shift from agrarian to urban society was the construction of the Tower of Bavel, and that this was the beginning of the downfall of humanity. The Beit Yaakov, also on Noach, notes that the first sin man committed was the planting of kilayim (hybrid species); this first act of manipulating nature implies that G-d need not be present for creation to take place. Furthermore, man-made creations present the risk of idolatry. In Bereshit, Enosh began to "call in G-d's name," which Rashi interprets as a reference to the rise of idolatry. For those early generations, the sense of G-d's presence was so powerful that man was tempted to create an intermediary so as not to be overwhelmed.
In an affluent, industrialized society, there exists the danger of losing sight of the ultimate source of power. Mitzrayim was such a place, and we had a difficult time tearing ourselves away from it. Today, thousands of years after our supposed liberation, we remain vulnerable to its influence. The modern world (i.e., the industrialized West, which is rapidly taking over the planet) is typified by the alienation of the individual from his/her Source. Edward Abbey (in his commentary on the unfortunate state of humanity) presents the modern problem as follows: "We are slaves in the sense that we depend for our daily survival upon an expand-or-expire agro-industrial empire -- a crackpot machine -- that the specialists cannot comprehend and the managers cannot manage -- which is, furthermore, devouring world resources at an exponential rate."
We learn from the Maharal that there will be four empires (Babylonia, Persia, Greece, and Rome) before that of Mashiach; we are currently in the Roman empire. It is said that the galut of Mitzrayim contains in it the entirety of the empires. Thus, as long as we haven't walked away from the empire of Rome, we are still in Mitzrayim. Likewise, as long as we haven't completely freed ourselves from Mitzrayim, we delay the completion of the Roman empire. The ultimate redemption will come with the perception that G-d is beyond all human systems of logic, beyond our capacity to create and manipulate and destroy. Anything that impinges upon that awareness keeps us locked in Mitzrayim indefinitely.
So what can we do about it? Obviously, with a bit of concentration, one can see and appreciate G-d's hand in just about anything. However, as was suggested by the Arbarbanel and the Beit Yaakov, a simple lifestyle, one fundamentally connected to nature, is the easiest way to access this consciousness. Granted, it is unrealistic to expect the world, or even our own down-to-earth chevre, to return to the days of living close to the land. But we can do things that will increase our sense of our own human finitude. So get up from whatever artificially-contrived space in which you might be sitting, and look out into nature -- plant a garden, sleep outside for a day or two, think before you say a bracha on food, avoid stepping on ants for an hour, turn the compost pile, walk in the rain, climb a mountain -- anything that will re-sensitize you (and through you, others) to the unfathomable intricacy of Creation and your total dependence upon the Creator. Good Shabbos!!!