Tag Archives: Passover

Living Without Fear

Acharei Mot. After death. That’s how last Shabbat’s Torah portion begins, barely referencing the tragic loss of Aaron’s two sons that previously occurred. The text doesn’t focus on mourning. It doesn’t focus on grief. It just gets back to business. After the death of Aaron’s two sons, the Torah explains that God speaks to Moses and continues to instruct him on the laws of offerings and how Aaron must preside over these offerings.

I am left wondering why the Torah doesn’t give us, or Aaron the High Priest, time to grieve. When this loss occurred in Leviticus chapter 10,  the Torah simply states that Aaron was silent. I can’t get over these words though: Acharei mot, after death, especially after the deadly mass shooting at the Chabad of Poway, California a little over a week ago on the final day of Passover, six months to the day since the shooting at Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh. Because we cannot simply move on. We cannot do what the Torah is telling us and just act like all is normal. We cannot accept this as the new normal. There is nothing normal about shootings at houses of worship. There is nothing normal about accepting mass shootings as a part of society. There is nothing normal about anti-semitism rearing its head and causing harm in the most violent attacks on Jews in our country’s history. But somehow, for whatever reason, we do. Only here. Nowhere else in the world. And we wait until the 24-hour news cycle has moved on to the next topic, and like the Torah even does, Acharei Mot, after death, we move on.

The Sifra, the halakhic midrashic word on the book of Leviticus, explains that these laws regarding entering the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, at inopportune times were commanded directly after the deaths of Nadav and Avihu so that one can understand the deadly consequences of one’s actions. The problem with this midrashic interpretation is that it is telling us to live our lives in fear. Midrash is suggesting that we should fear death and act accordingly. I refuse to do so.

Rabbi Yisrael Goldstein, the rabbi of Chabad of Poway, refused to be immediately treated for his wounds, after the shooter shot off his two index fingers, as he held his hands up to try to protect himself and his community, from the gunfire raining down on his community at the hands of a domestic terrorist with an AR-15. Instead, he used whatever he could find to stop the bleeding, including a tallit, a prayer shawl, and gathered the congregation outside their sacred space that had become a crime scene.

He pulled a chair and in front of the building, stood on the chair and gave the sermon he was going to give and started saying over and over again, Am Yisrael Chai. “Am Yisrael Chai,” he said. “We are a Jewish people that will stand tall. And we will not let anyone or anything take us down.” He was essentially teaching the opposite of what this week’s parasha suggests, we do not live our lives based on fear. We do not fear for our own lives because of those whose lives were lost. Instead, we say what Rabbi Goldstein said, Am Yisrael Chai. We are proud of who we are and will never hide who we are or what we believe.

At the Passover seder where we celebrated being freed from slavery through a festive meal and ritual retelling, we still said “Hashata L’Avday, L’shana Haba’ah b’nai chorin, We are still slaves. Next year, may we be fully free.” At the meal when we celebrated freedom, we acknowledged that we are not yet fully free. And in 2019, in America, in a country and at a time when Jews have experienced more religious freedom than at any other time in Jewish history of 2000 years living in the diaspora, we are still not free from anti-semitism. And society is not free from hatred. We say these words because we recognize that we cannot truly be free until we are all free. This tragic shooting in Poway on the last day of our holiday that celebrates freedom was just a reminder of that. We will not simply move on Acharei Mot, after death. We will not simply continue like this is the new normal.

During these days between Passover and Shavuot, we count the Omer. These days of counting the omer representing our people’s spiritual wandering, as we wandered throughout the wilderness, from the exodus from Egypt until Revelation at Sinai, lost. After another deadly anti-semitic incident, we feel lost. We are left wandering in a tearful daze. But we will not simply move on, Acharei Mot, like this is the new normal. We will proudly declare, as Rabbi Goldstein did, Am Yisrael Chai, and live our lives as Jews with pride, fighting to ensure our freedom, and everyone’s freedom from hatred and bigotry.

– Rabbi Jesse M. Olitzky

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What the Four Children Can Teach us about Gender Fluidity

This article was originally published on March 19, 2018, on the Keshet Blog at MyJewishLearning.com. The full article can be found on their website here.

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Q: We are taught to ask questions at the Passover seder. We are not instructed to give answers because answers aren’t the essential part of the seder experience. It’s the asking of questions that is most important. The four children ask a variety of questions that represent their identities and relationship with supposed societal norms.

The second Q in LGBTQQIAA stands for questioning, when someone questions their sexual orientation, gender identity, or isn’t sure how to label themselves. The four children represent the wide spectrum of gender identity and understands that we do not live in a binary gender system.

The Haggadah refers to four children: the chacham, the rasha, the tam, and the She’Ano Yode’a Lishol, often referred to as the Wise One, the Wicked One, the Simple One, and the One who Doesn’t Know How to Ask. However, these labels couldn’t be further from the truth. These labels represent that which is expected of them, or the societal stereotypes put on them. If we look at the four children as a way to gain insight and come to understand the fluidity of gender, these labels are placed on these children by a binary gender normative society. These labels don’t reflect truly who these children are. Rather, they reflect how society has forced them to conform for too long.

What does the Chacham ask? “What are the testimonials, statues, and laws God commanded you?” You should tell this child about the laws of Passover, that one may not eat dessert after eating the Passover offering.

The supposed ‘Wise One’ is hardly smart. This child simply accepts societal norms. The Wise One was taught not to question, but rather only to do what was told. The Wise One fits into a set system and falls into the stereotypes of this system. The Wise One is certainly cisgender — someone whose identity conforms with the gender associated with their biological sex – but also is only able to see and understand a gender binary system. This child isn’t wise at all; wisdom is misconstrued here as “conventional wisdom.” This child is not interested in pushing societal norms. Unfortunately, it’s these supposed “wise” children that are responsible for promoting transphobia. They are the ones who should be labeled “wicked.”

What does the Rasha say? “What does this mean to you?” To you and not to the child. Since this child chooses to be excluded from the community, this child has denied a basic principle of Judaism. You should blunt the child’s teeth and say: “It is for the sake of this that God did for me when I left Egypt. For me and not for you. If you were there, you would not have been redeemed.”

Wicked is not a fair definition of this child. We tend to think of those who are inexplicably evil as wicked: murderers, terrorists, dictators, etc. There is nothing that this child does that is evil. Yet our tradition uses this label because the child questions societal norms. The supposed ‘Wicked One’ does so in hopes of finding purpose. This child doesn’t settle for societal parameters or stereotypes. Instead, this child challenges norms, to find meaning to accept one’s true self. This child is far from wicked. Maybe that is how Judaism traditionally referred to this child. But, this child is simply transgender or gender non-binary — someone whose gender expression or gender identity differs from the sex one was assigned at birth, someone whose identity is different from the stereotypes of society. This child though doesn’t deserve to be labeled or discriminated. This child must be loved, just like every other child.

What does the tam say? “What’s this?” You should say to the child, “With a strong hand God took me out of Egypt, from the house of servitude.”

The supposed ‘Simple One’ has been taught something their whole lives and only now has

been exposed to something else. The Simple One never knew about the diversity of the gender spectrum. It is our job to offer a simple explanation to a simple question; to educate the Simple One by teaching our children about the gender spectrum. A study from the Medical University of Vienna reveals that there is a neurological distinction between gender identity and biological sex. This scientific study is the basis of what we should teach our children – that we don’t live in a binary gender system, that gender is fluid.

And the She’Ano Yode’a Lishol, you begin, as the Torah says, “And you should tell your child on that day, saying ‘It is because of what God did for me when I went out of Egypt.’”

The child who is silent is not silent out of ignorance. This child is silent out of fear. This child grew up in a society that taught that one cannot challenge the binary gender system, that one’s gender identity must be related to their biological sex. However, silence is scary. A study by the Williams Institute reveals that 41% of transgender youth have attempted suicide, compared to 4.6% of the overall population of this country. But a study out of the University of Washington suggests that transgender youth that are supported and loved by their families, teachers, friends, and clergy are no more anxious or depressed than any other child their age. This study reveals that love and acceptance saves lives. This child is silent because this child remains in the closet. The child is closeted because of fear of exclusion or rejection by community. We must respond to this child’s silence by simply showing this child love and support, and honoring who they are, made in God’s image.

At our seder tables, on a holiday that celebrates freedom, we still declare: This year we are still slaves. Next year, may we be free people.

This year, despite progress that we as a society and as a Jewish community have made, transphobia, homophobia, hate, and bigotry still exist. May we continue to build inclusive communities so that next year, we can celebrate the uniqueness of all of us.

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Action item at the Seder: Go around the table and ask each person what their preferred gender pronouns are. To ensure that all around the Seder table feel welcome, make sure that you refer to them in a way that corresponds to their gender identity.

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Making Room for all Four Children

We read at our Seder tables that the Torah reflects upon four children: the wise, the wicked, the simple, and the one who does not know how to ask. The Haggadah tells us that wise child asks about the rites and rituals. The wise child is concerned with how to follow the laws. The supposedly wicked child is in search of meaning, trying to find personal significance and understanding in ritual, asking “what does this mean to you?” The simple child simply asks “what is this?” wanting to know more and to learn more. The fourth child doesn’t ask anything at all.
For centuries, commentators have spent a great deal of time asking what role these four children play in the Haggadah and in the Passover narrative. If the goal of the Seder is to retell – and reenact and re-experience – the exodus from Egypt, then these four children seeFoursons2m out of place. However, the goal of the Seder is much more than that. The goal of Passover is to light a spark within each of us, to appreciate our past and our freedom, and to refuse to stand idly by while others suffer from similar oppression or wait to be free. Introducing the four children during the Passover Seder acknowledges our various relationships with Judaism, with the exodus narrative, and with freedom at different moments in our lives.

At times, we are each the “wise,” the so-called “wicked,” the “simple,” and the “silent.” At times we are interested in rites and rituals; other times we challenge the status quo. There are times when we simply want to learn more and there are times that we refuse to act and don’t do anything at all. We read about these four children because we acknowledge that we encompass them all. We should never just strive to be wise or simple. And it isn’t so bad at times to be defiant or silent. Our challenge is to know how to act and when.

As we celebrate Passover, may we all strive to find meaning in being each of these four children. May we learn about ritual and law, in hopes that these rituals are a meaningful vehicle to help us connect to the Divine. May we challenge authority to search for meaning and understanding, knowing that we cannot find true connection, unless we find true meaning. May we learn that the simplest and most basic of questions are often the most profound. And may we learn to talk less and listen more, taking in the lessons that the world around us has to teach. Chag Sameach!

-Rabbi Jesse M. Olitzky

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Still Waiting for Elijah

This past Shabbat, as we read Parashat Metzora, we came to understand that the odd spiritual impurity mentioned in Torah is not just about skin disease or emission or discharge. This impurity can spread to clothing, to walls, and to homes. This is a scriptural reminder that this isn’t really about a skin disease at all! Rather, this is about how we let societal spiritual impurities – how we let injustice – spread. How quickly we let the spiritual impurities all around us spread. The Torah portion doesn’t simply comment on these spiritual impurities. It gives us instructions as to the cleaning ritual that is to take place to rid ourselves, and society, of these impurities.

Coincidentally, at this time of year leading up to Passover, we are supposed to rid ourselves of Chametz. Similarly, we clean our homes and our offices; we even clean our cars! But this symbolic and ritual cleaning is about more than just ridding ourselves of leavened products. We rid ourselves of our ego. We rid ourselves of that which puffs us up. We rid ourselves of societal spiritual impurities. But if we only do so ritually, if we only do so symbolically, then we miss the point entirely.

We recite at the Passover seder table:

Kol Dichfin yeitei v’yeichol, kol ditzrich yeittei v’yifsach . Let all who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are in dire straits, come share Passover with us.

Jeffrey Goldberg of The Atlantic comments in the New American Haggadah:

Precisely because it is the most fundamental form of charity, this invitation to the hungry seems empty and hypocritical. Why? Because it comes too late. By the time we read this passage, we are seated, our hands are washed, the wine is poured, the table is crowded with fine dishes.. And only now we invite the poor to join us?

If we acknowledge an issue, but don’t do anything about it, what’s the point? If we half-heartedly or hypocritically ritually offer to help those in need, are we then just letting the impurities of society, the injustices of society — those who are hungry, those who are homeless, those who are in dire straits – continue to spread? Are we welcoming those in need to our Passover seders, but not really? Are we making ourselves feel better as if we tried, when we really didn’t?

This past Shabbat, Shabbat HaGadol, the Great Sabbath before Passover, we also read a special Haftarah reading. This reading, taken from chapter 3 of the book of Malachi, recalls Elijah the prophet. We even repeat the penultimate verse, making it the last statement of the reading, leaving us with the taste of Elijah’s coming, something that we again ritually and symbolically hope for at our seder tables.

KosEliyahuJudaism teaches that Elijah will announce the coming of the messianic era, and with it, true freedom: freedom from oppression, freedom from injustice, freedom from the shackles of poverty and food insecurity, freedom from the spiritual impurities of society. Recalling Elijah in the haftarah and again in just a few days at our seder tables is our symbolic gesture hoping for an end to the spiritual impurities of injustice that plague us. Using the imagery of Elijah, the Talmud teaches us an important lesson.

In Sanhedrin 98a, we learn of the encounter between Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi and Elijah. Rabbi Yehoshua meets the prophet and asks when the messianic era of justice and equality will come. Elijah instructs him to ask the Messiah who is waiting at the gates of the city, among the lepers and the infirmed, among the homeless, poor, excluded, and forgotten. This messianic figure tells Rabbi Yehoshua that this messianic era will come today. Yet, when it does not, Rabbi Yehoshua returns to Elijah and asks for an explanation. Elijah the prophet explains by quoting a verse from Psalms:

Today – if only you will listen to God’s voice (Ps. 95:7).

Maybe the possibility of messianic redemption is always upon us, a time for freedom from the spiritual impurities of society, but all too often we do not truly listen – we speak and we recite, we ritually acknowledge that we care about those in need. But then we don’t do anything about it. We do not listen to God’s voice, to the cries of those in need as God’s cries. Rabbi Yehoshua went to the infirm, the poor, and the suffering at the city gates and ignored them to only speak to whom Elijah called the messiah. We say let all who are hungry come and eat at our seders and then expect this symbolic Elijah to swoop in when we really haven’t done our parts to help those in need.

Before we ritually invite Elijah into our homes and our seder tables, we need to do a lot more than simply ritually opening up our homes and our hearts to those in need. Just as we clean our spaces to rid our homes of spiritual impurity, we need to rid society of the injustice and inequality that plague us as well. May this be a Passover in which we strive to free all from the injustices of our society.

Chag Sameach!

-Rabbi Jesse M. Olitzky

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Appreciating the Eighth Day

By now, most of us have devoured pizzas, bagels, cakes, and cookies. The minute Passover ended, we got our hands on as much chametz as we could, but not because we desperately needed it. We were not malnourished. We were not starving. Rather, after refraining from eating something, we desired it because we could finally eat it.

While I continued to eat matzah last Saturday, many, including my Reform colleagues and the Reform synagogues in the area, as well as all those in Israel, were already eating their much desired chametz. After all, the Torah requires us to refrain from eating leavened products for seven days (Ex. 12:15) and not eight. Yet, while one day of Yom Tov – the special first and last day of a holiday – is observed in Israel, the diaspora traditionally observed two days.

This second day of festival celebration in the diaspora, Yom Tov Sheni shel Galuyot, was established by rabbinic law during the Second Temple period. The reason given for such an observance is because of the lunar system of the Hebrew calendar. When the Temple stood, the length of a month depended on witnesses who had seen the new coming from where the Temple stood in Jerusalem. Once they declared the new month, news would be sent out to surrounding Jewish communities. Those communities further away from Jerusalem may not have received word of the beginning of the new month on the accurate date because of how much time it took for word to travel. Thus, the diaspora communities would observe a festival for two days to ensure that they were observing it on the correct day.

One can confidently say that in 2015, such a practice may not be necessary anymore. One can Google the date that Passover begins in the year 2035 and get the exact date and time. The Reform Movement abandoned the observance of the second day of Yom Tov many years ago. In fact, Rabbis Philip Sigal and Abraham Ehrlich wrote a responsum on behalf of Conservative Movement’s Committee on Jewish Law and Standards in February 1969, suggesting that while there is value to the second day of Yom Tov, the day should not be seen as a permanent enactment, but rather a custom and thus, communities should not feel compelled to observe Yom Tov Sheni.

MatzahStill, some forty-five years later, my congregation — as well as almost all diaspora communities that affiliate with the Conservative Movement – continue to observe that second day of Yom Tov, and thus, observed an eighth day of Passover. Yet, while some observe the eighth day stubbornly and are upset by the additional day of eating matzah, I relish the opportunity. For I needed an extra day with chametz. We all do.

Chametz, leavened products, has to do with the bread of affliction, the unleavened bread that the Israelites took with them when they left Egypt, but it is about more than that. Leavened products, chametz, represents that which puffs us up. Chametz is our ego. The act of getting rid of such leavened products allows us to get rid of that part of ourselves. It allows us to act more humbly in the process. Such an idea – riding ourselves of our inner chametz – is certainly appropriate since Passover is seen as a new year celebration of sorts as well.

On the High Holy Days, when the Gates of Heaven are closed at the conclusion of the Neilah service at the end of Yom Kippur, we need to continue to atone so such an act continues through Sukkot until Hoshana Rabba. So too, our struggle to rid ourselves of ourselves is an act that must continue. Instead of counting down the days until Passover is over, the past year, and every year, I appreciated that extra day – the eighth day. We all need that extra time to work on being more humble and less ego centric. Long after we are done eating matzah, may the unleavened bread still continue to remind us to look inside ourselves to be a better version of ourselves.

– Rabbi Jesse M. Olitzky

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I’d Rather be Wicked than Wise

Listening to Billy Joel was a part of my childhood. Like most kids from New Jersey and New York, part of growing up was learning the lyrics to his songs. I still rock out to my Billy Joel playlist on Spotify and love that he plays at the Garden monthly. One of my favorite Billy Joel songs – and admittedly my “go to” karaoke song – is Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young.” In it, he sings to a religious girl, explaining that she is missing out on all the fun in life by hiding behind the strict rules and rites of her faith. I don’t necessarily agree with the lyrics, even if I love the song. As a rabbi, I of course don’t believe that fun and faith are opposing polarities on a single spectrum. Still, I believe there is value in his lyrics. Joel sings, “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.” He is essentially saying he would rather be wicked than wise. Except, being wicked isn’t so wicked at all.

This week, during the holiday of Passover, we read about the four children during our Passover seders. The text in the Haggadah introduces us to the wise child, the wicked child, the simple child, and the child who does not know how to ask. One can argue that thesearen’t four separate children, but instead are each a part of us. At times we are all wise, wicked, simple, and silent. I don’t take issue with any of these children. I am bothered though by how each child is characterized.

foursonsWhat makes the wise child so wise? This child asks: “What are the testimonies, the laws, and judgments, that the Lord our God has commanded you to follow?” The wise child is only interested in rules and regulations. He or she is interested in a faith that is black and white, full of “thou shalls” and “thou shall nots.” This child is only about doing, without worrying about meaning or intent behind the action.

We must also ask, what makes the wicked child so wicked? After all, wicked, or Rasha in Hebrew, evil one, is quite an intense descriptive term for this child. Haman was evil. Pharaoh was evil. What makes this child so evil? Jeffrey Goldberg of The Atlantic comments in Jonathan Safran Foer’s New American Haggadah: “The wicked son is not wicked in any of the usual ways. He is not violent or sexually immoral; he does not keep slaves or steal.”

The wicked child asks: “What does this mean to you?” The child is not worried about perfecting ritual or reading liturgy properly. Rather, the wicked child is searching for meaning and understanding. Is that so bad? While traditionally, the rabbis argued that he was scolded because he didn’t care about his people or the scriptural narrative of the Jewish people, I think it is deeper. This text is an attempt by rabbinic tradition to emphasize doing without understanding or finding meaning. Appropriately, when the Israelites received the Torah, they said, “Naaseh v’Nishmah, we will do and then we will understand (Ex. 24:7).”

I am not suggested that there is no value in doing without finding meaning. Of course there is value! Part of doing without truly understanding why we do what we do is tradition, community, and faith. Additionally, the act of doing leads to understanding. Still, I would hardly consider he who only wants to do without questioning why and without searching for meaning as a chacham, as a scholarly and wise individual.

True wisdom is questioning. True wisdom is challenging. True wisdom is constantly searching for meaning and understanding that spiritual journeys are not always straight paths. True wisdom is being committed to doing while challenging. So maybe the wise child isn’t so wise after all. And maybe the wicked child is pretty smart. Instead of chastising the wicked child, we should be rewarding the wicked child. On a holiday full of asking questions, there is no greater question than that which searches for meaning. So I’d rather be wicked than wise, because in the words of Bllly Joel, they have much more fun.

Let us all be wise enough to be “wicked,” to not be as worried about what we do, but to step outside of our comfort zones and search for meaning in what we do.

-Rabbi Jesse M. Olitzky

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Fifty Years After Selma, Still Fighting for Liberation at the Seder

50thAnniversaryBloodySundayOn March 7th and March 8th, earlier this month, tens of thousands gathered in Selma, Alabama to mark the fiftieth anniversary of “Bloody Sunday”, the first attempted march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge. President Obama spoke and former President George W. Bush attended. They were joined by Democrats and Republicans —  legislators, politicians, and civilians –  all marching to commemorate the freedom-marchers clubbed and tear-gassed by state troopers as they peacefully marched for the right to vote half a century ago.

This past Shabbat, March 21st, 2015, was the anniversary of the third DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.; DR. RALPH BUNCHE;  Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel;  Rev. Fred Shuttlesworthof those three marches, the march that led to the famous picture of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel linked arm-in-arm with Dr. King, the march that was successful and led to the eventual passing of the Voting Rights Act several months later. This march also marked the moment when religious leaders of all faiths, ethnicities, and races refused to stand idly by, and chose to walk alongside the likes of King, Lewis, Abernathy, Bunche, and Shuttlesworth.

This march was a reminder that freedom is a God-given right so we must walk alongside our brothers and sisters to ensure that our freedom is their freedom. The likes of Heschel, and Rabbi Maurice Davis, and so many other religious leaders who marched, knew that we could not celebrate our freedom and our liberation while others were not yet liberated, while others were discriminated against.

Fifty years later, we still talk about this picture and this march. We talk about how far society has come and yet, how far we have to go. This past Shabbat, as we observed this fiftieth anniversary, we also read a special Torah reading for Shabbat HaChodesh, the fourth of four special Sabbaths leading up to Passover. This special maftir Torah reading comes from chapter 12 of the book of Exodus and goes into detail about how to slaughter the pascal sacrifice and then how to eat that sacrifice. What we rush over, but what is arguably the most significant of instructions, is the reminder to put the blood of the sacrifice on our doorposts. For it was that blood that saved the Israelites and ultimately, following the tenth and final plague, led to their freedom. The essence of the ritual is to remind us of that freedom.

In fact, all rituals of the Passover seder are meant to remind us of freedom and liberation. We are taught:

B’chol Dor va’dor chayav adam lir’ot et atzmo, k’ilu hu yatzah mi’mitzrayim.

In every generation, each of us is obligated to see ourselves as if we left Egypt.

Such an obligation is not about remembering or re-enacting. Such an obligation is about acknowledging that there is still liberation that needs to take place in our society and in our world. Telling the Passover narrative must remind us of the marching that we still need to do, that there is still inequality in society, still those that we must work to liberate. Rabbi Michael Rothbaum of the Jewish social justice organization, Bend the Arc, offers insight into the rabbis of B’nai Brak that we read about in the Passover Haggadah. We learn in the Haggadah that they were so engaged in the seder that theytalk until daybreak, when their students interrupt them. Rothbaum reminds us that they were not discussing ritual or debating halakha, Jewish law. Rather, they were up until the early hours of the morning talking about liberation – about the exodus experience. A room of rabbis suffering through persecution at the hands of the Roman Empire were focused on our communal liberation narrative, in hopes of their own liberation.

For ultimately, that is what the seder is all about: telling the story. In my family, we tend to rush through the rituals aspects of the seder in order to get to the magid section in which we retell the exodus narrative. We do so because we find hope and inspiration in the narrative. Such an exodus from slavery to freedom reminds us of what is possible. It reminds us that we must continue to fight for liberation of all. We must continue to fight racial injustice and gender discrimination. We must continue to fight religious persecution, bigotry, and homophobia. We must continue to fight, to march, and to take action, until we can all experience the journey to freedom.

The Zohar explains that Egypt, Mitzrayim in Hebrew, is derived from the Hebrew MiTzarim, which literally means, “from narrowness.” We march away from narrow-minded discrimination and bigotry towards a promised land of equality and love.

Civil rights leaders organized three separate marches from Selma to Montgomery. The first one ended with peaceful protesters bloodied and beaten. But they marched again, and again. We don’t just look back on a single march, but instead on all three marches, for in continuing to march, we find a determination and dedication to justice and to freedom.

With each plague in Egypt, Pharaoh’s heart remained hardened, but that did not stop Moses from demanding to Pharaoh, “let my people go!” Each march shared a similar declaration. No matter how many times it took, people of all faiths continued to march and were determined to cross that metaphorical split sea.

The image of that third march, of Heschel and King marching together, along with so many other clergy of diverse faiths and backgrounds, is a reminder that we march together for freedom for all. The prophetic words of Dr. King ring true for people of all faiths:

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

How can we celebrate freedom when others are not? How can we celebrate liberation when there is still such injustice in our society?

We read in the Haggadah:

This year we are slaves. Next year, free people.

We acknowledge that as long as there is injustice, we cannot truly be free. We cannot celebrate freedom for ourselves until we can celebrate freedom and equality for all. So fifty years later, may we continue to march. May we continue to peacefully assembly and may our seder experiences serve as catalysts in our shared efforts to liberate us all from societal injustice. This year there is still injustice and discrimination. Next year, may we all be liberated.

– Rabbi Jesse M. Olitzky

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