A Passover Lesson on Freedom in the Middle of a Pandemic

One of the reasons I like Passover so much is the many ways that is relevant to our spiritual journey. The apex of the Passover seder is the telling of the Passover story (מגיד). The recitation of מגיד is not for its own sake. It is meant to be a symbolic and vicarious living of the Passover story. There is one aspect of the story that we do not relive in other years that we get to live in the Jewish year 5780 (or 2020 on the Gregorian calendar).

We are in the middle of the coronavirus pandemic. The individuals in the Exodus narrative also dealt with ten plagues. The last of the Ten Plagues was the death of the firstborn son (Exodus 11:4-6). The Israelites painted lamb's blood on their doorposts, and G-d passed over their homes, sparing their children from the last plague (Exodus 12:7, 13). We might have social distancing instead of sacrificing a lamb, but the fact that we are staying in our homes because we are waiting for a plague to pass over us brings alive the Passover story in a way we very well might not experience again in our lives.

In light of the pandemic, the spirit of Passover is different than it has been in previous years. Much like the Israelites stayed in their homes to wait for the plague to pass over, so too are we to stay in our homes during Passover during the coronavirus pandemic. It will be the first time I have done Passover seder alone. It feels confining and contrary to the spirit of Passover being "the time of our freedom" (זמן חרותנו). How can I be free if I cannot spend time with loved ones? What is freedom when so many of our normal activities are verboten? Can I find freedom this Passover, and if so, where?

First, I think it is important to reflect on how the Israelites developed their sense of freedom. It didn't stop once they were out of reach of the Egyptians. It was developed in the wilderness (במדבר). The Israelites were not near any civilizations. They did not have access to any real material wealth to speak of. They were a nomadic people that were fed by manna that fell from the sky. Their freedom was found during a time where material wealth was lacking. As a matter of fact, the Rabbis taught (מרבה נכסים, מרבה דאגה): that the more property (read: material wealth) you have, the more worries you have (Pirke Avot 2:7).

One of the factors that is driving the coronavirus-related anxiety through the roof is the uncertainty. There is uncertainty as to how long the pandemic will last, how deadly it is, and how much economic damage our response to coronavirus is causing. Although all pandemics come to an end, we see no end in sight. In his book "Everything is F*cked: A Book About Hope," self-help author Mark Manson talks about why we are more anxious and prone to suicide, even though the world is, by most metrics, better than it has ever been. Manson's answer is that although we have material wealth that could only be imagined by our ancestors and a quality of life that is quite high by historical standards, we become anxious because we have more to lose. We have become so accustomed to a certain lifestyle and a certain quality of life that something like the coronavirus really throws us off. To echo the Rabbis, מרבה נכסים, מרבה דאגה.

The path to freedom is not in material wealth, but is in spiritual wealth. We develop that spiritual wealth in our minds. Victor Frankl said that the last of human freedoms is "to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's one way. And there were always choices to make." Just as relevant of a Victor Frankl quote is my favorite Victor Frankl quote:

"When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves."

This quote holds true regardless of our current situation. I can tell you right now Victor Frankl didn't have an easygoing life. The man survived four concentration camps during the Holocaust, and his takeaway was still we choose our attitude and our responses to the situation. Freedom is about the culmination of choices we make, even during a pandemic.

This concept is in the Passover seder. Eating bitter herbs (מרור) is a mandatory part of the Passover seder because we are meant to taste the bitterness that the Israelites felt during their slavery (Exodus 12:8; Talmud Pesachim 120a). Eating the sweet, dark-colored paste known as charoset (חרוסת) is optional (Mishnah Pesachim 10:3; Talmud, Pesachim 114a, 116a). Why is the latter optional? The Rabbis said it was to blunt the taste of the bitter herbs (Talmud Pesachim 116a). I took that idea a step further a few years back by saying that bitterness in life is inevitable (it is the first of the Four Noble Truths in Buddhism), but we have the option of adding sweetness to our own lives. There are a few ways that we can metaphorically take off the edge of the bitter herbs:

1. Gaining and developing perspective. When we sing the song והיא שעמדה (Ve'hi She'amda) during the Seder, we are reminded that we have experienced difficult and seemingly insurmountable challenges. The Jewish people have dealt with not just the Egyptians, but the Greeks, Romans, Spanish Inquisition, Nazis, and the Jewish people are still here. Dealing with challenges in life is not unique to the Jewish people. It is a universal theme that cuts across every group of people. Also, let's remember that other plagues in history, whether it is the Black Plague, yellow fever, or the 1918-1920 Spanish Flu, pandemics do come to an end. One the one hand, we have to understand the gravitas of the present danger. On the other hand, it might not seem like it now, but there is an end, and developing that perspective should develop resilience in uncertain times. 
2. Gratitude. During the Passover seder, we sing the song Dayenu. One of the lessons that Dayenu teaches us is that we are to be grateful for each incremental step. Gratitude is not meant only for the easy times. If anything, it becomes all the more important during the difficult times. As the Rabbis said, "Who is rich? One who rejoices in their portion" (Pirke Avot 4:1).
3. Humility. The difference between matzah and chametz is subtle. They are both made of flour and water, but chametz is fermented. Metaphorically speaking, that "puffiness" is the ego. Judaism defines humility not as meekness, but understanding one's place in the world. It involves not self-deprecation, but self-awareness. As motivational speaker Charlie Haray points out, only through introspection were the Jewish people ready to escape the bonds of slavery and begin their journey of freedom. While we cannot go to our favorite restaurants or attend public events, we can take Passover as a time to ask us who we are, what we value, and what makes life worthwhile. 
4. Kindness out of brokenness. The beginning of the seder has a breaking of the middle matzah called יחץ. This brief ceremony reminds us of the brokenness that comes with life. We are all feeling brokenness on some level right now on some level. However, just because we feel broken doesn't mean we are helpless. Go back to the Victor Frankl quote: we are challenged to change ourselves when we cannot change the situation. The seder begins with brokenness, but it doesn't end there. It ends with singing songs of praise (הלל) and finding that broken piece of matzah (אפיקומן) as a symbol of finding redemption from slavery. That redemption was not brought by any individual, but was on a communal level. Especially in a global society, we are more interconnected than we could possibly imagine. We can choose to call our family and friends, help out a neighbor, and support each other in our time of need. We are in this together. 

חג כשר ושמח!