There are 50 days between the Second Night of Passover and Shavuot, which this year begins the evening of June 1. For many years I have taken on a personal project. Some years it has been as simple as remembering to buckle my seat belt, or unpacking one box a day. (That one isn’t simple!). One year I finished the draft of a book.  

Traditionally these seven weeks (7×7=49) are about the sefirot, the mystical emanations of the Divine. Those are based on the 13 Attributes of the Divine that were part of my Bat Mitzvah Torah portion which happened during Pesach 51 years ago. The first one is chesed. Lovingkindess. Each day you pair up one attribute with another. The first day is chesed shel chesed, lovingkindness of lovingkindness. That’s alot of love. Today, the seventh day, therefore, using a traditional schema  is Malchut of chesed.   

Tonight is the beginning of the second week. And it is Chesed shel Gevurah, Lovingkindness of Discipline or Strength. But this year I want to try something different. With so much going on in the world, I want to keep focusing on chesed all 50 days. Can we do it? What is your favorite quote, Biblical or otherwise about love? Can we make the world a better place by focusing on lovingkindness? What illustrations go with this? Who else is counting? We know that Alden Solovy is. Rabbi Jill Hammer is, using Biblical women. Chabad is. Rabbi Lisa Bellows is.  

Can we come up with an action each day that illustrates chesed, gemilut chasadim?  

This year has been tough. On so many levels, not the least of which was being in the hospital when we started counting. Some say that if you interrupt the counting, it’s all over. I am choosing to begin again. It is not all over. Begin again.  

There is a tradition that the Israelites stood at the shores of the sea of reeds on the 7th day of Passover.  We read the Song at the Sea today. This service is so long that I skipped my remarks. Here is what I would have said today.

Today we stand on the brink. We are on the shores of the Sea of Reeds. In front of us a wall of water, beautiful but we don’t know how we can get across it. Behind us we can hear the thundering footstep of Pharaoh’s approaching, chasing army. What should we do? What can we do? Each of us just experienced a miracle. We were brought out of Egypt, out of the narrow places, with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. Now the fear is palpable. Is this the end? Why would Moses bring us here? We might be better off back in Egypt. People are starting to rumble. Oh no!  

Then GOD said to Moses, “Why do you cry out to Me? Tell the Israelites to go forward. And you lift up your rod and hold out your arm over the sea and split it, so that the Israelites may march into the sea on dry ground… Then Moses held out his arm over the sea and GOD drove back the sea with a strong east wind all that night, and turned the sea into dry ground. The waters were split. 

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t a slam dunk as they say in the basketball world. Yes, Moses held up his staff. And it took time. It wasn’t a Charleston Heston moment or a Val Kilmar one. The people were hesitant. Yet one guy, Nachson ben Aminidav, waded into the water. First a toe. Then up to his nostrils. The story appears both in the midrash and the Talmud. (Mechilta, Beshalach 5; Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer 42; Exodus Rabbah 13; and others. Sotah 37a.) 

This story should inspire us. It inspired King David who wrote,“I have sunk in muddy depths, and there is no place to stand; I have come into the deep water, and the current has swept me away . . . Let not the current of water sweep me away, nor the deep swallow me, and let the well not close its mouth over me.” (Psalms 69:3, 16) 

We will not be swept away. We will be like Nachson and act. 

Rabbi Menachem Schneerson, known as The Rebbe saw Nachshon’s deed as a call to action: “One fellow named Nachshon jumped into the sea, and caused the great miracle of the Splitting of the Sea. Technically, he was under no obligation to do so. But he knew that G‑d wanted Israel to move onward toward Sinai. So he did what he needed to do. There was a sea in his way. So he jumped into the sea and plowed on toward his goal. “The lesson for all of us is that we must stay focused on our life’s mission, disregarding all obstacles.” ((From a talk on 10 Shevat 5716)  Chabad adds, “Nachshon’s name has become synonymous with courage and the will to do the right thing, even when it’s not popular.” 

The Rev. Ginny McDaniel once asked me how the Jewish people see freedom. She was wrestling with whether prize freedom from something or for something. Those little prepositions mean a lot. In this country we are guaranteed by the Bill of Rights, the first 10 Amendments to the Constitution certain freedoms. That could be an important discussion today as our friends in Boston re-enact the battle from Boston to Lexington and Concord. You remember the poem, “Listen my children and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere. On the 18th of April in ‘75. Hardly a man is now alive to remember that famous day and year.” What were those patriots, those minutemen fighting for? What do we all fight for?  

One of those rights is to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That got codified in the Constitution and the amendments. The first amendment in the Bill of Rights says. “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.” We talk about that as freedom of religion.  

Simon’s haggadah has this quote, probably from Chaim Stern. It still resonates, maybe even more so this year: 

“Tonight, we participate as members of multiple communities. As Jews, the Exodus is our heritage, a equality, justice and peace are our dreams… 
Freedom from bondage and freedom from oppression 
Freedom from hunger and freedom from want 
Freedom from hatred and freedom from fear 
Freedom to think and freedom to speak 
Freedom to teach and freedom to learn 
Freedom to love and freedom to share 
Freedom to hope       and freedom to rejoice 
Soon, in our days Amen.” 

That’s how I answered Ginny.  

Freedom. We talked about it some last night. For those gathered it includes freedom to drive and freedom to travel. Freedom to assemble and freedom to speak one’s mind. For me it includes freedom to run and freedom to swing on a swing. Moshe Dayan said: “Freedom is the oxygen of the soul.” 

Passover is a very layered tradition. I’ve been thinking about that all week. The kids who helped in the kitchen this week will no doubt remember that all the days of their life. During Torah Study I told the story of my mother stealing, yes stealing apple sauce from Chute Middle School because the North Shore School of Jewish Studies had forgotten about charoset. No one will forget this year, or the year my father was in the hospital and he sent a telegram as Elijah.  

We are commanded to remember what the Lord did for us when we went forth from Egypt. To get the children to ask why. Why are we doing this? Why is this night different. And even in our most joyous moments, Passover, Shavuot, Sukkot and yes, Yom Kippur we add yizkor which we will do shortly. We remember. We remember that even in their haste, Moses remembered to take the bones of Joseph with him.  

We stand on the brink. When we got to the other side, because of G-d, Moses and Nachson, we sang.  

Mekhilta teaches us that while Ezekiel and Isaiah had visions of the Divine, “even a slave woman at the shore of the sea, saw directly the power of the Almighty in splitting the sea. All recognized in that instant their personal redemption and therefore all of them opened their mouths to sing in unison. 

Rabbi Sandy Sasso has just written a delightful children’s book. Miriam’s Dancing Shoes. It begins “It was time. Time to leave Egypt. Time for slavery to end. Time to be free.” But the people were not quite ready. They complained. About everything. But not Miriam. She carried a timbrel and her DANCING SHOES.! I have often wondered about this. Of all the things I could grab, I am not sure I would remember my tambourine! They followed her and her dancing shoes and the jingle of her tambourine. Think about that the next time we shake the rimonim putting away the Torah. She explained to Moses, that this is the song of hope. This is the song of freedom.  

“Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dancing. And Miriam chanted for them, “Sing to the Lord, who has triumphed gloriously. Horse and rider were thrown into the sea.” 

We stand on the brink. And we must learn to sing again. Whether it is in the voice of Val Kilmar , of blessed memory and the others in Prince of Egypt https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ocOs1zes4IA  or Debbie Friedman in “Miriam’s Song” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZdSEsZ8bMo  or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-olta6pVKIn  

Freedom requires that we take responsibility. As Central Synagogue reminds us that Martin Buber said, “The world needs redemption as an act of grace, and our responsibility is to make it worthy through our actions and beliefs,”  

So we stand on the brink. We put our toe in the water as Nachson did. As the Rebbe urges us or as another Menachem, Rabbi Menachem Creditor urges:  

“So go we must. Not alone. Not leaving anyone behind. When Pharaoh asked, “Who will go with you?” Moses replied, “Our elders and our children, our sons and our daughters.” Everyone. 

Freedom means everyone. 

And let me say it plainly: if we call it freedom but we’ve left someone behind—someone poor, someone disabled, someone forgotten, someone who looks or loves or prays differently—it’s not freedom. Not in the Jewish sense. Not in the holy sense. Not the kind we sing about at our Seders. 

I want no blood on my door if it means someone else must suffer. I want no celebration if it means someone else is left mourning. Yes, we sometimes must fight for freedom—but never with joy for the fight itself. Never with pride in the pain. 

So this is my promise, and I invite you to make it with me: 

I will step into the sea. 

I will not do it alone. 

I will hold the hand of someone who needs me, and I will let others hold mine. 

I will remember that my freedom is meaningless unless it includes yours. 

I will stand in the breach, even when I’m afraid, because faith demands courage before certainty. 

And when I pray, I will listen for the echo of my own voice telling me what I must do. 

The sea is waiting, friends. The wind has begun to blow. The moment is upon us. 

Let’s show up for each other. 

Let’s split the sea—together.” 

Giant waves parting the sea isolated on white, 3d render.

This portion gives me hope. I will join with Nachson, with Miriam, with that lowly bond woman, with both Menachem’. Together we will split the sea and come out on the other side. Joyously.  

This was not the Passover we dreamed of or planned for six months. It was in fact Passover. Here are my reflections from the day after being released from a 0 pressure room measuring 9×12. 

We had set out to do a Community Seder with a theme of Passover Around the World. We have members that come from 17 foreign countries (don’t make me name them all!), it would be more interactive than some, and it would interest the children in such a way to sit up, take notice and ask “Why?” Why is this night different? Why are we doing this? It is a way to tell the story. 

Then we welcomed Beth Tikvah Congregation and I enjoyed working with Cantorial Ilana Axel to plan what we hoped would be a meaningful and joyous celebration. And the music would be great too.  

We ordered a new-to-the congregation Haggadah that would be both modern and ancient, contain the traditional elements and enough transliteration to make it accessible to all—young and old. We planned an international menu and ordered international, kosher for Passover wines from the Men’s Club wine sale. I did most of the shopping, running into many (male) rabbis shopping for their community seders. The tables were set. They were beautiful. We learned that in Hungry and Austria people decorated the tables with jewelry because the Israelite women did not give up their gold for the golden calf. My daughter and I had started cooking. Hard boiled eggs, matzah ball soup, Asparagus Nicoise (recipe to follow).  

We went home to take a break and to “sell” the remaining chametz. Sarah did not like the looks of a rash, that the day before we all thought (including the docs) was contact dermatitis. We called my physicians. One made a 4PM Friday afternoon appointment available. The next thing I knew I was being sent to Advocate Lutheran General. We cancelled Friday night services on the way to the hospital. OY. 

As it turns out I had disseminated shingles. I could write volumes on that alone. For five days I was in a zero pressure room at the hospital that was 9×12. There are people who are really prisoners, who are really hostages, captives, slaves. One of the most powerful seders I have ever conducted was at Elgin Mental Health (a forensic jail essentially) with an inmate who was a PhD candidate at the University of Chicago in political science but who had “snapped.” We had both read Exodus and Revolution prior to the seder. (Worth the read everyone! Especially in these times.) But at the end of that seder, I walked out of that jail. He did not, although he eventually was able to.  

I get though a lot of life on my humor. It isn’t always easy. But there is an important truth to Passover. Each of us is to see ourselves as if we ourselves were rescued, redeemed, out of Egypt, out of the narrow places. This was my narrow place. How was I going to celebrate? How was I going to get out. The truth lay in the room service menu and a zoom link! That zoom view enabled me to have two intensely spiritual moments. 1. We did it. We got 85 people in the room to celebrate Passover. Wow! Even without me. The congregation really pulled together and made it happen. It was a powerful moment for me—and I hope for them. 2. The shehechianu prayer which praises G-d for keeping us alive and sustaining us and enabling us to reach this moment has always been powerful. There have been times when it wasn’t clear that I or a loved one or even the world would be here. And yet, for now at least, I am. Hineini. I cried. I let the tears flow. Really. Those of you who know me well know I don’t cry often.  

So the menu—i ordered what I could so I could follow along. It is true that Lutheran General has a kosher cabinet. And I am told that there were kosher for Passover tv dinners but no one knew where. They did know that there was matzah. So I ordered: 

• Matzah 

• Egg and salt 

• Grape juice 

• Apple sauce and raisins (think charoset) 

• A fruit plate (it had parsley, arugula and romaine) 

• And an orange—of course I would find an orange. 

So it is possible, with a little creativity to celebrate Passover anywhere. On a mountain top. At a synagogue. In a home. In a concentration camp or a tunnel. And yes, even in a 9×12 isolation room. It was amazing to follow along (at least until their dinner). And amazing the next night at the house, where I could participate as well—mostly. The discussion was excellent. This all brings me hope.  

All I can say to all who stepped up—thank you.  

I had written out a script to go with our new haggadah. What follows is an edited version:  

Passover is both ancient and modern. It is a layered telling of a historical event. In order to help prepare you for the Community Seder this weekend. We won’t be using all of them. 

As we begin the seder singing the song of the order of the seder we use an ancient Babylonian melody that Ilana will lead.  

In Turkey, as part of the Maggid, the doorbell may ring, and someone dressed in Middle Eastern garb enters. The dialogue may be, “Where are you coming from?” And the answer is “From the land of Egypt.” And where are you going? To the land of Israel. Cheers may erupt. Let’s see what happens. 

Jews in Tunisia do not use a seder plate; instead, the ritual foods that are otherwise found on a seder plate are placed into a reed basket, to remind us of Moses being placed in a basket as an infant. The matriarch of the house then takes the reed basket and hovers it over each guest’s head. The matriarch says, “We left Egypt.” The guest replies, “Yesterday, we were slaves. Today, we are free. This year, we are here. Next year, we will be free people in the land of Israel.” 

For Karpas, the green leafy hint of spring, dipped in salt water, we will use the parsley that the Torah School grew plus some Italian flat leaf parsley. In Ukraine, they use a potato. That is what was available.   

When we break the middle matzah for Yachatz, there are many traditions. Does the leader hide it? Do the kids? Let all who are hungry come and eat. We sing Halachma, written in Aramaic.. 

In India, for the Four Questions, the kid would hold the seder plate while asking the questions. The 3 matzahs would represent the Kohanim, Leviim and the Israelites and  would be marked with 1 2 or 3 lines. Maybe with a sharpie? And there would be 12 pieces of matzah, one for each of the 12 tribes.  In Mumbai, India, Jews mimic the Passover lamb’s blood that was smeared across the entrances to Israelite homes in Egypt on the eve of their liberation. The Indian Jews would dip their hands in the blood of a sheep or goat. Then, they press their hands to blank pieces of paper and hang the prints above their doorway. The imprint resembles a hamsa and like the amulet,  and symbolizes good luck and protection. Our Torah School kids did this project, not with actual blood but with red paint as a banner we hung over the door. 

In Israel, on a kibbutz, the seder is more like a school play that the kids rehearse. And there is a difference in the Four Questions: 

Why is this night from all other nights? 

On all other nights we eat either chamtz or matzah
On this night we eat only matzah. 

On all other night we eat sitting or reclining 

Tonight we all recline. 

On all other nights we eat a quick meal 

Tonight, the meal is longer and it’s a night for staying awake. 

On all other nights we talk about things in general 

On this night we talk about the exodus from Egypt. 

Jewish communities in Morocco recite a similar dialogue; however, Moroccan Jews use a seder plate rather than a reed basket. 

In Iran and Afghanistan, just before Dayenu, they use scallions to actually whip people sitting next to them as though they were slaves. before Dayenu. 

There are many different charoset recipes, each reflecting Jews around the world. As part of the appetizers, please enjoy the different tastes. Some say that the “recipe” for charoset comes from Song of Songs, which is read on Passover. A booklet of international recipes will be distributed to you for your dining pleasure next year, as your seder favor.  

What else is on the seder plate. Orange, olives. A beet. Sometimes we add a coffee bean or chocolate. 

This year we add a lemon to remember the hostages, still held in captivity..

 So tonight, we have talked about traditions in 12 countries and tasted the food or wine of six more. We hope that this has enriched your celebration and help to make you feel connected to Jews throughout the United States and around the world.   Next year in Jerusalem. Next year all the world redeemed.

Asparagus Nicoise Recipe 

2 pounds asparagus, trimmed 

2 Tbl. red wine vinegar 

2 tsp. Dijon mustard (I omit some year) 

2⁄3 cup olive oil 

2 shallots minced (or green onion) 

2 plum tomatoes, diced 

1⁄3 cup Niçoise olive, diced (Or canned Israeli) 

1 Tbl. drained capers (harder to find for Passover) 

Cook asparagus in large pot of boiling water until just tender, about five minutes. Drain. Transfer to serving platter. 

Whisk vinegar and mustard in small bowl. Gradually whisk in oil. Mix in shallots, tomatoes, olives and capers. 

Season to taste with salt and pepper. 

Pour over asparagus and serve. Can be served chilled, room temperature or hot. 

 Margaret Frisch Klein from Nelle S. Frisch from an old Bon Appetit.