Each year, Passover brings with it fond memories of attending the Seder at my grandparents’ home in Atlanta. Like many Jewish Americans of his generation, my grandfather was both a child of immigrants and a veteran. His parents came to the U.S. from Eastern Europe early in the 20th century. In 1944, he fought in the Battle of Hürtgen Forest, where he was shot in the head by German snipers. Thankfully, he survived, recovered, and ultimately received a Purple Heart.
Those complementary experiences — benefiting from the blessings of American democracy and risking his life defending it — made Grandpa a lifelong champion of freedom and equality for all. That’s why, for him, Passover wasn’t just any other holiday. Rather, it represented the essence of what it meant to be Jewish. As he led our Seder, he would emphasize that we as Jews annually commemorate the ancient Exodus not simply to celebrate our own freedom but also to recommit ourselves to the work of liberating all who are oppressed.
Last month, I carried Grandpa’s memory with me to our nation’s capital. I was part of a group of rabbis from across the country convened by American Jewish World Service (AJWS), a grantmaking organization inspired by Jewish values that champions human rights around the globe. Our delegation gathered in Washington, DC to speak with congressional leaders and administration officials, in part, about the collapse of civil society in Haiti. In recent months, the island nation has descended into violent chaos. Millions of innocents are caught in the crossfire of gangs and cartels, desperately yearning for a free and democratic future. I was honored to share Grandpa’s story, and his message, in the corridors of American power.
Of course, it was not lost on us, or on the leaders with whom we met, that as we discussed these issues, conflict and crisis was raging in the Middle East. As rabbis, this subject certainly weighed on our hearts. Yet while we believe it important for Jewish Americans to discuss the Israeli-Palestinian conflict with our elected officials, we were animated by a conviction that we, as Jews, are called to think bigger, to hold more expansive concerns than those that directly impact our own community. Judaism is ultimately about more than just the Jewish people and Jewish affairs, narrowly defined. To put it another way, a humanitarian disaster in Haiti and the oppression of other marginalized peoples are also Jewish concerns; for none are free unless all are free.
The haftarah for this final day of Pesah comes from the book of Isaiah. Contextually, this portion of Isaiah was written in the shadow of the cataclysmic Assyrian conquest of the northern kingdom of Israel in 722 BCE, which resulted in the disappearance – indeed, the apparent annihilation – of ten of the twelve Israelite tribes. And it foretells that the people of the southern kingdom of Judah will meet a similar fate: the kingdom, along with its capital city, Jerusalem, and the Temple, would be laid waste, with survivors forced into exile.
Yet in the passage we read, the prophet is positively jubilant, envisioning a restoration of Judah’s fortunes, that the people of Judah, hacked down to but a stump, will once again flower and flourish and bloom. This message, of course, parallels the story that is the ostensible focus of the Passover holiday – the Exodus, the liberation of the Children of Israel from their enslavement in ancient Egypt – a story that sees justice triumph over oppression; our ancestors saved from suffering, their degradation transformed into dignity as they are redeemed from the darkest depths of subjugation and lifted to luminous liberty.
But is that all Passover is about? Consider that the Seder is divided into two parts: the pre-dinner portion, which focuses on the story of the ancient Exodus from Egypt; and the post-dinner portion, which, by contrast, is decidedly forward-facing. We open the door for Elijah the Prophet, and pray for him to arrive, ushering in the messianic era. And at the Seder’s conclusion, we exclaim “Next year in Jerusalem!” affirming our hope that the coming year will herald a repaired and perfected world. Taken as a whole, the Seder is telling us that while our ancestors were redeemed from enslavement in Egypt, we still live in a broken world, filled with violence, hatred, oppression, poverty, and injustice. The Seder, then, aims to expand our field of vision – calling us to pay attention not only to our own people’s liberation but also, equally as important, to help build a world where all of God’s children are truly free.
Similarly, Isaiah’s prophecy that we read today begins by focusing on the local, but quickly shifts its attention to the global. It starts with the salvation of the people of Judah, but it concludes with a vision of universal redemption. Included in this vision are not only “the dispersed of Judah” (11:12) but also “the banished of Israel,” meaning the ten lost tribes of the northern kingdom, all of whom will be restored in dignity to their ancestral homeland “from the four corners of the earth.”
Importantly, Isaiah’s vision of ultimate redemption does not end with Israel alone. Rather, it expansively includes all peoples and nations in a vision of perfect justice that pervades the whole world – in which the distribution of resources is fair, all are honored as equals, and judgment is perfect; a world where no person suffers want, discrimination, or oppression.
And this vision of a radically inclusive society pervaded by perfect justice will result in unparalleled peace where “the wolf will dwell with the lamb,” where “The leopard will lie down with the kid; the calf, the beast of prey, and the fatling together, with a child to herd them. The cow and the bear will graze, their young will lie down together; and the lion, like the ox, will eat straw. A babe will play over a viper’s pit, and an infant will pass its hand over an adder’s den” (11:6-8). In this promised future, there will be no more enmity between peoples or war between nations, for the earth will be filled with a recognition of and commitment to common kinship under God as widespread as waters cover the seas (11:9).
Traditional commentators note that the perfect peace of Isaiah’s vision is not separate from his focus on inclusion and justice. Global harmony is the direct result, the inevitable outcome, of attaining equity for all.
Indeed, when we expand our field of moral vision and fight not just for ourselves, we can have an extraordinary impact. In our meetings in Washington, DC, I was repeatedly struck by how the expansiveness of our concerns visibly moved high-ranking government officials, inspiring them to embrace positions that had not been on their radar screens.
For example, our delegation was fortunate to meet with senior members of President Biden’s National Security Council (NSC) at the White House. During our conversation, these seasoned foreign policy experts shared that they wanted to speak to grassroots civil society groups in Haiti but were finding it difficult to identify partners in this moment of crisis. It so happens that building, maintaining, and strengthening relationships with activist groups is one of things AJWS does best. So right then and there, we were able to organize a conference call between NSC officials and AJWS's partners working to solve the crisis in Haiti. That’s the kind of difference we can make when we commit to caring across boundaries and beyond borders.
In our current world, replete with animosity and enmity, pervaded by conflict and war, the notion of completely fulfilling Isaiah’s vision may seem impossible, even ridiculous. Yet while we may not be able to achieve world peace on our own, all at once, or once and for all, Isaiah’s prophecy does in fact actually have a practical dimension:
Isaiah is reminding us that the first step toward ultimate redemption is to get to work pursuing a society that is pervaded by love and justice, not just for some, but rather for all. Make a highway, Isaiah says, to liberate all who are scattered and subjugated, destitute and desperate, just as a path opened for our ancestors to leave the land of Egypt. Hodiyu ba-amim alilotav, Isaiah instructs. Make real God’s redemptive deeds among all peoples. Muda’at zot b’khol ha-aretz, let God’s liberation be experienced throughout the world.
When we do this, proclaims the prophet, Ush’avtem mayim b’sasson mi-maynei ha-yeshua – then joyfully will we draw water from the fountains of salvation, quenching the thirst of all who are parched by oppression, overcoming a world where suffering and strife presently pervades by advancing inclusion and justice for all.
In this perilous moment, in which our world feels as far from perfect as many of us have experienced in our lifetimes, it is tempting to retreat inward, circle the wagons, and care exclusively for our own. But today, we are called not only to recall our people’s own liberation, but also to secure liberation for all who dwell on earth.
Passover reminds us that none are free unless all are free. We can, and must, open up and reach out. And when we do, we will bring our world a little closer to the true vision and mission of this holiday – the vision of ultimate, universal redemption, not for some, but, rather, for all.
So may it be God’s will. Amen.
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