1.
A spirit of melancholy blows through the passages. Perhaps we have not succeeded in uprooting evil, and again, we have surrendered without completing the task. It seems as if things will get worse and even worse, heaven forbid. Indeed, we are a land of scandal or festival, whose inhabitants soar to the stars or wallow in shallow waters. Yet we are not at the end of the road nor at the conclusion of the war that has never ended since our state was established. Patience.
And faith. In such moments, it is important to do what our forefathers did when despair threatened to erode their will to maintain our identity and uniqueness. They joyfully drew water from the wellsprings of salvation of our ancient sources to "moisten the dry bones of the visible world" that was shocked, agitated, wavered, and weakened "due to the burden of life which had become confused." We are an eternal people, and our present is never disconnected from eternity.
2.
When the Zohar examines events, it asks why history unfolded in such a complicated and twisted way. After answering, it remarks, "And so it had to be." A similar approach is found in narrative psychology. A person may see themselves as a failure, but they can retell the course of their life in which they wrestled with God and people and prevailed. Thus, their life's mistakes become a marvelous process that had to be exactly as it was.
Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook called this in his historiosophical conception "moral observation," in contrast to causal observation, which examines events (news) as a collection of cases that generated reaction and result. On the surface, we contend with the harsh present, while in the depths of reality, an undercurrent pushes history forward, whose fruit we or future generations will see.
3.
The ancient books do not just tell a story that occurred in the depths of history but present historiosophical formulas that illuminate the present. In the current portions of the Tora, after Moses accepts his mission and demands of Pharaoh, "Let my people go," the condition of the Hebrew slaves deteriorates and becomes unbearable. Now that Moses confronts him, Pharaoh has an obvious excuse to persecute the Israelites, and he makes their lives much harder. "Let heavier work be laid upon the men and let them labor at it, and not pay attention to false words" (Exodus 5:9).
The Egyptians appointed Hebrew officers (as our oppressors did in all generations) who chose to take responsibility for failing to meet work quotas. They covered for their brethren with their bodies and were brutally beaten. When they see Moses and Aaron, they bitterly accuse them: May God judge you for "making us odious in the eyes of Pharaoh and his servants" and providing them a reason to "put a sword in their hands to kill us" (ibid 5:21).
For Moses, this is the most reliable testimony to the people's difficult situation, and he sees himself as responsible. Agitated, he turns to his God and complains from the depths of his heart: "Why have You brought harm to this people?!" and also questions his role: "Why did You send me?!" (5:22) And God's answer: Patience! Soon, you will see what happens to Pharaoh, "for with a strong hand he will send them out, and with a strong hand he will drive them from his land" (6:1).
4.
And then we learn of history's behind-the-scenes, the undercurrent pushing reality toward the people's redemption. God details to Moses the basis for the events about to unfold: the people's roots are their forefathers, who, during their visit, worked to establish a nation. "And I also established My covenant with them, to give them the land of Canaan" (6:4). This is the "Covenant Between the Parts" (see Genesis 15) made with the nation's founder, a law embedded in history: even if his descendants go into exile in a foreign land, where they will be enslaved and tormented, at the end of the process – seventy years or two thousand – they will "leave with great wealth" and "return here." This historical law has defied all statistics and cleared the path of nations and groups that tried to stop our people's return home to Zion.
And then unfolds the plan of action, born in the depths of the people's despair in the Egyptian concentration camps: "And I will bring you out... and I will rescue you... and I will redeem you... and I will take you to Me as a people." The Jerusalem Talmud (composed in the Galilee) quotes Rabbi Yochanan in the name of Rabbi Benaya (both lived in Tiberias in the third century): "What is the source for the four cups (at the Seder)? They correspond to the four expressions of redemption, as it is said: 'I will bring out, I will rescue, I will redeem, and I will take.'"
But the plan doesn't end here. The goal was never merely the Sinai covenant, to wander in the desert of nations with the Torah. From the dawn of our existence, we were destined to live in our land as an independent nation. Therefore, after the four expressions of redemption, it is said: "And I will bring you to the land... and I will give it to you as an inheritance." An inheritance is a legacy passed down from generation to generation. Individuals cannot bequeath a land. For this, they must establish a political entity – a kingdom or state – that will assert the people's sovereignty over the land and pass it on to their descendants. This is the missing fifth cup at the Seder. The Vilna Gaon said this is Elijah's cup that will resolve the dispute. Today, now that we have merited to return to our land, it is fitting to drink this cup at the Seder as well, for the purpose of remembering the exodus from Egypt was to plant within us the hope to exit the Egypt of every generation and return home.
This week, we marked eighty years since the liberation of the Auschwitz death camp. I once asked my children's great-grandmother if she believed, when she was there in the depths of Auschwitz's hell, that in just a few years, she would merit to immigrate to an independent Jewish state and raise her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren there? Leah was a tough woman, yet she wiped moisture from the corner of her eye and went to the kitchen. She brought out a bundle wrapped in baking paper. When she opened it, we saw a spoon and fork made of aluminum. These were what Grandpa Moshe had found in the sand of Mauthausen, and he would eat his meager portion with them. "Take them," she said, "and pass them on to your son."
You see, in the depths of an unprecedented catastrophe, the plan was already completed in its entirety. So we were brought out, rescued, redeemed, and taken. Finally, we also came to the land and established a state in it so that we could pass on this good land to future generations.
6.
About 1,900 years earlier, facing the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple, Israel's sages wept. But Rabbi Akiva laughed. He explained that the prophecy of destruction was bound up with the prophecy of consolation. Regarding destruction, it was said: "Zion shall be plowed as a field, and Jerusalem shall become heaps, and the Temple Mount like the high places of a forest" (Micah 3:12), and in consolation, it was said: "Old men and old women shall yet sit in the streets of Jerusalem... and the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing" (Zechariah 8:4-5). If the prophecy of destruction was fulfilled, he told his astonished colleagues, "it is known that Zechariah's prophecy will be fulfilled" (Babylonian Talmud, tractate Makhot 24b). We, who have seen the prophecies come true, know today that the sage's laughter saw far into the future.
In the very days when the great-grandmother was sent to Auschwitz, Nathan Alterman published "Songs of the Plagues of Egypt," where he learned from Moses and Rabbi Akiva about faith in Israel's redemption taking shape in the depths of great trouble. Do not despair, he told the people, "The plagues of Amon are complete, the pillar of dawn rises." Amon is ancient Egypt and Nazi Germany. And when the plagues of Egypt were completed, dawn broke on our redemption and the salvation of our souls. "Therefore, the father laughed," Alterman explained in the final poem because he knew the solution to our people's historical riddle.
Let us return to Moses. He goes to the people and tells them what he heard, that their redemption is around the corner. But they are preoccupied with their pain and the immense difficulty of their lives, "and they did not listen to Moses because of shortness of spirit and cruel bondage" (Exodus 6:9). Will we learn?
