“All… adults have only known Jews who were strong enough to help us,” he said, “and now the idea that you need our help is going to take a long time.”

I heard this yesterday from Van Jones, in a private Zoom for the clergy council of Zioness, a multiracial coalition of Jewish activitists and allies (I serve on the steering committee). He was speaking about Black-Jewish relations, helping shed light on the disconnect between our communities right now.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize: his insight is right on the mark. Not only about communities of color as they think about white Jewish people, but also about how we think about ourselves (and in that “we” I intend Jews of all skin colors).

“How is this night different from all other nights?” we ask each year at the seder table. This year the question feels different.

Because the story we have been blessed to tell for decades has shifted.

Quite suddenly, we aren’t so sure where we are in the arc of the storyline. We thought we knew where we were, in the storyline that stretches from oppression (past tense) to redemption (present tense). We thought we were the liberated ones able to turn outward to focus elsewhere. Now, it’s unclear.

There are more than 130 people being held hostage; how do we sit celebrating our freedom, drinking our four glasses of wine?

Since October 8, the world has been focused on Israel’s missteps and misdeeds; that focus has become bound up in front-page-news-worthy events centering around Jews living in all the places we live. Genocide has become the new blood libel; in our own little state of New Jersey, the ADL has recorded hundreds of Antisemitic incidents over the past six months. How do we recline and pass the matzah as if nothing had changed for us?

Not only is this night different, but this year is different. This year Passover is hard, because we aren’t sure what happened these past six months. What story are we telling?What story are we in?

Is it the one we’ve been blessed to tell for decades, the story of having been freed from oppression? The one in which, now that we have been blessed with privilege and abundance, our duty as Jews requires us to go out into the world as universalists caring for everyone else even as we care for our own? 

Or is it the old story, the one we thought we’d left behind in the DP camps, that in every generation there will be those who rise up against us and matzilaynu b’yadam, God saves us, God will save us, please God save us? The story, in other words, is not one of universalism but of particularism, in which we need the help, where we are still oppressed. Is that just our fear speaking, our anxiety, our epigenetic trauma? Or is that really where we are, on the verge of something horrible about to happen to the Jews, again, God forbid?

Because we aren’t sure where we are in the arc of the storyline, I hope everyone leans into telling the story differently this year. Ideally we do things a little differently every year – but even if that’s not usually your thing, I think this year we have no choice. To that end, I share below some resources to help “make it real” around the seder table.

Ultimately, we are the authors of this story. We are writing it now, as a people, with the unfolding of every day.  We do not yet know where we are in the arc of the story, but we do know this: that the story of the Jewish people always moves from slavery to freedom. “The key to Passover,” writes Rabbi Naomi Levy, “is a belief in rebirth, a belief that tomorrow can be better than today; a knowing that we each have a critical part to play in the unfolding of hope.” 

The next chapter is ours to tell and to live. Let us write it with all of our resolve, resilience, optimism, and hope. We may not know where we are in the storyline of our people this year, but we know it will be a mix of maror and charoset, the bitter mixed in with something we work hard to make sweet.

Wishing you all a chag pesach sameach (in Hebrew), a zissen pesach (in Yiddish), and a Passover filled with hope in any and all languages of our people.

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1)  The Hartman Institute has created a supplement featuring a variety of readings for every step of the seder. The full supplement can be found here.

I especially appreciate Rachel Goldberg’s reflections on the Pour Out Your Wrath section, where she writes:

“And the hatred being showered on Israel now…. I keep being asked about that. First, in an article I read by Nicholas Kristof, it was so eloquently stated that if you only get outraged when one side’s babies are killed, then your moral compass is broken. And your humanity is broken. And therefore, in your quiet moments alone, all of us, everywhere on planet earth need to really ask ourselves, “Do I aspire to be human, or am I swept up in the enticing and delicious world of hatred?” This is not a phenomenon unique to Israel or Gaza, this is everywhere on our planet. I understand that hatred of “the other,” however we decide that “other” to be, is seductive, sensuous, and, most importantly, hatred is easy. But hatred is not actually helpful nor is it constructive. In a competition of pain, there is never a winner.”

2)  Rabbi Naomi Levy, author and leader of Nashuva congregation in California, has written seven poem-prayers as supplements to this year’s Haggadah. They can be found here. The quote above is from her introduction to the plagues:

God Does Not Bring Plagues
by Rabbi Naomi Levy

The key to Passover is a belief in rebirth, a belief that tomorrow can be better than today; a knowing that we each have a critical part to play in the unfolding of hope.
Freedom begins with open eyes and ears and hearts.
Seas will part, answers will come, cures will emerge,
New ways of believing will sprout up and take root,
A universal love that mirrors God’s love for every living creature
And for our world.

In the book of Exodus we are told that Pharaoh’s sorcerers were able to replicate the
plague of frogs. The only difference between Moses and the sorcerers was: only Moses could remove the plague. When the sorcerers witnessed Moses reverse the plague they cried out: “This is the hand of God.”

The truth is, it doesn’t take any great supernatural powers to bring about a plague.
We all have the power to destroy life and to destroy the earth and our atmosphere.
But it does take great holy powers to reverse a plague, to heal the sick, to heal our planet, to heal hatred and war.
The Healing Hand of God acting through us is what will save us and leads us
from constriction to wide open spaces,
from fear to faith,
from darkness to light,
from worry to peace of mind,
from economic hardship to abundance,
from war to peace.

Let us raise a glass and drink a Cup of Praise to the Soul of Souls who fills us with the power to end all of the world’s plagues.
And let us say, Amen.

3)  Rabbi Dave Levy of Sutton Place Synagogue in NYC has created this way of counting the omer, to count the days of the omer along with the number of days the hostages spend in captivity. It begins with this kavanah (intention-setting):

Kavanah – Hinneni Muchan U’mzuman – I am ready to fulfill the mitzvah of counting the Omer. However, with a heavy heart this year, we count so much more. We count the days since the terror of October 7, we count the days that our brothers and sisters, our children, have sat held hostage by Hamas. Each day we will count the Omer, but we will also count the days of shevi-captivity. We pray to get to stop this count tonight, but if we are disappointed, we will keep hope and keep counting. May it be your will Adonai, that our Jewish family be reunited NOW. May the Omer, always known as a period of Jewish anxiety, be turned into a joyous reunion bringing our hostages home safely. 

4)  Still doing your Pesach/spring cleaning and in need of a little inspiration? If you haven’t seen the videos that I made with professional organizer (and Oheb congregant) Leydi Rofman, check them out.