How can we feel free when we're more restricted than ever?
One of the central components of the Pesach (Passover) seder is the idea that we must view ourselves - all participants, regardless of circumstance - as if we are physically leaving the land of Egypt and its oppressive regime and becoming free.
Normally, this is a tall order.
But this year, it's easy to feel confined and restricted.
It's also easy to feel helpless, hopeless and pained.
And alone.
Passover is the Holiday of Freedom and, despite our many challenges, we need to connect with this concept at its core.
Remember, true freedom is our freedom to think, to choose and to act.
No one or thing can change that.
How we show up to the seder and beyond is on us.
Wishing all of my friends and connections a happy, healthy and freedom-filled holiday.
For a more elaborate and scholarly treatment of this idea, please see below.
It is well known that the primary objective of the Pesach seder is to verbally recount the Jews’ bitter, oppressive experience as slaves in Egypt, as well as their miraculous deliverance from that country. “And you shall tell your son in that day, saying, ‘This is done because of that which the Hashem did to me when I came forth out of Egypt.’” (Shemos 13:8)
In contrast to the daily mitzvah of zechiras yetzias Mitzrayim (see Devarim 15:15), this mitzvah of retelling requires active, detailed participation and discussion. So central is the need for involved dialogue that even a person who is alone, or lacks another individual who is able to ask the four questions to him, as well as talmidei chachamim who are well versed in all matters related to yetzias Mitzrayim, must ask the Mah Nishtana to themselves.
If his son is intelligent, he asks (his father), while if he is not intelligent his wife asks him. But if (she is also) not (able to ask), he asks himself. Even two talmidei chachamim who know the laws of Pesach ask one another. (Talmud, Pesachim 116a)
A person is obligated to relate the story of yetzias Mitzrayim for the entire evening…even (if it means) relating (the information) to himself. (Tosefta, Pesachim 10:8)
And even if we were all wise, all men of understanding, all elders, all knowledgeable of the Torah, it would be incumbent upon us to speak of yetzias Mitzrayim. (Haggadah)
The obvious question is why is this necessary? Why is the mitzvah such that even if a person is alone he must ask himself questions at the seder? Why are talmidei chachamim with ostensibly nothing left to learn still required to actively participate in the seder?
In order to address these questions, let us first focus our attention on another fundamental aspect of the seder, namely our obligation to relive the experience of yetzias Mitzrayim. “A person is obligated to see himself as if he were leaving Egypt.” (Pesachim 116b)
A number of questions arise from this mitzvah as well. First, what exactly is the nature of this obligation? In which specific respects are we to attempt to “relive” yetzias Mitzrayim?
In addition, even if we were to clearly define the exact obligation, is the expectation realistic? Can we really view ourselves, living as we do in a free country, with great liberty and freedom, far removed from the abject suffering of slavery, as if we are leaving Egypt? How then do we go about achieving a meaningful connection?
Further complicating matters is the position of Maharal, who states (Gevuros Hashem, 61) that every man is obligated to view his generation as if it was the one that was leaving Egypt, to the exclusion of all others. Is it really possible for us to in effect replace the actual generation of yotzei Mitzrayim with our own?
Lastly, why do we need to go to this degree? Why can we not relate the events without having to become active, personal participants in the story?
I would like to answer these questions homiletically, by suggesting an alternative explanation for the words of Chazal. Instead of understanding our obligation at the seder as being simply one of reliving yetzias Mitzrayim, let us substitute the word “meitzarim”, meaning straits or confinement. In our new version, the mitzvah reads: “In each and every generation a man is obligated to see himself as if he has left behind his personal confinements.”
Our Egyptian experience was about more than physical servitude; there was a spiritual enslavement as well. Chazal relate that the Jewish people had sunk to the lowest levels of impurity. Had they fallen any further, they would have faced permanent spiritual extinction.
As the Haggadah states, had Hashem not taken us out of Egypt at that time we would still be slaves to Pharaoh today. This idea is not to be understood literally. Certainly, we are aware of the fact that the Egyptian dynasty represented by Pharaoh has long disappeared into the annals of history, making the idea of Jews as perpetual Egyptian slaves a historical impossibility. What, then, is the Haggadah telling us with this idea?
I believe that the focus of this statement is not directed towards our physical status as slaves, but rather our spiritual servitude. If we had continued along the same path for much longer, absorbing the Egyptian culture which surrounded us, we would have completely lost our unique identity, and would have blended permanently into Egyptian society. Pesach is therefore called z’man cheirusainu, the time of our freedom, not only because of the physical freedom that it wrought, but, even more importantly, for the spiritual freedom that we gained well.
It would be a mistake, however, for us to assume that this spiritual freedom was achieved only one time in history, on 15 Nissan, 2448, at the time of yetzias Mitzrayim. Again, in the words of Maharal:
From Hashem’s perspective as the orchestrater of redemption, He took us all out as one people. The meaning of this is that the Holy One, blessed be He, redeemed Israel in its totality, since when He redeemed Israel, the redemption was so that they no longer be under the jurisdiction of Egypt. In this sense, the redemption was as much for the children as it was for the parents.
Rabbi Eliyahu E. Dessler (Michtav M’Eliyahu, Vol. 2, p. 18) points out that yamim tovim are not merely anniversaries of important historical events, designed to remind us of past occurrences; rather, they are annual spiritual opportunities. We do not simply commemorate events, we relive them. We do so by tapping into the unique spiritual energy that is unleashed during each respective time period.
On Yom Kippur, for example, we are granted a unique opportunity to seek atonement for our sins, just as our ancestors were following the cheit haeigel. On Succos, we experience a singular prospect for joy, similar to the feelings of elation and gratitude for the constant protection and heavenly sustenance that we received in the desert. On Shavuos, we are able to reaffirm our commitment to the Torah and its dictates, as if we ourselves were standing at Har Sinai.
Similarly, the freedom of Pesach is an ongoing, never ending process. Our obligation is to try to achieve our own personal freedom by identifying the servitude of today, and finding ways to overcome it. “In each and every generation, a man is obligated to feel as if he himself has left (his personal) Egypt.”
We all have our own “Mitzrayim”. That may take many forms, such as a personal inclination towards sin or the influence of the general culture. Each year, at this time, we are granted special divine providence to confront and overcome these particular challenges.
Physical freedom is not sufficient for one to be considered free. By viewing ourselves as those who also need to escape from the alien thoughts and values that surround us, we will have the opportunity to make this Pesach a true z’man cheirusainu.