Rabbi 360

Tonight we begin the festival of Passover, the holiday that is both rich in its own meaning and symbolism and a paradigm to which we can apply our own meaning and symbolism.

Ostensibly, Passover is both a commemoration of the story of the Israelite’s liberation from Egyptian slavery and a celebration of spring. Both of these themes are contained within the Seder, the formalized meal which proscribes fourteen steps to take us through the various representations and ideas contained within the observance of Passover. Each step is an explicit opportunity to recognize the rebirth that comes from the turning of the seasons, and the renewal that came when the Israelites were able to release the bonds that held them for centuries.

At the same time there are undercurrents, “subthemes” perhaps, that run throughout the Seder. These are not the explicit steps like eating the maror (bitter herbs) or washing hands, but rather a deeper teaching of how we engage with the steps that bring us to a more important meaning.

One is these “subthemes” is the theme of four: that number shows up a number of times throughout the Seder. We begin the magid, the telling of the story, with the youngest asking four questions. We continue the magid—the answer to those questions–with the parable of the four children, four different personality types that need to be recognized and addressed. And we drink four cups of wine throughout the evening, including one at the beginning and one at the end.

The number four in Judaism symbolizes totality, wholeness, everything. An example outside the Seder is our texts often talking about “the four corners of the earth,” meaning, “everywhere.” We know this from our broader knowledge when we speak of the four seasons, or the four directions, the four quadrants of cities. We often divide into fours, and taken together, we bring together all. Therefore, the four questions are all questions, the four children are all children/people, and the four cups throughout the evening symbolize a complete story and journey from beginning to end.

Another one of these “subthemes” that run through the Seder, and perhaps the one we need to pay attention to particularly this year, is the blending of opposites. At several points during the seder we are invited to not only engage with symbols that seemingly contradict each other, but to engage with them at the exact same time:

· The Seder itself is meant to be relaxed, we recline on pillows, while at the same time has a strict structure.

· We take the karpas (green vegetable, usually parsley) that symbolizes the new growth of Spring and the joy and hope that comes with it, and dip it in salt water, which symbolizes the tears of oppression. And these “tears,” because they are salt, cause the parsley to taste better.

· The haroset, the sweet, delicious concoction of fruits, nuts, wine, and spices represents mortar used during slave labor.

· When we eat the bitter herb (usually horseradish) we dip it in to the sweet haroset and eat it together.

· The matzo is at once the “bread of freedom”—since we say that the bread did not have time enough to rise when the Israelites fled Egypt—and the “bread of affliction”—a simple food of poverty and rationing.

· The sweet wine that adds to the joy of the Seder also becomes the focal point when we remember the ten plagues and the suffering of the innocent brought about by our liberation.

Throughout the seder, then, opposites are not just acknowledged, but held (and eaten!) together. We can learn from this two things:

One, while there is no greater opposite in the story of Passover as the poles of slavery and freedom, oppression and redemption, the merging of symbols tells us that the way to get from one to the other is by coming together. Unity, not division, is the desired state of being.

Particularly today, in a time of seemingly great division and polarization, we must ask how many of those are real and how many imagined. How many can be overcome for the sake of the greater good? Right before Passover I attended a webinar with Parker Palmer, a thinker I very much admire. He was adamant at saying “all the division in our country is manipulated division,” and “the more they divide us, the easier it is to control us.”

I’m sitting with that this Passover. The joining of opposing symbols, or opposing meanings within the same symbol, seem to be issuing the same challenge: How many divisions are imagined? And can they be surmounted—in whole or part—so that we can draw closer together?

Which leads us to the understanding that Passover teaches us that true solutions to conflict must recognize the humanity and agency of all parties involved, that oftentimes what is needed is the creativity and risk to imagine a new way forward, that we must reconcile the past but not repeat it, and the imperative exists to, even in times of conflict, desire the best possible outcome for all, not just a few (or a “side”). Political solutions that posit the triumph of one at the expense of the other are just going to continue vicious cycles of power and oppression.

And the other learning is more personal, for the Passover story is not only a societal story, but an individual one. As we combine our symbolic foods at the seder, we are reminded that life itself is not an either/or but a both/and. We are never wholly free nor are we never wholly enslaved. We are all enslaved, held back by circumstance, by policy, by prejudice. At the same time, we are all free, and it is important to recognize those blessings and privileges we are afforded, whatever they might be for us.

We all have our Egypts, and we all have our Red Seas. All of us succeed, and all of us struggle. We need to be able to see and honor this within ourselves. And all the moreso, we need to be able to see and honor it in others.

Chag sameach. Wishing you a sweet and liberating Pesach.