Egypt Reflections as a Jew (by My Brother)

My globetrotting brother’s reflections on his trip to Egypt—poignant words that move me to tears every time I read them, especially going into Pesach. And yes, I started crying while making the audio.

Apr 11, 2025

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Egypt Reflections as a Jew (by My Brother)

I don’t typically share other people’s writing on my Substack (for reasons), but I’m making an exception. For those who don’t know, my younger brother is not only a YouTuber (with over 400k subscribers!) and a writer, but he’s also a world traveler. At this point, he’s visited over 50 countries. As a student of Torah and history, and as a fiction writer and analyst, he brings a deep and refreshing perspective to his travel experiences. His reflections have become a huge part of our seder experience.

One of my favorite pieces he’s written is this reflection from his trip to Egypt. I’m including the full piece because I think the personal travelogue context enhances the insight. The only edit I made was to add translations and parenthetical explanations.

AFRICA TRIP 2019 - VII - Egypt Reflections as a Jew
Monday, January 28, 2019

The whole day had been weird and a little stressful. It was my last day in Ethiopia, and I hadn't really bought souvenirs so I went to this souvenir district and (in one of two times that this happened this trip) some people attempted to pickpocket me. I’d been trying to figure out a reliable way to tell a taxi how to get to the Chabad house since the streets were unmarked and some of them were blocked, and later on, wondering if I’d be able to get to the airport all right from the Chabad house, due to the same issue.

I'd spent a large part of the night slumped on a chair at Bole International Airport waiting for my 4am flight to Cairo, whose check-in counter was closed for two hours after I arrived at the airport, and following that, the flight was delayed for around an hour. Everyone on the plane was tired and grumpy--I was no exception.

At the time, I was having a lot of trouble writing about Ethiopia, which had me pretty frustrated. Then, after giving up on that, I watched this really bad Chinese movie on the plane that somehow did hit a strong emotional tone despite being bad, which had me trying to figure it out writing-wise and also put me in a strange introspective mood.

So that was the state of things when I realized it was already a little past sunrise and I should probably daven shachris (the morning prayer) now since it would be too late by the time I get to my hotel.

I got out my phone with my siddur app and had the flight map on the screen.

The other part of my mood that had lingered, and I think this is pretty common in situations like this, was an oddly powerful sense of Jewish identity from spending time at the Addis Chabad house. When you’re in that foreign of a place connecting to the few people who share your values and way of life, it takes on a specialness that is absent when you're surrounded by it.

It felt special to randomly be arguing about Yichud HaShem (God’s Oneness) with someone in a gated-off refuge for Jewish travelers on an unmarked road in this undeveloped African country.

Then I was on a plane and it was suddenly time to daven, so I was davening. I was the only person with this way of life on this plane, with barely any at all in the country I was flying over.

I was saying birchos shema (the blessings prior to our declaration: “Hear, O Israel, Hashem is our God, Hashem is One”) while looking at the flight map, with the plane icon flying over the old Egyptian capital of Thebes, and a shock of emotions went through me.

This was Egypt.

This was the same Egypt.

This was where humanity at large first encountered these ideas.

Saying the Shema, declaring Yichud HaShem, as a lone Jew on a plane over Egypt, doing it just because it was time to do it—that idea had made it all the way here, to this point in time.

How important must this idea be that it made it this far.

How vital must this mission be that we engage in through the mitzva system that we’ve marched it out of ancient times, so far in the past that they’re practically mythological, three thousand years past. The temples and shrines that remain from that time are buried in the sand, every element of that culture is wiped out, gone, every idea they held in any esteem has been destroyed and forgotten, left to die.

And here I am declaring this idea in its same form, its precise wording, its precise meaning—identical to how it was first expressed, in this same place, three thousand years ago.

How powerfully important must all of this be. That was the thought that kept pulsing in my head. It actually moved me to tears. It goes without saying that to study an idea and recognize intellectually how important it is to you, and also to humanity, is much different than experiencing stark evidence of its importance. I had never viewed the system from that perspective, and it was so sudden, such a drastic change from rote drowsy daily davening to a first-hand confrontation with the eternality of the entire system. It was seeing the 3000-year journey—this, in front of me, was where it started, and this is where it is now—in an instant.

Afterwards, I remember amusedly thinking, “OKAY, that’s why I came to Egypt. That was what I wanted. If anything else happens while I’m here, okay! That’s fine too! Whatever, I won’t complain. I got my money’s worth. Plane hasn’t even landed, but still...”

I think there was more to the emotion I felt, but I didn’t probe too much because I was worried I would corrupt and transform it by trying to confine it with definition. But what I described was what I got out of it, trying my best to articulate during and after.

Cairo turned out to be a very difficult place for me, but I really was satisfied with Egypt before my plane landed. That part wasn’t a joke.

What a special opportunity and experience I’d received.

My Brother’s Afterword

My brother’s note was originally posted as a Facebook note. There was an exchange in the comment section which is also worth sharing. Someone commented:

Regarding the antiquity of the recitation of the Shema ... I have often reflected on the idea that the siddur is a kind of time capsule for ideas, a time machine with instructions that every generation that receives it can open anew and take direction from our ancestors. That we interact with this very same machine, with very minor modification (i.e. slight variation between nuschaos [liturgies], and additions), in the same way that they did and it having the same transformative effect, rippling through generations, forward through eternity. It's pretty cool how real it all became to you in the course of your very own Yetzias Mitzrayim (Exodus from Egypt).
I particularly liked that you didn't want to taint the raw emotional take away with over-definition. There does seem to be a thin line that can be crossed over where post-facto intellectualization of an experience has the effect of minimizing its resonance. You've deftly navigated those straits.

My brother responded:

Thanks! Yeah, it was so ironic experiencing how much effort went into building these monuments and colossi that would bring immortality to Egypt's ideas and culture, compared to us, with absolutely zero monuments, basically zero ruins, artifacts, relics, etc., all of our energy put towards a non-physical legacy that might not have satisfied the immortality fantasy emotionally but did a FAR better job fulfilling it. Even the ideas we do know of the Egypt of that time are inert and basically museum pieces. They may have lasted for a long time, but aren't immortal because they died with the culture.

My Afterword (and PSA)

Every year, when I lead our seder, I begin the Maggid section by reading and explaining the mitzvah of Sipur Yetzias Mitzrayim (recounting the Exodus from Egypt), as formulated by the Rambam in the Sefer ha’Mitzvos:

The 157th positive commandment is the obligation to recount the Exodus from Egypt on the night of the 15th of Nisan, at the beginning of the night, kefi tzachus lashon ha'mesaper (according to the eloquence of the one recounting it). The more one elaborates in speech and in vivid description—on the greatness of what was done to us, the injustice the Egyptians inflicted upon us, how Hashem exacted retribution from them, and in expressing hodaah (gratitude) to Him, exalted be He, for all the kindness He bestowed upon us—the more praiseworthy it is.

I remind our guests that the Haggadah was designed as a fallback script. Simply reading through it, without adding anything of one’s own, does not fulfill the requirement of kefi tzachus lashon ha’mesaper. I encourage everyone present to share their own retelling of Yetzias Mitzrayim, expressing their understanding of the events and their personal significance in light of who they are and what they’re thinking and feeling this year.

The Rambam’s formulation also highlights that our sipur must culminate in a personal outpouring of hodaah. This is why our recitation of Hallel (the psalms of praise) at the seder is preceded by the statement: “In each and every generation one is obligated to see himself as though he had gone out of Egypt.”

To me, my brother’s reflection on Egypt as a Jew exemplifies the highest fulfillment of this mitzvah. May we all merit to experience our Sipur Yetzias Mitzrayim on a personal level—both intellectually and emotionally.

Let me know what you think! If you have comments for my brother, I’ll relay them to him.

The Rabbi Schneeweiss Substack

Discussion about this post

The Rabbi Schneeweiss Substack

Egypt Reflections as a Jew (by My Brother)

My globetrotting brother’s reflections on his trip to Egypt—poignant words that move me to tears every time I read them, especially going into Pesach. And yes, I started crying while making the audio.

Egypt Reflections as a Jew (by My Brother)

AFRICA TRIP 2019 - VII - Egypt Reflections as a JewMonday, January 28, 2019

My Brother’s Afterword

My Afterword (and PSA)

Discussion about this post

AFRICA TRIP 2019 - VII - Egypt Reflections as a Jew
Monday, January 28, 2019