From the Rabbi's Desk

עבדים היינו לפרעה במצרים/Avadim Hayinu l’pharo b’mitzrayim/We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt… After the four questions have been asked, these are the very words that are said. The beginning of the questions is to recall that we were slaves. Our answer to the questions is that God took us out of Egypt with an outstretched arm and, had that not happened, we would still be slaves today. It concludes by telling us we are all responsible to tell our story and embellish upon it each year.

We were slaves. For years I’ve built my סדרים/Sedarim/Seders around this statement. We were slaves, but we have no way of understanding slavery. We have no means through which to visualize or imagine the life of a slave. It’s impossible to know how it feels to have nothing at all. We don’t understand what it means to be powerless. It almost feels as if we denigrate those who are enslaved when we attempt to recall a forced servitude we have no ability to relate to. It’s with this in mind we enter our סדרים this year and every year. It’s being fully aware we’re woefully unable to fully connect to pain on the page or the pain of our history. At the same time, we often fall short on פסח/Pesach/Passover when we only focus on the slavery and lose sight of the freedom we gained. Perhaps we can argue someone can only truly value and understand freedom when they’re cognizant of the opposite. When we recognize the world without freedom, we appreciate it more. Perhaps that’s why we spend so much time trying to better recall and understand our servitude. This week, I want to offer you a commentary from The Koren Youth Haggada on this subject:

“The deeper significance of Pesach occurred to me when a recovering drug addict told me that when his father began reciting the Haggadah at the Seder, and said ‘Avadim hayinu (we were slaves)’ he interrupted him. ‘Abba,’ he said, ‘can you truthfully say that you were a slave? Your ancestors were slaves, but you don’t know what it means to be a slave. All the years that I was on drugs, I had no freedom. I had to do whatever my addiction demanded. I did things that I never thought I was capable of doing, but I had no choice, no free will. I was the worst kind of slave.’” – Rabbi Dr. Avraham J. Twerski

This commentary begins to teach us just how little we understand. We don’t know what it means to have no rights and no power. We don’t know what it means to be unable to make choices and to do what we want to do. We don’t know what it means to be a slave, but there are those around us who know this all too well.

Addiction is a compelling way of seeing slavery. Addicts are 100% chained by their addiction. They don’t act out of desire or want, but out of compulsion and demand by whatever it is they’re addicted to. While many of us thankfully can’t relate to this any more than we can to the Israelite slaves or modern slaves, we can use this to better visualize the pain and burden of a life of slavery. To be a slave is to be handcuffed to a world in which you have zero agency, and are unable to make a single decision. To be a slave is to watch the world around you continue to spin while you’re unable to fully be part of it because you’re chained to something else. To be a slave is to be lower than the lowest you can imagine yourself ever feeling.

But פסח should not be seen only as a time of recalling slavery. It also needs to be a time of celebrating freedom and all we now have. How do we do that? On the same page of The Koren Youth Haggada, we find the following suggested activity:

“Gently close your hands forming fists. Hold that for ten seconds, and then grip a little tighter. After another ten seconds grip even tighter for another ten seconds. Finally, grip as tightly as you can for as long as you can. Now slowly open your hands. How does it feel?”

The relief and release are a way to understand the difference between slavery and freedom and chains and choices. I wish you well in our last week of preparing for פסח.