Hear Our Voice

As a kid growing up in Massachusetts, Passover always fell just as the world was coming back to life. The air smelled cleaner, and the sky was bluer and, because my mother had a knack for making things beautiful, the yard was filled with daffodils and crocus that she planted in the fall. And the Seder table was just as lovely - set with beautiful china, silver, and flowers. While it might seem superfluous, Jewish tradition actually applauds the ability to fulfill a Mitzvah (a Commandment) in an aesthetically beautiful manner. Hiddur Mitzvah literally means to beautify the Mitzvah and the fondness with which I recall my childhood Seders is evidence enough of its value. But recently I have found myself thinking back even more because these memories have become a salve in these dark days. This is not a season of blue skies and fields of flowers. It is a time of great sorrow. The war rages on, hostages are still held captive, and hatred towards Jews is not only ubiquitous but socially acceptable in many places. I am quite literally shocked on a daily basis, by what I read and hear, and I have grown accustomed to living with an existential fear for the state of Israel. I long for the Passovers of my youth and I would have given anything to have been able to shout, “Next year in Jerusalem!” without a lump in my throat at this year’s Seder. Nonetheless, the world spins forward, and though this is a dark time, we are still instructed to keep the story of our liberation from slavery in Egypt alive this week of Passover.  

One might think that in recalling the story of Passover, it would be remembering that we defeated the Pharaoh and his great army that would bring the greatest comfort or hope right now but for me, what feels most compelling is the rabbinic instruction that when telling the story, we must begin not with victory but rather with “degradation.” The Haggadah says we should start with the words, “My father was a wandering Aramean and he went down to Egypt and there he became a great nation.’’ (Deut 26:5) In other words, the story of the Jewish people is long and when trying to figure out where in the narrative to begin telling the Passover story, we are supposed to start with the time when Jacob was very poor. I have always assumed this instruction is about ensuring that we do not take our freedom for granted. But this year, as I watched the anguish on the face of hostage Hersh Polin in the video recently released, it is clear that we are absolutely not at the high point in our ongoing story right now. The degradation that we begin with when retelling the story is where we are right now. But, as I sat with my family and allowed myself to taste the freedom that Hersh cannot, I clung to the knowledge that we have gone from slavery to freedom time and time again. Jewish history is as much a litany of survival as it is one of despair, and our job right now is to trust that the Jewish People will eventually dance on the other side of this raging sea.  

 I also know this: after the destruction of the Second Temple - the cataclysmic event that could have easily led to the total annihilation of the Jewish People – Judaism was completely reinvented by the rabbinic tradition. Without the Temple, we could no longer perform sacrifice and the Temple cult, around which all of Jewish life had been organized, disappeared. But there was something that came to replace the altar upon which the priest had made the sacrifices that brought the people nearer to God. That something was and is the table of each Jewish family. Each element of our Seder table aligns with some aspect of Temple ritual that could no longer be practiced. It is in the Jewish home, not in the Temple, where we recite Hallel, and it is the family’s Seder table where the story is retold, and where those who tell and hear it are sustained. It is a symbiosis between people and story-telling, that is uniquely Jewish and the environment in which it happens is the Seder Table where the story of Passover is seen and heard and tasted.

Right now, it’s easy to feel exasperated by our lack of power as individuals. None of us alone has the power to return the hostages to their families or to beat back the savagery of terrorists or to silence the anti-Semitism or end this brutal war. But to be Jewish means to allow the story of Passover to remind us of the fact that we have repeatedly experienced injustice followed by redemption. To be Jewish also means that we must make our corner of the world better by performing a Seder that is separate from and more beautiful than the world beyond it. 

Wishing you and yours a meaningful Passover week. 

 Rabbi Laura Sheinkopf

Associate Rabbi, CSK