The Measure of Our Cups

A Reflection on the 10 Plagues

We fill our cups and recite the seder over them, the wine rippling with the stories of our ancestors. Throughout the night, we drink four cups that overflow with our joy, our blessings, our exodus. But, at the seder, we also spill ten drops, one for each plague. A drop of red from a fingertip onto the plate, in commemoration of the suffering of the Egyptians. By diminishing our metaphoric joy, we make the statement that our joy can never be complete while others suffer, even if those who suffer hurt us deeply.

Over the past year, going between my Barnard and JTS classes, my cup often felt low. I longed for the understanding and empathy from those outside the Jewish community. I longed for another willing to spill a drop for me, my friends, my family, and so many others who have experienced antisemitism this year.

This year, as soon as the wine has been blessed, I will spill out three drops, one for the hostages, one for their families, and one for every Jewish person who has experienced antisemitism this year. In this holiday of joy and freedom, I will first recognize this pain. Then, when it is time, I will spill for each plague. Even if my cup is low, I will spend the drops on empathy. These feelings of fear and hopelessness do not change who I am, who we strive to be as a community. Next year in Jerusalem, with our cups in hand.