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Rabbi Amalia reflects on the end of Passover, what Torah offers us when it’s time to make a difficult decision, and moving forward even when you can’t see the way through.
A Tunisian synagogue across from Rabbi Amalia’s old Jerusalem apartment.
The seventh day of Pesach – this year, April 8th – is traditionally marked as the time when the Israelites crossed the Yam Suf, the Red Sea. In Israel, the seventh day of Pesach is the final day of the holiday, while diasporic Jewish practice adds an eighth day to the holiday.
The crossing of the Red Sea is a poetic thing to end the holiday on. We start Pesach with seder and spend a lot of time and kitsch (and yes, I did buy these for my seder) on the 10 plagues that destroyed Egypt. We end the holiday on the day that the Israelites crossed the sea, truly leaving behind Egypt, enslavement, and everything they once knew.
I can imagine how the Israelites might have felt watching destruction rain down upon Egypt. I can put myself in their shoes as they hastily tie their sandals, preparing to leave the certainty of the only home they’ve ever known for the uncertainty and expansiveness of freedom.
But where do I truly feel the Exodus story in my bones? When they’re standing at the edge of the sea. Let’s set the scene (Exodus 14: 9-11):
וַיִּרְדְּפוּ מִצְרַיִם אַחֲרֵיהֶם וַיַּשִּׂיגוּ אוֹתָם חֹנִים עַל־הַיָּם כל־סוּס רֶכֶב פַּרְעֹה וּפָרָשָׁיו וְחֵילוֹ עַל־פִּי הַחִירֹת לִפְנֵי בַּעַל צְפֹן׃
9 the Egyptians gave chase to them, and all the chariot horses of Pharaoh, his riders, and his warriors overtook them encamped by the sea, near Pi-hahiroth, before Baal-zephon.
וּפַרְעֹה הִקְרִיב וַיִּשְׂאוּ בְנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת־עֵינֵיהֶם וְהִנֵּה מִצְרַיִם נֹסֵעַ אַחֲרֵיהֶם וַיִּירְאוּ מְאֹד וַיִּצְעֲקוּ בְנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶל־ה’׃
10 As Pharaoh drew near, the Israelites caught sight of the Egyptians advancing upon them. Greatly frightened, the Israelites cried out to God.
וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֶל־מֹשֶׁה הֲמִבְּלִי אֵין־קְבָרִים בְּמִצְרַיִם לְקַחְתָּנוּ לָמוּת בַּמִּדְבָּר מַה־זֹּאת עָשִׂיתָ לָּנוּ לְהוֹצִיאָנוּ מִמִּצְרָיִם׃
Rabbi Amalia’s cat, enjoying a moving box.
And they said to Moses, “Was it for want of graves in Egypt that you brought us to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, taking us out of Egypt?”
The Israelites are pursued by 600 Egyptian chariots. To turn around is certain death. In front of the Israelites is a sea, endlessly stretching into the horizon. To continue onwards appears to be certain death.
Have you ever been confronted with an enormous, impossible decision? Sometimes, we are faced with questions that have no clear wrong answers, but no clear right ones either – and the stakes feel so high, and the waters feel so deep, and maybe, you think, I should have stayed where I was. Maybe I should stay where I am! Maybe I should give up on making decisions altogether.
The hardest part of the Exodus story isn’t leaving Egypt. It’s what to do when we’re faced with an impossible situation after leaving.
And here’s the thing: God understands that. There’s a story in the Talmud about the moment the Israelites are standing at the shores of the sea (Sotah 37b):
בְּאוֹתָהּ שָׁעָה הָיָה מֹשֶׁה מַאֲרִיךְ בִּתְפִלָּה, אָמַר לוֹ הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא: יְדִידַיי טוֹבְעִים בַּיָּם וְאַתָּה מַאֲרִיךְ בִּתְפִלָּה לְפָנַי?! אָמַר לְפָנָיו: רִבּוֹנוֹ שֶׁל עוֹלָם! וּמָה בְּיָדִי לַעֲשׂוֹת? אָמַר לוֹ: ״דַּבֵּר אֶל בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְיִסָּעוּ.״.
At that time, Moses was prolonging his prayer. The Holy One, Blessed be God, said to him: “My beloved ones are drowning in the sea and you prolong your prayer to me?” Moses said before God: Master of the Universe, but what can I do? God said to him: “Speak to the children of Israel that they go forward” (Exodus 14:15).
How can God tell Moshe to just tell the Israelites “to go forward”? There’s a whole sea in their way!
Rabbi Amalia’s first apartment in Boston.
And yet, God says, this is not the moment in time that I want you to stay stuck and pray. Instead, I want you to keep moving forward, to not hesitate, to trust.
The Passover season is a particular moment in the Jewish calendar that has time and again been a source of agonizing, delicate, and painful decisions in my own life.
One year, I was deciding between a job across the country or moving across the world to learn Torah in Jerusalem.
Another year, I was determining which rabbinical school to go to (a process which truly felt like crossing a sea and coming out the other side).
Another year, I found out I was pregnant, and I spent my Passover with my breath half-held, hoping the pregnancy continued and that I would be able to share the news with loved ones.
This year, I face the realization that we have to move apartments, a process that fills me with so much anxiety and fear that I freeze up every time I think about it. How will I pack all the boxes? How will we find a place I actually want to live? How will my commute be impacted? What if we can’t find a place that feels like home? We just moved into this apartment a year and a half ago, and haven’t even finished putting everything up on the walls!
What if? What if? What if?
The cycle of Jewish time brings us back to the moment of standing at the sea, over and over again every year.
On Seder night we are mandated:
בכל דור ודור חיב אדם לראות את עצמו כאלו הוא יצא ממצרים
In every generation, a person is obligated to see themself as if they left Egypt (Mishna Pesachim 10:5).
The decision to leave is hard. But it’s the first crossroads we come to, the final sticking point of the choice, the moment we stand at the edge of the sea, that we really finalize our Exodus.
And in that moment we know exactly what to do:
דַּבֵּר אֶל בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְיִסָּעוּ.
Rabbi Amalia cleans for Passover, with some help.
Tell the Israelites to go forward! (Exodus 14:15)
We keep going.
Maybe the sea doesn’t split. Nothing so miraculous has ever occurred in my life. But, once I’ve committed to the choice, I’ve gone forward.
I decided to move to Jerusalem and study Torah for a year.
I confirmed my attendance at the Rabbinical School of Hebrew College.
I pulled my best friend aside and told them the magical news of my pregnancy.
We continue on, living out our choices. That’s how we truly live as if we have left Egypt.
I don’t know what apartment I’ll be in next Pesach, or if there will be space for a garden and all of our books. I don’t know what the year ahead will bring.
But, to quote Rabbi Rachel Barenblat:
“…You won’t know where you’re going
but you have the words of our sages,
the songs of our mothers, the inspiration
wrapped in your kneading bowl. Trust
that what you carry will sustain you
and take the first step out the door.”
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