Leaving Egypt

Passover, which will be here soon, has drawn a lot of attention from our sages over the centuries. Even beyond the realm of Jewish law, participation in the Seder is something that speaks to many of us — secular and observant alike. Beyond the shopping runs, the house-cleaning, the guest lists, and the cooking … what’s the essential take home?

The ancient writers of the Haggadah have ideas that still resonate with us today. They urge us to use our imagination and explore the deeper meanings of matzah and bitter herbs. They challenge us to ponder the cruel darkness of ancient Egypt, the bitterness of enslavement, the loneliness of being the vulnerable stranger.

In Hebrew as well as in Arabic, the root for Mitzrayim (Egypt מצרים) points to the narrow strips of land bordering the Nile. In the rabbinic spiritual imagination, this idea of narrowness and constriction teaches us about the oppressive nature of the narrow mind, the blinders that keep us from seeing the stranger, the people who have been marked as ‘other,’ as disposable, as a subject best left unspoken.

As God is about to punish Egypt with the terrible final plague, the death of the first born, the Israelites are gathered together in families, hurriedly celebrating the Passover of Egypt. There’s an unusual term — chipazon חיפזון — associated with this fraught moment leading
up to the Exodus. Some translators render this term as ‘hurried.’ The soon-to-be liberated slaves are ready to go at a moment’s notice. Avivah Zornberg, a contemporary Bible scholar, deepens the exploration of the emotional context of this meal. As the Israelites share this feast of freedom, the last plague — the horrifying death that visits every home in Egypt — is unfolding. There simply is no way to avoid the screams and the agony of Egypt. Zornberg writes about anticipatory grief. What does it mean to soak in the moment fully, to decide that you can’t ignore the misery beyond the closed door? So, it is no coincidence that the Torah repeatedly charges us to remember our once being the stranger. We are instructed to love the stranger. Every Shabbat evening kiddush: in remembrance of leaving Egypt. The twice-daily recited third paragraph of the Sh’ma (focusing on the tzitzit): ‘I am Adonai your God who took you out of Egypt to be your God. All of this repetition drives home the notion that Passover is a key to what being Jewish means. Underneath the rich tapestry of ritual and the keen attention to detail — it must be about empathy for the stranger. It must be about former slaves taking extra care to avoid the tendencies of the taskmasters. Leaving Egypt wasn’t the hard part. The real challenge — one that faces us each and every day — is spiritual liberation from the mentality of a narrow and constricted outlook that leaves us unable to respond to pain of the stranger, to the cry of the other.