|
|
||
HOME
|
|
Freedom Perhaps you know the story. Ruth is on the phone with her daughter. "That does it. This is the last Passover together. After fifty two years, I'm going to divorce your father." "Ma, what are you talking about? That's terrible." "You can't talk me out of it. I tell you I'm finished with him!" "Listen, Ma, we'll take the next plane down. We'll be there by Seder, and we can talk you out of this." "Well," Ruth says, "if you insist on coming." Ruth hangs up the phone, and turns to her husband. "OK, Irving, so they'll be here for Pesach. But what are we going to do get them here for Rosh Hashana?" The true point of the story is that it's not Rosh Hashana—or divorce, for that matter—that's really important. It's Passover, and the Seder. It should come as no suprise that Passover is the most observed of all Jewish festivals, surpassing even Chanukah. More Jews will attend a Seder this year than any other form of Jewish religious ceremony, including our Community Second Seders Thursday, March 28th at Temple and at the Northwest Jewish Center. It has probably always been so, since the very first Passover thirty two hundred years ago. Judaism is filled with terrific holidays, foods, and rituals; why has Passover always "exceeded them all"? You could even say that we over-emphasize Passover, and the Exodus, at the expense of equally important historical moments and influences. In prayer and lore, the entrance into the Land of Israel, and even the Ten Commandments, are minor footnotes compared to the Exodus. As wonderful as blintzes and cheescake are at Shavu'ot, they will never quite surpass matzah ball soup... Passover permeates Jewish consciousness, and it's not just at seder time. Every evening and morning service includes an entire ge'ulah, a longish prayer of redemption that thanks God for freeing our ancestors from Egypt in quite explicit terms and incorporates the Mi Chamocha, taken from the song of Moses on the shore of the Sea of Reeds. In fact, traditional morning services every single day of the year include the singing of the entire Az yashir Mosheh, the song of Moses. Virtually every part of our tradition is filled with mentions of the redemption on the shore of the Sea, and of the great moment of our liberation from slavery. Sometimes this emphasis on Pesach extends even beyond the factual. When we say kiddush on Friday night, we declare proudly that Shabbat is zeicher litziat Mitzrayim— a remembrance of the Exodus from Egypt, which is historically and religiously false. Shabbat is a remembrance of the world's creation, which had to predate the Exodus by a matter of eons. Yet we insist that it be recalled the other way round. Why this permanent Passover obsession? The central message of Pesach is freedom, of course, freedom from servitude and oppression, freedom made real in the most dramatic of ways. And every people who has ever experienced the trauma of oppression and slavery knows the sweetness of true liberation. It is both the most personal and the most universal of themes, a striking counterpoint of hope to the repeated historical drone of persecution. Any people, in any age, can read or hear the story and song of our own redemption, and believe that it may come to them, too, suddenly, like a great storm of freedom. What could be more pertinent, or more important? But there is more, too, to this tale of hope and salvation. It is a personal message, to each and every person who has experienced her or his own sense of oppression and imprisonment. It is the promise that God can and will bring freedom in the lowest of moments, that out of the depths of darkness and despair the light and power of liberation can always come. It is a promise that if we only have faith and courage, we—each of us—can come through the dark walls of the sea to a new dawn. In our worst moments, it is the reason to go on, and to believe, that God is with us, and we can accomplish anything. What an amazing gift that can be. What an extraordinary opportunity this holiday presents! May this Pesach bring true freedom to you, and your family. And next year, may we celebrate it in a Jerusalem of peace, l'shana haba'a biYerushalayim. L'shalom v'reiut, in peace and friendship, Rabbi Samuel M. Cohon |
