It is a night of safeguarding (shimurim) for God, to bring them out from the land of Egypt; this same night is God’s, a safeguarding (shimurim) for all of the Children of Israel, throughout their generations. (Ex.12:42)

I am writing these words during difficult times.  As we sit down to seders, our thoughts might wander to our brothers and sisters in Israel, who celebrate Passover under skies full of missiles and drones, agents of death and destruction.  Families will come together, only to be hurried into their safe rooms or shelters.  Children (and parents) may shudder at the muffled sounds of bombs in the distance, the subtle vibrations of explosions on the house. Perhaps a child may utter a cry in fear, or perhaps even a parent. A child will sing the mah nishtana, and our people will tell the story of freedom from the confines of their own narrow spaces, restricted to only small groups. Here in the United States, more and more of our budgets are devoted to protection, as we see the alarming and rising tide of Jewish hatred.  We are aware that each school, Jewish institution or synagogue is a possible target.  There is absolutely no doubt that as a Jewish people, we enter these days with not a little anxiety, and perhaps even dread.   How do we tell a story of freedom this year, in a year so dominated by threats and upheavals.  What story should we tell?

May I suggest we look to the first seder of Jewish history.  Like our Israeli brethren, they celebrated that first Passover not from a home of luxury and security, but anxious awaiting.  Knowing that the destroying angel of death plagued the land of Egypt, the whole population took precautions, placing the blood on the doorpost and the lintels, an ancient version of ‘homefront command.’ As evening arrived, they too sequestered themselves into a shelter, and behind the ‘locked doors of blood’ our ancestors were instructed not to exit until morning, until they received the ‘all clear sign’.  As they partook of the Passover offering inside, outside they heard the terrifying cries and screams of destruction.  While in their small ‘safe room’ they were promised life, all around them was death.  Would death enter their houses as well?  Probably some propped open the doors and peeked outside, sharing the terrifying sights they saw.    The children must have been afraid; they too might have recited a version of mah nishtanah– why is this night different?   In the eyes of their elders and parents, they knew something was happening, that something was unfolding at that moment.

What instructions did God give the people during that first Passover, and how might that instruction resonate with us today?  God through Moses declared:

And thus, shall you eat it [the Paschal offering]: your hips belted, your sandals on your feet, and your staffs in your hand. You shall eat in a hurry; it is a Pesach for Hashem (Ex. 12:11)

This is hardly the festive meal that we celebrate today.  Rashi tells us the Paschal offering (Pesach) that was eaten comes from the word ‘to skip over’, as God spared the Israelites.  The very name of the meal itself underscores the character of the evening, one of tumultuous events and heightened tension.  The way the people ate the sacrificed mirrored God’s message, that this night was to be decisive, and the people’s fate was to change forever.  Thus, people were to eat that Paschal offering in the ready, girded with a belt, wearing one’s shoes, and staff in hand. In other words, they were told to be mindful that something is happening and be ready for what is to come.   From the darkest place of the night, bachatzot halailah, redemption was dawning.  We know the end of he story; the next morning they will leave Egypt.

Our ancestors also knew this, as they were also told the conclusion to the story. However, despite the fact that they were told this message, did they really believe it?   Perhaps intellectually, but not emotionally. Yes there were plagues, and they were spared, but when would ‘the real world finally’ catch up? When would the other shoe finally drop?  Could you blame their lack of certitude ? For centuries the people had waited for redemption and change, and for centuries God had appeared silent.   Now they were being told that it was about to change, that history was about to move in an unexpected direction.  For humans, who like predictability, perhaps God’s message did not completely inspire hope and confidence, but rather terror.

Indeed,  the people were so psychologically unprepared for what happened that the Torah tells us that the Egyptians expelled them in the middle of the night, exclaiming ‘we are all dying!’ As we are aware, they were leaving with the dough on their back, with no time to let the dough rise.

In truth, the people were completely unprepared for the radical upheaval of what occurred and what occurred was earthshattering- the overturning of the strongest empire in the ancient world.  In only a few weeks, the people would walk through the sea and arrive at Sinai.  A motley group of slaves would become covenanted to God.  We too see events happening so quickly, and like our ancestors, might feel unprepared.   Our anxiety and fears are well placed.

And yet,  we are girded with the story they did not have, the story we tell every Passover.  We know that in every generation there will be a Pharaoh, and we may be oppressed for a time, but we also know we will be redeemed.  We can wrap ourselves in our history and national story, a story of resilience and hope and the deep knowledge that evil and tyranny may have its day, but God’s kingdom of justice and kindness will ultimately endure. The rabbis are so convinced of this that the Egyptian exodus will pale in comparison to the future redemption. In other words, the great stories of hope are still yet to be told![1]

Often history moves slowly and can even be experienced cyclically. But there are also times that each moment, each second is pregnant with ultimate significance.  Changes happen in the ‘blink of an eye’.  This was the message of the night of Passover then, and perhaps it is the message to us now.  The night of Passover calls to us not to despair, as our history is not determined by any natural order.  Rather, there is a moral arch of the universe and history, even if we do not always see it, but in hindsight we see the hand of the Divine guiding us.

Moses tells the people as much, instructing them to remember what they saw that night, the miracles and wonders, and to commemorate it annually, instilling the message deep within their hearts. The Torah instructs us to tell our children when they ask why we celebrate this Passover,  that we are to relate the unlikely story of God’s providential protection, ‘when he plagued the households of Egypt and saved our household.’  There may be dark times, but in the end forces of darkness collapse.

Is this not the story then, and is it not the story now?  ‘In every generation there have arisen those who would destroy us, but God will redeem us!’  Our brethren over the past few years have literally experienced thousands of missiles, and yet by in large we have been spared from the mass destruction. Is not what we see any less a miracle than God ‘skipping over’ the houses of our ancestors?  In the future I suspect the story we will tell is one of salvation.  We will start with the tragedies and suffering of October 7 and tell the story of how after unspeakable suffering, our people united, came together and ultimately defeated the forces of evil.  I do not know if I will ever tell the full story in my lifetime, but if not me I hope my children will.  They will see the miracles more fully than we do and will tell them to their children.   What we see today is no less miraculous than that first Passover, but that is because Jewish history itself is miraculous.

One of the great Jewish thinkers of the twentieth century, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, explains what a miracle truly means.

A miracle by definition does not necessarily connotate that which is supernatural…. It simply means an event out of the ordinary which arouses our wonder.  An inflection point in history is always a miracle, as it demands our attention as an event that determines in a fateful way the formation of a group or individual… The reason for this is obvious.  A view that regards the world as a fixed, mechanical process governed by indifferent and mindless principles is liable to see a miracle as a transcendental, supernatural phenomenon that does not fit into a general routine of causality and meaningless routine.  But the people of Israel, who view universal occurrence as a continuous realization of the Divine morality inherent in living and non-living things, can never classify a miracle as a one-time event lacking meaning. [2]

Rabbi Soloveitchik is calling us to look at the big picture of history, to be mindful that our personal and especially national history has ultimate meaning.

I opened this reflection with a verse from Exodus, which calls the night of Passover a ‘night of safeguarding,’ a leil shimurim.  The meaning of this enigmatic term has been debated, but a compelling reading is offered by Rashi, who argues it means that the night was ‘guarded with expectation.’  God, as it were, held closely to the promise that God had made to Abraham that although there would be suffering, that at the right time the people would be redeemed.[3]  The night of Passover was that night in which the promise was fulfilled, and the people were reborn from slavery to freedom.  Similarly, we are asked to hold onto that same hope, no matter how difficult things may seem.   We too nurture the message of change and possibility, that ‘what is’ is not what ‘will be.’  While each of us exist in the moment, when we hold on to the dream of redemption like God, we live our lives in the light of eternal

This fundamental idea underscores the idea of opening our front door for Elijah the prophet on the night of Passover, who heralds in the redemption.  In reality, keeping one’s door open in the night might be dangerous.  Yet, in opening the door in the dark of the night we express the faith in the promise that history is on our side, that Elijah will indeed come, even if he tarries.

We close with the words of the Sefer Hamanhig, composed by Rabbi Avraham HaYarhchi in the second half of the 12 century.

It is a custom is some places that we do not lock the doors on the night of Passover, because in the month of Nissan the Jewish people were saved, and in the same month will they be redeemed again…and if Elijah comes he will find the door open and he will come out to greet us.  And we believe [in this custom and idea] and in the merit of this belief we will be redeemed quickly.[4]

In the coming years ahead, may our people experience the peace and security promised in this night, and may we internalize the knowledge that the arch of history is on our side.  Wherever we celebrate our Passover, may we conclude our seder exclaiming Next Year in Jerusalem to all present, but most of all to ourselves.

[1] T.B. Berakhot 12b

[2] Haggadat Mesorat HaRav (Hebrew), Maggid, 2019: p 101. (Translation mine)

[3] This is parallel to the story of Joseph’s dreams of majesty which ultimately materialize.  There we are told that “Jacob guarded the matter,” using the same Hebrew root shamar.   What this means is not that Jacob physically guarded something but he held the vision close and did not discount it as the words of an immature child.

[4] Sefer Hamanhig, beginning  of Hilkhot Pesach (trans. Mine)

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