By Your Blood You Shall Live: How the Mezuzah Keeps the Exodus Alive
This Pesach, a simple question turned into a deep journey. The Torah tells us in
Parshat Bo:
“You shall take the blood and place it on the lintel and the two doorposts…”
“And Hashem will pass through to
strike Egypt… and He will see the blood… and He will not allow the destroyer to
enter to strike.”
“You shall observe this matter as a
decree for yourself and for your children forever.”
וּשְׁמַרְתֶּם אֶת־הַדָּבָר הַזֶּה לְחָק־לְךָ וּלְבָנֶיךָ
עַד־עוֹלָם. (שמות י”ב, כד)
So,
the question is obvious: What is this eternal mitzvah of placing blood on our
doorposts?
We
did it once in Egypt. We talk about it every year at the seder. But we never
actually do it again. Why not?
Based
on the Teachings of The Shvilei Pinchas:
The
Ohr HaChaim HaKadosh and the Chatam Sofer both ask: if it’s supposed to be an
eternal statute, where’s the ongoing practice? The Ramban and Ibn Ezra suggest
it refers only to the korban Pesach, not the blood on the doors—but the flow of
the pesukim makes that difficult, as we see the command for the future korban
Pesach in the next paragraph.
Adding
to that question, let us ask what is the blood that was placed on the door?
The
command we received required each family or household of Benai Yisrael four
days before the exodus on Shabbat Hagadol, to take a sheep for the korban. We
must keep in mind that this wasn’t a private ritual—it was a public act of
defiance. The sheep was the Egyptian god, and Bnei Yisrael were told to tie it
to their bedposts for four days. Imagine trying something like this in India
today where they worship cows in some places or even taking an in adamant
object like a large cross from the church and tying it to your bed in a deeply
Catholic country a century ago—not as decoration, but with the stated intent to
slaughter it, smear its blood on your door, and burn it in front of the
believers. That’s what our ancestors did in Egypt. It wasn’t just an act of
sacrifice—it was an act of both defiance and identity. Facing their oppressors,
they declared: We are no longer yours. We belong to Hashem.
But
let us recall the pasuk from Yechezkel.
“By your blood you shall live.”
וָאֹמַר לָךְ בְּדָמַיִךְ חֲיִי; וָאֹמַר לָךְ בְּדָמַיִךְ
חֲיִי. (יחזקאל ט”ז, ו)
And
when do you recall most often saying this verse?
Most
likely at a Brit Mila.
Rashi,
quoting the Mechilta, brings us deeper. The Jews in Egypt had no merits for
redemption, so Hashem gave them two mitzvot to perform:
Brit
milah and korban Pesach.
Both
involved blood. Both were deeply personal and national. Both required courage.
The
Targum Yonatan and the Zohar go even further: the blood of the korban and the
blood of the brit were mixed together and smeared on the doorposts. And in that
merit, Hashem passed over the Jewish homes.
B’damayich chayi. B’damayich chayi.
What
is so special about these two misvot aseh which distinguish them from all other
positive commandments. They are the only two positive commandments in the
entire Torah that, if neglected, carry the punishment of karet—being cut off
from the people. We read in the Torah
וְעָרֵל זָכָר אֲשֶׁר לֹא־יִמּוֹל אֶת־בְּשַׂר עָרְלָתוֹ
וְנִכְרְתָה הַנֶּפֶשׁ הַהִוא מֵעַמֶּיהָ אֶת־בְּרִיתִי הֵפַר. (בראשית י”ז, י”ד)
וְהָאִישׁ
אֲשֶׁר הוּא טָהוֹר וּבְדֶרֶךְ לֹא הָיָה וְחָדַל לַעֲשׂוֹת הַפֶּסַח וְנִכְרְתָה
הַנֶּפֶשׁ הַהִוא מֵעַמֶּיהָ. (במדבר ט’, י”ג)
Why
these two of all the positive commandments? Because they are acts of identity.
They declare: I belong to Hashem.
There
is a question our rabbis ask
Why
does the paragraph of Shema Yisrael and VeAhavta precede the paragraph of
V’haya im shamoa
• Shema
Yisrael—accepting Hashem’s Sovereignty (ol malchut shamayim).
• V’haya
im shamoa—accepting His mitzvot (ol mitzvot).
And
accepting the yoke of Heaven must precede the accepting of the misvot
Now,
the nation of Israel came into being during the plague of the firstborn they
were referred to as (Shemot 4,22): “בני בכורי ישראל”, my firstborn son, Israel.
This is why they were commanded to place on their doorways the blood of the
korban pesach – and the blood of the brit milah.
The
blood of the milah represents acceptance of the yoke of Heaven—the placing of
the Almighty’s seal upon our flesh.
The
blood of the korban pesach, the slaughtering of the Egyptian’s g-d for Hashem’s
sake, represents the yoke of mitzvot.
These
two mitzvot form the basis for the entire Torah—the acceptance of Hashem’s
Sovereignty and the acceptance of His mitzvot. In their merit, we were taken
out of Egypt, chosen to be His people and given His Torah. Consequently,
whoever chooses not to fulfill these two commandments, reveals that he has no
interest in accepting the yoke of Heaven and the yoke of mitzvot. Thus, he
deserves being cut off from any part and legacy amidst the people of Israel—the
punishment of “karet.”
The
Vilna Gaon explains that each person faces two types of Yetzer Hara:
• The
internal: laziness, desire, apathy.
• The
external: peer pressure, ridicule, societal values.
Brit
milah represents the internal commitment—a private covenant.
Korban
Pesach is the external stand—slaughtering Egypt’s god in public.
Which
brings us to our original question mentioned above concerning the placement of
the blood on the lintel and the doorposts: the verse states that this decree is
to be observed forever; yet, we don’t find this observance in fact.
The
Chiddushei HaRim then shares a dazzling idea: we do still put something on our
doorposts.
And
that something represents something similar to the blood of the brit and the
blood of the lamb. It represents the acceptance of the ol malchut Shamayim and
ol mitzvot.
And
what is it? It’s called… the mezuzah.
The
mezuzah contains the two paragraphs of Shema:
• Shema
Yisrael—accepting Hashem’s Sovereignty (ol malchut shamayim).
• V’haya
im shamoa—accepting His mitzvot (ol mitzvot).
As
we noted: The Gr”a teaches us that we all possess an internal yetzer harah
preventing us from serving Hashem
Additionally,
there is an external yetzer harah—the negative influences of the external
environment surrounding us. This yetzer takes the form of nonobservant people
who chase after the temptations and nonsense of this world, and who taunt and
make fun of those who serve Hashem. Here the Gr”a states
ולכן נקבע מזוזה
על פתח ביתו להגן עליו“
in
other words, the mezuzah is a protective device against the external yetzer the
negative influences surrounding us.
At
the same time, we see clearly in the Gemarah avodah zara that, unlike human
kings who are protected by their guards, Hashem Himself guards His people — He
surrounds and protects us, always.
The
Zohar elaborates B0 36 (my summary) “In many places the Holy One, blessed be
He, shows compassion for His children. A person builds a house, and Hashem says
to him: ‘Write My Name and place it at your entrance, and you may go inside
your house — and I will sit outside at your entrance to guard you.’”
And
The Zohar Chadash The mezuzah is not just a symbol — it’s spiritual protection.
Even destructive forces pause when they see Hashem’s Name guarding the door.
That’s why we’re encouraged to always have a proper mezuzah on our homes.
All
of these sources clearly emphasize that the mezuzah constitutes an internal
protection of our homes. The Darkei Moshe (Yoreh Deah 286,4) in the name of
Shu”t Maharam ( Retenberg
“I
am certain that any house equipped with a proper, halachic mezuzah, is beyond
the power of any harmful force”.
It
seems clear that the Gr”a means to teach that the mezuzah protects against the
external yetzer horah—people chasing after their hearts’ desires and mocking
Torah-observant Jews. For, when a man steps outside his home to make a living,
he is likely to encounter such negative influences; those influences may then
follow him back into his home and have deleterious effects upon him and his
family members.
It
is for this reason, that the Almighty commanded the Jew to place a mezuzah at
the entrance to his home, containing the paragraph of acceptance of the yoke of
Heaven and the paragraph of the acceptance of the yoke of mitzvot. By reminding
him to accept these two yokes upon himself when he leaves to protect from the
external and when he enters from the internal yeser harah.
So
the secret to reenacting and reimagining the two bloods of the doorposts of
Misrayim lies in the Mezuzah.
These
two paragraphs are written inside the Mezuzah and affixed to our doorposts
declaring our acceptance of the yoke of Heaven and the yoke of Misvot — just
like the blood placed on the doorposts in Egypt. The Mezuzah stands as a Chok
Olam — an eternal decree — reminding us of that covenant.
When
we leave our home, we pass by the Mezuzah and kiss it, invoking protection from
the external Yetzer Hara. When we return home, it stands as a shield from the
inner Yetzer Hara. It’s a moment to realign and remember.
Each
glance, each kiss, each moment of intention by the Mezuzah becomes a reminder
of our commitment — just as the blood on the doorposts was a sign of our
readiness to follow Hashem into the unknown. It echoes the verse: “ובדמייך חיי” — “By your blood you shall live.”
So,
every time we enter or leave our home, we should recall this eternal message.
And in that merit — in the zechut of honoring the Mezuzah with intention — may
we be blessed, like our ancestors, with protection, clarity, and strength
(gevurah), and be brought closer to redemption.
How
much should we value the gift of the Mezuzah
I am
reminded of a story: —a modern one. A
man builds in the Hamptons the most luxurious home imaginable. Every detail
handpicked. Dozens of doors, each framed in elegant wood.
When
it came time to purchase mezuzot, the rabbi explained:
“There’s
a basic option, a better option, and a mehudar—highest level.”
After
splurging on every other detail of the house, the man chose the cheapest
mezuzot. But for the cases? He bought magnificent designer pieces—because
that’s what guests would see.
On
the day of installation, the rabbi arrived—but the mezuzot were already on the
doors.
Surprised,
he asked, “Who put them up?”
The
contractor walked in, grinning. “I knew Jews hang those boxes on the doorposts,
so I took care of it. And I saved all the warranty cards that were inside the
boxes - they looked important.”
He
handed the rabbi a bag.
Inside
were the klafim—the real mezuzot. Still rolled up. Never inserted. The house
was full of stunning boxes. But the mitzvah itself? Never fulfilled.
There’s
a story told about the Baal Shem Tov, who once traveled to a remote village and
visited the home of a simple Jew. The man had built his house with his own
hands—fine wood, elegant beams, everything carefully crafted. When the Baal
Shem Tov arrived, he noticed something missing.
The
man proudly explained, “I carved the doorway myself—it’s strong and beautiful.”
“The
wood may be strong—but a mezuzah guards not the doorway. It guards the soul
inside.”
Form
without substance is just wood. The true protection—the blood on the
doorpost—comes from what’s inside the case.
Every
time we pass a mezuzah, we’re renewing our identity. Saying:
I
accept Hashem’s kingship.
B’damayich
chayi. B’damayich chayi.
And
in that merit may Hashem protect us both in going and coming.
Shabbat
Shalom and Chag Sameyach
