Before our Passover seders, I wanted to share my drash from this past Friday night. Shabbat shalom. For the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about what I might say tonight – about the meaning of Passover, and what it might bring to bear on our lives in this moment. But, I have to be honest. I’ve been struggling for words in a way that – as you may well know by now – is atypical. This is ironic, because, as I learned earlier this week the Chasidic text Likutei Halachot teaches that one of the main lessons of Passover is the celebration of the power of speech. The power of speech was in exile while the People of Israel were in Egypt. The redemption allowed them to speak freely once again, thus “Pesach,” the Hebrew word for Passover, hints at the words “Peh Sach” — the mouth that speaks. And, at the same time, the Mishnah teaches that we don’t start telling the story of Passover until a question has been asked. That is, we’re quiet, even on Passover, until a question sparks our telling – our maggid – of the miracle.
The definition of redemption
The definition of redemption
The definition of redemption
Before our Passover seders, I wanted to share my drash from this past Friday night. Shabbat shalom. For the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about what I might say tonight – about the meaning of Passover, and what it might bring to bear on our lives in this moment. But, I have to be honest. I’ve been struggling for words in a way that – as you may well know by now – is atypical. This is ironic, because, as I learned earlier this week the Chasidic text Likutei Halachot teaches that one of the main lessons of Passover is the celebration of the power of speech. The power of speech was in exile while the People of Israel were in Egypt. The redemption allowed them to speak freely once again, thus “Pesach,” the Hebrew word for Passover, hints at the words “Peh Sach” — the mouth that speaks. And, at the same time, the Mishnah teaches that we don’t start telling the story of Passover until a question has been asked. That is, we’re quiet, even on Passover, until a question sparks our telling – our maggid – of the miracle.