Unprecedented Passover
On Passover, Jewish families around the world recall the great liberation story of the Hebrew Bible in which the multitude of Israelite slaves escape from oppression in Egypt. We read of Moses confronting Pharaoh and saying, “Let my people go!” But Pharaoh refuses, and 10 plagues are inflicted on his house and all through the land. The river water turns to blood, the land is filled with frogs, lice and flies. Disease attacks the cattle. And then come boils, hail, locusts, and darkness. The final affliction is the horrifying killing of the firstborn. The Angel of Death “passes over” the homes of the Israelites. They are spared, but they hear wailing in the homes of their Egyptian neighbors where the firstborn have died.
Though the Egyptians are portrayed as oppressors, we do not celebrate their suffering. Quite the contrary. In the Passover Seder, our ritual meal, we intentionally remove drops of wine or juice from our cups, lessening our joy in sympathy for the suffering of our adversaries.
As our beautiful springtime festival approaches we ask: Why is this Passover different from all other Passovers?
In years past, Jewish American families have read the story, mindful of ongoing oppression in the world, but relatively safe and secure in our homes. This year we’ll read while isolated, separated from our customary beloved guests, the extended family members and friends who make the holiday so special. Some of us may gather in Zoom rooms, but we won’t be able to share our favorite holiday foods, nor will grandparents kiss their grandchildren.
How will it feel this year when we read of the plagues and pestilence that laid low the Egyptians, as we try to protect ourselves, our families and our neighbors from the COVID-19 virus, knowing that all around the globe so many are being struck down? How will we read of the death of the first born, knowing that a disproportionately high number of first born children are doctors, working heroically with other medical professionals on the front lines of the crisis?
The Hebrew name for Egypt is Mitzrayim, meaning “the narrow place.” This may have referred to the configuration of Egyptian cities and settlements along the Nile River which provides a narrow green strip of sustenance in a harsh landscape. This year on Passover we’ll think of the vulnerability of people all over the globe who live packed together in refugee camps, ghettos and regions held captive in the confines of poverty. Only a few miles wide and 30 miles long, the Gaza Strip is home to nearly two million people, making it one of the most densely populated and poorest places on earth. What will happen as COVID-19 hits Gaza where the medical system is already near collapse? And how will the poverty and disease across the border affect our cousins and friends in Israel, who are already impacted by skyrocketing rates of infection in close-knit ultra-orthodox communities?
This will be a Passover like no other. Nor will Easter be the same for our Christian friends and relatives, and our Muslim acquaintances and family members will undertake the rigorous Ramadan fast in the midst of the isolation. Although President Trump wanted the country “open up and just raring to go” by April 12, thankfully cooler heads prevailed and federal social distancing guidelines were extended to the end of April. If we’re diligent and disciplined, and we succeed in flattening the curve of new infections, then we may be able to gather again by the end of May, in time for the Muslim holy day of Eid al Fitr, the Jewish Shavuot, and Christian Pentecost.
But if there’s still danger, we’ll exercise patience, restraint and common sense, and celebrate at home. And we should consider ourselves lucky to do so, knowing that more than 4 million people are without shelter here in the U.S., and that includes 2.5 million children, one in every 30. Shame on us for tolerating this for so long! Worldwide we have a staggering 150 million people unsheltered, and 100 million of them are children. We must hold them all in our thoughts and prayers through this terrible crisis. And when it’s over, we must give as generously as we can, work for a safer society, and elect leaders who are compassionate and effective.
As it strikes rich and poor alike, old and young, people of all ethnicities, faiths and philosophies, COVID-19 is giving us a harsh lesson in just how interconnected we are on this small, beautiful and fragile planet. When we hear the sorrowful cries of our neighbors, we must not harden our hearts nor distract ourselves with trivialities. We must take action to bring about the harmonious world we want and need.
Despite the fearsome story, the theme of Passover is not despair. The message is hopeful: Oppression will end, liberation is possible, and from generation to generation we will thrive and grow in wisdom.
On Passover we ask ourselves: Have we lived up to the high ideals articulated by the ancient Hebrew prophets? Do we cherish kindness and fairness? Do we care only for our own liberation or are we pulling for the many? Do we exert ourselves to serve others, especially those in need? Do we honor our fellow humans as made in the Divine image? Do we practice loving our neighbors as we love ourselves?
In the absence of strong national leadership, our governors, supervisors and mayors have shouldered the burden of responding to COVID-19. Like Moses, Aaron and Miriam leading the Israelites across the Red Sea, our elected leaders and public health officials are guiding us through a dangerous time. We owe them our gratitude, and they need our complete cooperation if we are to make it to the Promised Land of health, liberty and justice for all.