We are standing at the threshold of Chodesh Nissan, the month of our redemption. But let’s be honest—this year, the heart feels heavy. For over two years now, the sounds of war have become the background noise of our lives. What started as a massive shock that shook us to our core has, tragically, turned into something people are “getting used to.”

We are all busy now. We are scrubbing for Pesach, getting rid of chametz, and making our Seder plans. But in the middle of all this cleaning, a hard question comes up: Can we really just go on with life as usual? Can we act like everything is normal while our brothers and sisters are still deep in pain—living with loss, injuries, and scars that don’t seem to heal?

This isn’t just about being “emotional.” It goes to the very root of what it means to be a Jew. Is the pain of another person something we just “know” about, or is it something we actually feel?

There is a powerful lesson from Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz zt”l, the Rosh Yeshiva of Mir. He points to the Gemara in Masechet Sotah (11a) about the three advisors who stood before Pharaoh in Egypt: Bilaam, Iyov, and Yitro.

Balaam, who gave the advice to hurt the Jews, was killed. Yitro, who ran away in protest, saw his grandsons merit to sit in the Lishkat HaGazit. And Iyov? Iyov stayed silent. And for that silence, he was sentenced to a life of terrible suffering.

It’s a difficult thing to understand. Iyov didn’t give the evil advice. He didn’t even support the decrees. He just didn’t say anything. He probably had a “smart” reason for it. He likely thought, “Pharaoh won’t listen to me anyway, so why bother? Why make a scene if it won’t change the result?”

But Rav Chaim explains a deep truth about the human soul. In Yiddish, they say: “Az es tut vey – shreit men.” (When it hurts—you scream.)

Think about it: When a person gets hit, they don’t stop to calculate if a scream will help. They don’t check to see if the scream will solve the problem. They just scream. It’s not a logical decision; it’s an instinct of life.

This was the test of Iyov. If the suffering of the Jewish people had really hurt him, he would have screamed. He would have protested from the bottom of his soul, even if he knew it wouldn’t change a thing. The fact that he stayed silent proved that their pain hadn’t really entered his heart. He felt it “rationally,” but he didn’t feel it like his own flesh and blood.

A scream isn’t just a noise. It’s a sign that you belong. It’s a sign that you have a heart.

The Danger of the “New Normal”

This is exactly where we are today. Are we still screaming? Are we still shaken? Do we really feel the tears of the widows, the pain of the wounded, and the silence of the orphans?

The biggest danger we face is “the power of habit.” When a war goes on for months and years, the heart can grow a bit numb. At the start, every piece of bad news breaks you. But over time, you start to just keep moving through your day as if this is all “normal.” Not because you’re a bad person, but because you’ve gotten used to it.

But a Jew isn’t allowed to get used to the suffering of his people. We have to fight to keep our hearts open. We have to make sure that even as time passes, the pain stays real and we keep screaming, praying, and acting.

We also have to think about the “hidden” heroes—the wives of our soldiers. While their husbands are called up for miluim again and again, these women are carrying the entire world on their backs. They are raising the kids, calming their fears, and running a household alone. Many are struggling with money because their lives have been turned upside down. This is a quiet, holy bravery.

We have a huge responsibility toward them—with a kind word, a helping hand, and our tefillot. Being there for each other isn’t just about the soldier on the front line; it’s about the family holding the home front together.

The First Law of Freedom

It is no accident that the very first law of Pesach in the Shulchan Aruch is about Areivut—responsibility for one another. Before we even talk about Matzah, we talk about Kimcha D’Pischa—giving to the poor. The Mishnah Berurah says this is at the very beginning to teach us that this is the foundation of the whole holiday. Before we check our house for chametz, we have to check if our neighbor has what they need for the Seder.

This year, this is more important than ever. Kimcha D’Pischa isn’t just about money or flour. It’s about every act of being there for someone else. It’s the phone call to a family that’s struggling, the visit to the wounded, the extra tefillah for the soldiers.

We cannot stay silent like Iyov.

Let’s make our holiday cleaning more than just a clean house; let it be a wake-up call for the soul. Don’t let the pain become “routine.” If we feel together, and pray together, and act together—then we show our true strength as a people.

The Torah tells us the redemption in Egypt started exactly this way: “And the children of Israel groaned from the work and they cried out, and their cry went up to G-d.”

Redemption starts with a scream. When the pain comes from the heart, it reaches the Heavens. Then, we will be ready for the promise: “In Nissan they were redeemed, and in Nissan they are destined to be redeemed.”

When it really hurts, you scream. And when we scream together, with G-d’s help, we will be redeemed together.

*Rabbi Eliezer Simcha Weisz*

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)