(כ) וְגֵ֥ר לֹא־תוֹנֶ֖ה וְלֹ֣א תִלְחָצֶ֑נּוּ כִּֽי־גֵרִ֥ים הֱיִיתֶ֖ם בְּאֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרָֽיִם׃ (כא) כָּל־אַלְמָנָ֥ה וְיָת֖וֹם לֹ֥א תְעַנּֽוּן׃ (כב) אִם־עַנֵּ֥ה תְעַנֶּ֖ה אֹת֑וֹ כִּ֣י אִם־צָעֹ֤ק יִצְעַק֙ אֵלַ֔י שָׁמֹ֥עַ אֶשְׁמַ֖ע צַעֲקָתֽוֹ׃ (כג) וְחָרָ֣ה אַפִּ֔י וְהָרַגְתִּ֥י אֶתְכֶ֖ם בֶּחָ֑רֶב וְהָי֤וּ נְשֵׁיכֶם֙ אַלְמָנ֔וֹת וּבְנֵיכֶ֖ם יְתֹמִֽים׃ (פ)
(20) You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. (21) You shall not ill-treat any widow or orphan. (22) If you do mistreat them, I will heed their outcry as soon as they cry out to Me, (23) and My anger shall blaze forth and I will put you to the sword, and your own wives shall become widows and your children orphans.
(יז) זָכ֕וֹר אֵ֛ת אֲשֶׁר־עָשָׂ֥ה לְךָ֖ עֲמָלֵ֑ק בַּדֶּ֖רֶךְ בְּצֵאתְכֶ֥ם מִמִּצְרָֽיִם׃ (יח) אֲשֶׁ֨ר קָֽרְךָ֜ בַּדֶּ֗רֶךְ וַיְזַנֵּ֤ב בְּךָ֙ כָּל־הַנֶּחֱשָׁלִ֣ים אַֽחַרֶ֔יךָ וְאַתָּ֖ה עָיֵ֣ף וְיָגֵ֑עַ וְלֹ֥א יָרֵ֖א אֱלֹהִֽים׃ (יט) וְהָיָ֡ה בְּהָנִ֣יחַ יְהוָ֣ה אֱלֹהֶ֣יךָ ׀ לְ֠ךָ מִכָּל־אֹ֨יְבֶ֜יךָ מִסָּבִ֗יב בָּאָ֙רֶץ֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר יְהוָֽה־אֱ֠לֹהֶיךָ נֹתֵ֨ן לְךָ֤ נַחֲלָה֙ לְרִשְׁתָּ֔הּ תִּמְחֶה֙ אֶת־זֵ֣כֶר עֲמָלֵ֔ק מִתַּ֖חַת הַשָּׁמָ֑יִם לֹ֖א תִּשְׁכָּֽח׃ (פ)
(17) Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt— (18) how, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in your rear. (19) Therefore, when the LORD your God grants you safety from all your enemies around you, in the land that the LORD your God is giving you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget!
Yossi Klein HaLevi, Purim Jews vs. Pesach Jews
Jewish history speaks to our generation in the voice of two biblical commands to remember. The first voice commands us to remember that we were strangers in the land of Eypt, and the message of that command is: Don’t be brutal. The second voice commands us to remember how the tribe of Amalek attacked us without provocation while we were wandering in the desert, and the message of that command is: Don’t be naive.
The first command is the voice of Passover, of liberation; the second is the voice of Purim, commemorating our victory over the genocidal threat of Haman, a descendant of Amalek. “Passover Jews” are motivated by empathy with the oppressed; “Purim Jews” are motivated by alertness to threat. Both are essential; one without the other creates an unbalanced Jewish personality, a distortion of Jewish history and values.
רַבָּה וְרַבִּי זֵירָא עֲבַדוּ סְעוּדַת פּוּרִים בַּהֲדֵי הֲדָדֵי אִיבַּסּוּם קָם רַבָּה שַׁחְטֵיהּ לְרַבִּי זֵירָא לְמָחָר בָּעֵי רַחֲמֵי וְאַחֲיֵיהּ לְשָׁנָה אֲמַר לֵיהּ נֵיתֵי מָר וְנַעֲבֵיד סְעוּדַת פּוּרִים בַּהֲדֵי הֲדָדֵי אֲמַר לֵיהּ לָא בְּכֹל שַׁעְתָּא וְשַׁעְתָּא מִתְרְחִישׁ נִיסָּא
The Gemara relates that Rabba and Rabbi Zeira prepared a Purim feast with each other, and they became intoxicated to the point that Rabba arose and slaughtered Rabbi Zeira. The next day, when he became sober and realized what he had done, Rabba asked God for mercy, and revived him. The next year, Rabba said to Rabbi Zeira: Let the Master come and let us prepare the Purim feast with each other. He said to him: Miracles do not happen each and every hour, and I do not want to undergo that experience again.
(ג) בתפים ובמחלת. מֻבְטָחוֹת הָיוּ צַדְקָנִיּוֹת שֶׁבַּדּוֹר שֶׁהַקָּבָּ"ה עוֹשֶׂה לָהֶם נִסִּים וְהוֹצִיאוּ תֻפִּים מִמִּצְרַיִם (מכילתא):
(3) בתפים ובמחלת WITH TIMBRELS AND WITH DANCES — The righteous women in that generation were confident that God would perform miracles for them and they accordingly had brought timbrels with them from Egypt (Mekhilta d'Rabbi Yishmael 15:20:2).
(מב) לֵ֣יל שִׁמֻּרִ֥ים הוּא֙ לַֽיהוָ֔ה לְהוֹצִיאָ֖ם מֵאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרָ֑יִם הֽוּא־הַלַּ֤יְלָה הַזֶּה֙ לַֽיהוָ֔ה שִׁמֻּרִ֛ים לְכָל־בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל לְדֹרֹתָֽם׃ (פ)
(42) That was for the LORD a night of vigil to bring them out of the land of Egypt; that same night is the LORD’s, one of vigil for all the children of Israel throughout the ages.
רַבִּי יְהוֹשֻׁעַ אוֹמֵר בְּנִיסָן נִגְאֲלוּ בְּנִיסָן עֲתִידִין לִיגָּאֵל מְנָלַן אָמַר קְרָא לֵיל שִׁמּוּרִים לַיִל הַמְשׁוּמָּר וּבָא מִשֵּׁשֶׁת יְמֵי בְּרֵאשִׁית וְאִידַּךְ לַיְלָה הַמְּשׁוּמָּר וּבָא מִן הַמַּזִּיקִין
It was also taught in the baraita: Rabbi Yehoshua says: In Nisan our forefathers were redeemed from Egypt; and in Nisan in the future the Jewish people will be redeemed in the final redemption. The Gemara asks: From where do we derive that the final redemption will be in Nisan? The verse states: “It is a night of watching for the Lord for bringing them out from the land of Egypt; this is the Lord’s night of watching, for all the children of Israel throughout their generations” (Exodus 12:42). This teaches that the night of Passover is a night that has been continuously watched, i.e., set aside for the purpose of redemption, from the six days of Creation, and it will continue to be so until the final redemption. The Gemara asks: And how does the other tanna, Rabbi Eliezer, understand this verse? He derives from it that this is a night that is continuously watched and protected from demons, meaning that demons have no power on the first night of Passover.
Rabbi Sharon Brous, On Passover Night, Let's Relinquish Our Fear
At the heart of their dispute is the question: Is Passover fundamentally about reigniting the eternal dream of redemption—for our people and for all people—or is it about liberating us, for one night, from paralyzing fear?
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We desperately need a redemption narrative today. So this year, we will sit down to seder and say: Maybe THIS night will be the beginning of a new chapter, the turning of the tide toward redemption. That’s the message of Passover, according to Rabbi Yehoshua.
But this year, I cannot ignore the voice of Rabbi Eliezer. What if Passover, at its core, is not about redemption, but about protection? What if the meaning of this holiday is that there is one night a year in which we hold full awareness of the danger all around us (and there’s always danger around us), but choose not to be afraid?
Passover, then, becomes a defiant cry in the darkness: Tonight, we will not be defined by fear!
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But according to Rabbi Eliezer, seder night is one night not to be dominated by those fears. Amid the haze of grief and loss—lost loved ones, lost love, lost opportunities, wages, job security, lost savings and lost donations, lost dreams, lost college graduations, proms and b’nai mitzvah—we affirm that even with all our loss, we are not completely lost.
Only once the fear is lifted, can we recognize that the blessing of freedom is the ability to reclaim our agency, even when so much has been taken from us.
In a pandemic, we can’t choose whose seder table we’ll sit at. But we are still free to choose how we’ll hold all that we’ve already learned this past month. Like how much community matters, and what a blessing real friends are. Like the fact that health crises disproportionately endanger the poor and the elderly, and that the judge of society is not how we treat the most powerful, but how we care for most vulnerable. And the undeniable truth that when profit and political expedience supersede moral responsibility, we all pay the price.
Without fear dominating our hearts and minds, on seder night we can hold the precious awareness that we are all connected by an invisible web of humanity that crosses land and sea. That teachers deserve to be paid a lot more. That medical professionals are superheroes disguised as regular people. That FaceTime Scrabble with grandparents is a superb way to spend the evening. That we are all responsible for one another.
We can choose to lift up the now-shared knowledge that norms can shift quickly—for the worse and also for the better. That we all need to work on building our resiliency tools. That we can live with a lot less than we might have thought, and that we all need to slow the hell down. That the world is really, really small. That our bodies are precious and that touch is sacred and ought never to be taken for granted. That breath is a gift, and so is prayer. That there is still beauty, everywhere.
What we do with all our newfound awareness is an expression of agency—the ultimate expression of freedom. And you can’t have agency if you’re frozen in fear.
This year, I will hold Passover as both a night of redemption and a night free from fear. Because this year, we need both.
Our routines have been upended and our lives put on hold. We and our loved ones are profoundly vulnerable. And yet we’re still here.
Passover in a time of pandemic calls us to transform this hour of collective terror into a time of collective awakening. To let our vulnerability and awareness become an anchor in the storm, a reminder of the power of faith, which we’ll need when all this is over, as we lift one another off the floor and work together to build a society of radical accountability, rooted in equity and equality, justice and dignity, and most of all, of love.
So this year, amid the devastation and destruction, I pray that we’re able to temporarily set aside our fear, precisely so that we can reclaim the dream of redemption that has stood at the heart of our shared story for thousands of years. May it be a Passover of comfort, hope, and strength for all of us.
לְשָׁנָה הַבָּאָה בִּירוּשָלָיִם הַבְּנוּיָה.
Next year, let us celebrate in Jerusalem!