Passover and the Work of Redemption

Setting an intention for the seder

Reprinted with permission from Seeking the Hiding God. A Personal Theological Essay, published by Ben Yehuda Press (2024)

The Hebrew month of Nisan had just begun when I sat down to write a first draft of this chapter. Passover was two weeks away — barely enough time for [my wife] Ace and me to start preparing for the seder… The time could not pass fast enough for me; I love this holiday.

The Haggadah itself urges seder participants to discuss the reasons for observing the holiday. Why the fanatical scrubbing of oven, fridge, and countertops, the exchange of bread and rolls for matzah, and the ritual reading of a text that we know so well we could almost recall it by heart? “You do this,” the Haggadah seems to say, “because God redeemed your ancestors from Egypt, and has redeemed you as well. You need to remember that you are now obligated to help redeem others:’ The question shifts from “Why are we here?” to “What should we be doing when we leave the seder table?” What should change in our society — and how should we change — between this Passover and next Passover because of lessons learned and commitments made in the course of the evening?…

Symbols on the table, a familiar text in hand, and a great meal just ahead, one sits down to confront difficult matters that are otherwise avoided. I gladly seize the chance to face them.

Passover is a time-tested framework of response to the human predicament and to the questions it renders inescapable. More: it points beyond both questions and answers to action that needs to be undertaken to advance the project of redemption. The Haggadah does not recount the biblical story of the Exodus in any detail. For the rabbis who designed it, the point of the seder was not to get the history right but to get our lives right, that is, to inquire into the meaning of the Exodus here and now. We come together at Passover to consider the consequences and implications that the story holds for us — and then to act on those lessons. Our responsibility to work for the redemption of humanity does not depend upon the amount of historical credence that we give to the biblical account of the Exodus or upon the meaning we find in matzah, bitter herbs, and the recital of the kiddush. Nor should it stand or fall with any particular theological stance. For the world is in turmoil. We ourselves are in turmoil much of the time. Yet there is joy and blessing in our lives. With luck and grace, there is love as well. Essential work awaits each of us. We must find our bearings and find a way forward and join the project of redemption….

The themes of the seder are foregrounded powerfully in a brief paragraph that introduces the telling of the Exodus story. That passage can serve as a fitting introduction to theological inquiry as well. “This is the bread of affliction that our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry come and eat. This year, [we are] here. Next year, [may we be] in the Land of lsrael. This year, [we are] slaves. Next year, [may we be] free.”

I read the passage as saying something like the following: By all means, debate what it means that matzah is the “bread of affliction” — this is important — but do not fail to feed those afflicted with hunger while you are debating. Make sure that your Judaism, and your seder, invite them in. Theology has its place, but action is required.

Ponder whether the references to Egypt and the Land of Israel should be taken literally and, if not, what they might symbolize for us. Where you are now? What does your present situation require of you? Where you would like to be — and how would you like the world to be — next year and the year after? What does it mean to be free or enslaved, literally and metaphorically in Egypt or the Land of Israel?

Think about the “we” of which you are a part, the “we” that is “enslaved” this year, but next year perhaps “free”: Enlarge that “we” beyond your seder table, your community, your neighborhood. Hope for the redemption of those included in the expanded concentric circles of your “we”: Work for it.

There is one final directive in the passage, I believe, discernible between the lines and communicated in what is not said. During the seder and afterward, think about what it means to share the world with God — a major player in the Passover story Who is not mentioned in this opening paragraph of the Haggadah. Could that omission be a call for us to speak and act in the way that Passover commands, and take on the work of redemption that God performed in Egypt? If God remains in hiding when redemption is needed, human beings must stand up and be counted.

“Stand By” and “Get Moving”

My favorite lines in the Torah’s narrative of the Exodus from Egypt do not appear in the Haggadah. They come in a passage that begins with an expression of delicious sarcasm on the part of the Children of Israel — humor born of suffering and fear. Caught between the sea looming in front of them and Pharaoh’s army approaching from behind, the people say to Moses, “Was it for lack of graves in Egypt that you took us out to the wilderness to die?”

Moses responds sternly and piously to this dark humor. Having been schooled by the ten plagues to expect help from God, he instructs the people to “stand by and witness the deliverance, which the Lord your God will work for you today.” The Lord will fight for you, he tells the Israelites. “You will be silent.” God has other ideas, however; I believe that the response God makes to Moses at this crucial juncture of Israel’s history carries major consequences for Jewish theology ever after. “What are you crying out to me for?” God demands. “Tell the Children of Israel to get moving!”

God reverts to form immediately afterward, telling Moses about all the wonders that He will perform to secure the deliverance of which the Israelites had despaired. The sea will split. The Children of Israel will cross safely to the other side on dry land. Pharaoh’s army will drown as the waters return. But God puts the people on notice that He will not do everything for them while they stand by and watch. Human initiative and courage will be required to reach the Promised Land. A well-known rabbinic midrash in that spirit claims that the sea did not begin to split until the first Israelite plunged into its waters.

Jewish theologians, like those of other religious traditions, have long debated the balance between human and divine action — “works” and “grace” — in the scheme of redemption. The question has come up in some form at almost every seder that I can remember. Isn’t the human situation so bad that it will take direct action by God to change the course of history? Will human effort ever be enough to improve matters decisively without divine assistance? Isn’t it more likely that, left to ourselves, human actors will make matters worse? On the other hand, whatever the truth about the Israelites’ escape from Egypt, it seems that God has often failed to send help when it has been most needed. Shouldn’t humanity take on the messiah’s work ourselves? Can we afford to keep waiting in vain for God?

My response to those heartfelt queries — the lesson that I take away from the Passover story — falls somewhere in between those two positions. Given the difficulty that human beings always have in discerning God’s role in nature or history, and God’s apparent lack of involvement on the stage of history, a threefold strategy seems in order.

1. We should continue to hope for God’s help, which may come — and perhaps does come — in a form that we do not recognize.
2. We are encouraged to trust that a larger force is at work in the world, perhaps in part through human beings like you and me.
3. We are commanded to act as if the world depends on us -­ on all of us, individually and together. Whatever God’s part in reducing suffering and countering evil, our role in mitigating suffering and combatting evil is indispensable.

… I think that is exactly the strategy recommended by the rabbis who compiled the biblical canon and created the blueprint for the Passover seder.

Accept full responsibility for righting as many wrongs as we can, for covenants with God and fellow human beings demand that wrongs be righted and injustice curbed. Answer God’s call for partners who exercise initiative and intelligence. Do not wait for God’s Messiah to make things right in the world, but do not give up on divine assistance or ignore the help that comes to us, indirectly and invisibly, “from some other place.’ Do not lose faith that a more sweeping redemption will come one day, most likely in a form that we cannot at present imagine. The eye of faith discerns divine activity that cannot be demonstrated empirically. The Messiah will come, ushering in future redemption that will draw upon the efforts at redemption, large or small, that we ourselves have made.

This view of the matter is beautifully articulated in the classic Jewish joke about the man who is drowning and prays fervently to God to save him. When a rowboat pulls up alongside him, he thanks the rescuers inside it but says he is waiting for God to perform a miracle on his behalf. A luxury yacht approaches and sends the man a motorized raft. Again, he declines the offer of help. When a helicopter circles overhead and lowers a ladder, our hero once more remains in the surging waves to wait for God. He soon drowns. When he reaches heaven, the man demands to know why God did not save him. “Idiot!” God replies. “I sent the rowboat, the yacht, and the helicopter. What more of a miracle do you want?”

That, to me, is Judaism’s best word about waiting versus moving: an eloquent statement of Passover’s timeless message about redemption.