וְאָמַרְתָּ֣ לְבִנְךָ֔ עֲבָדִ֛ים הָיִ֥ינוּ לְפַרְעֹ֖ה בְּמִצְרָ֑יִם וַיֹּצִיאֵ֧נוּ יְהֹוָ֛ה מִמִּצְרַ֖יִם בְּיָ֥ד חֲזָקָֽה׃
you shall say to your children, “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt and יהוה freed us from Egypt with a mighty hand.
מַתְחִיל בִּגְנוּת וּמְסַיֵּים בְּשֶׁבַח. מַאי בִּגְנוּת? רַב אָמַר: ״מִתְּחִלָּה עוֹבְדֵי עֲבוֹדָה זָרָה הָיוּ אֲבוֹתֵינוּ״. [וּשְׁמוּאֵל] אָמַר: ״עֲבָדִים הָיִינוּ״.
It was taught in the mishna that the father begins his answer with disgrace and concludes with glory. The Gemara asks: What is the meaning of the term: With disgrace? Rav said that one should begin by saying: At first our forefathers were idol worshippers, before concluding with words of glory. And Shmuel said: The disgrace with which one should begin his answer is: We were slaves.
עֲבָדִים הָיִינוּ לְפַרְעֹה בְּמִצְרָיִם, וַיּוֹצִיאֵנוּ ה' אֱלֹהֵינוּ מִשָּׁם בְּיָד חֲזָקָה וּבִזְרֹעַ נְטוּיָה. וְאִלּוּ לֹא הוֹצִיא הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא אֶת אֲבוֹתֵינוּ מִמִּצְרָיִם, הֲרֵי אָנוּ וּבָנֵינוּ וּבְנֵי בָנֵינוּ מְשֻׁעְבָּדִים הָיִינוּ לְפַרְעֹה בְּמִצְרָיִם. וַאֲפִילוּ כֻּלָּנוּ חֲכָמִים כֻּלָּנוּ נְבוֹנִים כֻּלָּנוּ זְקֵנִים כֻּלָּנוּ יוֹדְעִים אֶת הַתּוֹרָה מִצְוָה עָלֵינוּ לְסַפֵּר בִּיצִיאַת מִצְרָיִם. וְכָל הַמַּרְבֶּה לְסַפֵּר בִּיצִיאַת מִצְרַיִם הֲרֵי זֶה מְשֻׁבָּח.
We were slaves to Pharaoh in the land of Egypt. And the Lord, our God, took us out from there with a strong hand and an outstretched forearm. And if the Holy One, blessed be He, had not taken our ancestors from Egypt, behold we and our children and our children's children would [all] be enslaved to Pharaoh in Egypt. And even if we were all sages, all discerning, all elders, all knowledgeable about the Torah, it would be a commandment upon us to tell the story of the exodus from Egypt. And anyone who adds [and spends extra time] in telling the story of the exodus from Egypt, behold he is praiseworthy.
SLAVERY AND FREEDOM
In the Kovno ghetto in the early 1940s an extraordinary scene took place one morning in the makeshift synagogue. The Jews in the ghetto had begun to realize the fate that lay in store for them. They knew that none of them would escape, that the work camps to which they would be transported were in fact factories of death. And at the morning service, the leader of prayer, an old and pious Jew, could finally say the words no longer. He had come to the blessing in which we thank God for not making us slaves. He turned to the congregation and said: “‘I cannot say this prayer. How can I thank God for my freedom when I am now a prisoner facing death? Only a madman could say this prayer now.”
Some members of the congregation turned to the rabbi for advice. Could a Jew in the Kovno ghetto pronounce the blessing thanking God for not having made him a slave? The rabbi replied very simply. “Heaven forbid that we should abolish the blessing now. Our enemies wish to make us their slaves. But though they control our bodies they do not own our souls. By saying this blessing we show that even here we still see ourselves as free men, temporarily in captivity, awaiting God’s redemption.”
The hardest question for faith today is: Where was God in Auschwitz? Where was God when His faithful servants were being turned to ashes and dying as martyrs in their millions? Where was redemption when the Jews of Europe were gassed and burned and God was silent? That question haunts us on the night of Pesaḥ, because on this night we remember that slavery in Egypt was not the only, or even the worst, chapter of Jewish suffering. There have been pharaohs in every generation. And not only Jews have been their victims. There are peoples today who live under the threat of genocide. If God redeems – not in heaven but here on earth – where is His redemption?
The greatest prophets asked this question and received no answer. Nonetheless there is a fragment of an answer, and it was given by the rabbi in the Kovno ghetto. God has chosen only one dwelling place in this finite, physical universe and that is the human heart. Whenever we banish God from the heart, tragic things happen. When rulers set themselves in place of God, they begin by taking other people’s freedom and end by taking other people’s lives. There is a direct line from tyranny to idolatry to bloodshed. Our greatest defense is the knowledge that above all earthly powers is the supreme King of kings, God Himself, who has endowed all human beings with His image. No absolute ruler has ever succeeded in extinguishing that spark in the souls of a people, which expresses itself in a passion for freedom. That is why all tyrannies have failed and always will.
Where was God in the Kovno ghetto? In the hearts of those who, though they were prisoners in the valley of the shadow of death, insisted on pronouncing a blessing as free human beings. Their story has no simple happy ending, but they left us an immortal legacy: the knowledge that the human spirit cannot be killed, and that therefore freedom will always win the final battle.
In the Kovno ghetto in the early 1940s an extraordinary scene took place one morning in the makeshift synagogue. The Jews in the ghetto had begun to realize the fate that lay in store for them. They knew that none of them would escape, that the work camps to which they would be transported were in fact factories of death. And at the morning service, the leader of prayer, an old and pious Jew, could finally say the words no longer. He had come to the blessing in which we thank God for not making us slaves. He turned to the congregation and said: “‘I cannot say this prayer. How can I thank God for my freedom when I am now a prisoner facing death? Only a madman could say this prayer now.”
Some members of the congregation turned to the rabbi for advice. Could a Jew in the Kovno ghetto pronounce the blessing thanking God for not having made him a slave? The rabbi replied very simply. “Heaven forbid that we should abolish the blessing now. Our enemies wish to make us their slaves. But though they control our bodies they do not own our souls. By saying this blessing we show that even here we still see ourselves as free men, temporarily in captivity, awaiting God’s redemption.”
The hardest question for faith today is: Where was God in Auschwitz? Where was God when His faithful servants were being turned to ashes and dying as martyrs in their millions? Where was redemption when the Jews of Europe were gassed and burned and God was silent? That question haunts us on the night of Pesaḥ, because on this night we remember that slavery in Egypt was not the only, or even the worst, chapter of Jewish suffering. There have been pharaohs in every generation. And not only Jews have been their victims. There are peoples today who live under the threat of genocide. If God redeems – not in heaven but here on earth – where is His redemption?
The greatest prophets asked this question and received no answer. Nonetheless there is a fragment of an answer, and it was given by the rabbi in the Kovno ghetto. God has chosen only one dwelling place in this finite, physical universe and that is the human heart. Whenever we banish God from the heart, tragic things happen. When rulers set themselves in place of God, they begin by taking other people’s freedom and end by taking other people’s lives. There is a direct line from tyranny to idolatry to bloodshed. Our greatest defense is the knowledge that above all earthly powers is the supreme King of kings, God Himself, who has endowed all human beings with His image. No absolute ruler has ever succeeded in extinguishing that spark in the souls of a people, which expresses itself in a passion for freedom. That is why all tyrannies have failed and always will.
Where was God in the Kovno ghetto? In the hearts of those who, though they were prisoners in the valley of the shadow of death, insisted on pronouncing a blessing as free human beings. Their story has no simple happy ending, but they left us an immortal legacy: the knowledge that the human spirit cannot be killed, and that therefore freedom will always win the final battle.