On Passover, we celebrate freedom and survival. But we also remember the difficulty of the Exodus, and the challenges along the way. This duality is central to the holiday and embodied in many aspects of the Seder. For example, the matzah reminds us both of freedom and slavery; the wine is symbolic of jubilation and the blood of those lost in servitude.
The maror focuses on the bitterness of the Egyptian experience, yet is also used to enhance the savory taste of the Paschal sacrifice. The haroset directs our memory both to the fragrant apple orchards in which Jewish women would secretly birth their children in the belief of a brighter future, and to the thick mortar the Jewish slaves would prepare in their labor.
We are commanded to not only remember the flight from Egypt but to relive it through story and ritual as if we ourselves were there. All of us should wrestle with this balance between victory and loss, which feels more poignant this year than ever.
Ideally, remembering and reflecting on the costs of victory over our enemies makes us even more appreciative of the resulting freedom. On a spiritual level, these intertwined lessons of sacrifice and survival against all odds can also serve as a mandate to pursue what we believe is necessary, even if the cost is high.
Passover after 18 months of war
This concept resonates even more powerfully this Passover, as after more than 18 months of war, we see and feel as a nation both progress and the enormous sacrifices and losses made to arrive at this point.
Since last Passover, there has indeed been progress in the war. More hostages have returned home; Hamas and Hezbollah are weaker; Iran is more vulnerable, and several key terror leaders have been removed, including Yahya Sinwar, Ismail Haniyeh, and Hassan Nasrallah.
At the same time, our losses have grown – more soldiers have fallen, more hostages have been murdered, and so many of our young and not-so-young soldiers have been wounded. Tens of thousands of Israelis have continued to serve more days of reserve duty, away from their families with their lives at risk.
These enormous costs make our progress possible. They also imbue our defensive fight with meaning, ultimately making these sacrifices holy, bringing the themes of the Passover Seder into our real everyday lives.
Haredi draft refusal does not align with Passover's message
However, today only some are carrying the bulk of the burden of those sacrifices: With their continued refusal to serve in the IDF, the ultra-Orthodox sector is experiencing the benefits of progress in the war, without directly making a contribution. This is deeply immoral and puts the entire country at risk – as the army faces staffing challenges that could be solved if more people served.
It also goes against the Halacha of Jewish war, which commands that in certain situations, all men must serve. Today we are in one of these situations of “milchemet mitzvah/chova,” or a war of defense that is a religious obligation for all to participate in (Sotah 8:7). The refusal to serve is in opposition to the spiritual lesson of Passover that sacrifices and hardships are required for true redemption.
How is it possible for those who do not serve to truly internalize the notion of redemption? When an entire community, even those who never visit a beit midrash (study hall), are actively refusing to make the contributions and sacrifices required to ensure the safety and security of the Jewish people, can they celebrate the Passover experience?
None of us would have wished for this war, or to have to pay these costs, or even to see others suffer from the inevitable collateral damage. This very human feeling is also validated as part of the duality of the Seder: As we recall the plagues, we spill out wine from our cup not just to recall these events that weakened the Egyptians, but also in order to properly acknowledge that in the suffering of others our cup must not be full. However, both today and in biblical times, the Jewish people had to struggle, fight, and experience losses in order to achieve redemption.
Our fight is not over; we have a long journey ahead of us. My prayer this Passover is that we all absorb the lessons of the holiday – that real redemption requires sacrifice – and make sure we are doing our part. For it is only when every Jew embraces this burden that we will truly understand the slavery and freedom in the matzah, and the blood and jubilation in the wine.
This is how we came out of Egypt, and it is the only way we can thrive as a secure country and once again move closer to the ultimate redemption – as individuals, as a people, and as a nation.
The writer, a rabbi, is president and rosh ha’yeshiva of Ohr Torah Stone.