When Eden Becomes Egypt, it’s Time to Get Out

Every Passover I try to relate the story to my own life. What is my Egypt? How do I get out? Mitzrayim, from the word Tzar or narrow, is a state of limitation and constriction, a status quo, an unwillingness to grow beyond. It is a stagnant place of acceptance of where you are in life, who you are, and what you’ve accomplished, alongside a subtle hum of self-talk that tells you to stop trying to challenge yourself because mediocrity is at least safer than failed attempts at growth and change. Therein lies the temptation to remain in the safety and relative comfort of Egypt the rest of your life, a place or state of being that has literally clipped your wings and tied you down.

Paradoxically, while you find yourself stuck, the sands keep shifting beneath your feet. The place or situation that is your Egypt today, might not have been your Egypt yesterday. Your Egypt might have even been your Eden, the perfect place and situation for you at a previous time of your life. Whether your situation is an Egypt or an Eden is not so much about the place or situation itself, but about the timing. If we think about the Matzah we eat on Pesach we run into the same issue of timing being of utmost importance. Both Matzah and Chametz are made of the same basic ingredients, flour and water. The difference between Matzah and Chametz is simply a matter of how much time the flour and water spend together; if it is less than 18 minutes, it is considered Matzah and Kosher for Passover. Yet, even one second more than 18 minutes is now Chametz and unable to be eaten on the holiday.

This aspect of time is crucial. On Pesach we are called to analyze where we are in our own lives right now in comparison to where we were last year, or last month. Is that job that was perfect for you five years ago still the best job for you today? It can be hard for us to get the courage to leave what we are used to, even if it is a job that we know is not the right fit anymore. Or perhaps the one-bedroom apartment where you and your husband started your married life together a few years ago was the ideal place to grow together. Now, you’ve been blessed with two children and you’ve literally outgrown your apartment so it is time to move on to a bigger home. Will there be nostalgia packing up your first home together? Will it be challenging both financially and emotionally, to start over somewhere else? Yes, absolutely. The forty years in the desert presented Bnei Israel with many opportunities to undergo a cognitive, emotional and behavioral shift from slavery to freedom and it is a process we are faced with as we make changes in our own lives, as we leave our place of contentment and journey forward into new uncharted territory.

Lunch before the first night of Pesach is tricky. It is a strange, in-between sort of place, where we can’t eat bread anymore, and are supposed to wait to eat the first bite of Matzah at the Seder itself. That space between slavery and freedom is the most challenging of all, when we’ve just begun challenging ourselves, reflecting on our limitations, and taking the first steps in our long struggle to break the chains that bind us. Yet perhaps this in-between place, this journey of self-discovery and soul-accounting, is the most beautiful time of our lives, when we don’t yet have the answers, but everything is still possible. The first step in this in-between place is simply saying the words aloud to yourself; I’m stuck, and it is time for a change. The words themselves propel you forward into action. Passover in Hebrew is Pesach, a combination of two words, Pe and Sach, a mouth that speaks. Speaking your mind is one of the essential aspects of freedom; you must be able to speak up for yourself if you are truly a free person.  Whether or not you are able to make it through the narrow confines of whatever your present situation is and make it across the Sea of Reeds this Pesach or not, I hope you can take that first step of making the choice to leave your Egypt, of saying those words aloud and making concrete plans of what you can do step by step to expand your current state of constriction.

Words and speech itself are so essential to the Exodus story that due to his inability to speak properly, Moshe is paired up with his brother Aaron for their historic mission. Though Moshe is the first person we think of when recalling those famous words “let my people go,” it is his older brother Aaron who probably spoke the words themselves. When Hashem chooses Moshe to start the process of advocating for Bnei Israel’s freedom, Moshe declines; he can’t believe God would choose a man of blocked lips and doesn’t acquiesce to the mission until God reassures him that Aaron will be his spokesman. We find that although Moshe puts up resistance to Hashem and is an unwilling leader, Aaron never talks back to or argues with God or Moses. Can you imagine the scenario? By some twist of fate you don’t quite understand, your younger brother who was raised by a wealthy family runs away for a few years and when he returns suddenly tells you he’s been talking to God and needs your help to start a revolution. The Torah never indicates that Aaron ever questioned Moshe. He doesn’t ask Moshe for proof that he was God’s messenger. Instead, we find that Aaron is a willing and eager follower of God’s commandments and never expresses any doubts. It is Aaron who convinces the elders to believe in Moshe, it is also Aaron who casts his staff down to become a snake.  All of this is despite the fact that most of the conversations with God are somewhat like a game of telephone; Hashem speaks to Moshe and asks Moshe to then tell Aaron what to do, instead of speaking to Aaron directly. And yet Aaron is so essential to the story that he, rather than Moshe, is the one who brings forth the first 3 plagues of blood, frogs and lice.

What can we learn from Aaron, the man who happily helped his younger brother become the most well recognized name in all of history, the man who unquestioningly dedicated his life to God and Bnei Israel? He represents faith, loyalty, teamwork, and humility. He was a peacemaker. According to tradition, when Aaron heard that two people were arguing, he would go to each of them separately and tell them how much the other regretted his actions, until the two people agreed to face each other. As Rabbi Hillel said, “Be disciples of Aaron, loving peace and pursuing peace, loving people and drawing them near the Torah.” If only we could focus our energies on being peacemakers instead of magnifying and vilifying our differences.

There are times in our lives where we will be Moshe front and center but there will also be times when we will be called to be Aaron. We will be called to do great things for others, and many times we will do those things privately. Nobody will write an article about us, and we won’t gain thousands of social media followers. Perhaps our siblings or our spouses will be the ones who garner the attention and when that happens, we should encourage those we love and work behind the scenes to make sure they succeed. Let us embrace our role as Aaron, humble, faithful and loving, willing to speak our words out loud even if at first we ourselves will be the only ones who hear those words.

Amidst the unending tragedy of present-day slavery with our brothers still held hostage by Hamas, the thousands of wounded soldiers whose lives have been permanently scarred, and those from every walk of life who have endured unspeakable trauma, it is nearly impossible to find hope. But that is precisely when we must hope more fervently than ever before, like Nachshon Ben Aminadav caught between the advancing Egyptian army and a raging sea who bravely jumped in before God split the Sea of Reeds. It certainly feels like we are up to our necks in successive waves of disaster these days. So maybe, just maybe, redemption and freedom are just a moment away, so close, we can almost taste it.