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Rabbi Karp's Sermons ... PASSOVER'S LIVING
MESSAGE I
want to try something with you, and I am going to need your cooperation.
So bear with me and play along.
What we are going to do is somewhat “California-ish”; a bit
touchy-feely, but it has a point if you will give it a chance.
It is an exercise called “guided imagery.”
It will require you to relax, lower your defenses, and use your
imagination, in a way that some of you may not have used it since you were
children. So
the first thing I want you to do is to settle into your seats in a
comfortable position. Now,
close your eyes and relax. That
shouldn’t be too hard. After
all, this is a sermon! I’m
going to want you to keep your eyes closed throughout this exercise, and
really relax. In fact, take a deep breath, hold it in, and let it out
slowly. Let’s do that
again. Take a deep breath,
hold it in, and let it out slowly. Now
that you are relaxed, I am going to try to paint for you a picture with
words. I want you to place
yourselves inside of this picture.
I want you to imagine experiencing what it is I will be describing.
I want you to see the images; feel the sensations; hear the sounds.
Ready? Here goes. You
are an ancient Israelite, recently freed from slavery in Egypt. You are clothed in robes.
Their material is coarse, rope like.
But still, they are loose fitting.
They hang on you. It
is as if your shoulders are the only point of contact between you and
them. You can feel the breeze
through them. In fact, they
make you feel free, unfettered. On
your feet, you are wearing sandals. Your
feet are practically open to the air.
You can wiggle your toes without obstruction.
Your feet also feel free. You
are not alone. You are in the
company of thousands of other Israelites - former slaves - just like
yourself. They are all around you.
The air is filled with the sound of voices and the noises of a
large crowd. You
are standing at the shore of the Red Sea.
The sea has just parted, and you are about to step into it.
It is an unbelievable sight. The
walls of water on either side of you.
Towering above you. You
cannot take your eyes off of them. As
you step into the sea, you feel the wind in your face and against your
body. It is the same wind
that is holding back the water. The
air is filled with the ocean mist. It
is like standing in a fine rain. It
penetrates your clothes. You
taste its salty taste. It
tastes like the salt water on the seder table.
As you walk, your sandals sink into the moist sand of the ocean
floor. You feel it between
your toes. It is like walking
on a beach, when the tide has gone out. It is not easy walking, especially since you are mesmerized
by the walls of water around you. It
is hard to concentrate on forward progress. Suddenly,
you hear a sound, a rumble. It
is the sound of many voices screaming; screaming in terror.
You turn around, and behind you, behind those Israelites that are
following you, you see in the distance the Egyptian chariots.
They are entering the sea. They
are entering at the same spot where but moments before you stood. You
are filled with panic. Your
body is tense and you cannot run fast enough.
Running is very hard in the wet sand.
Your legs ache. You
are short of breath. Your wet
clothing is clinging to you, as if it is trying to hold you back.
Yet you keep pushing on. You
can see the opposite shore in front of you.
It is not that far away. But
now it is all up hill. You
are straining. You are
aching. You are sweating. You
are praying that you will find the strength to make it. You are almost to the top.
You are completely breathless.
Your entire body aches. The
dry land is just but steps away. All
you can see is the ground immediately in front of you, bobbing up and down
with each painful step. Suddenly,
you have broken out of the sea. You
are on dry sand. You made it!
You are free! You stop, completely out of breath. You turn around to see what’s behind you.
You see the last of the Israelites desperately cresting the
shoreline, just as you did. You see the sea, from the opposite side, beginning to close
in. The rear of the Egyptian
forces are already being washed away.
You know that none of them will make it.
You are stunned, yet happy. They
will not catch you. They will
not stop you. You are truly
free. (Play
Debbie Friedman’s “B’chol Dor VaDor”). This
song, by Debbie Friedman, whose text is found in our Haggadah, says it
all: “B’chol dor va-dor - In every generation - chayavim anu - we are
obligated - lirot et atzmeinu - to look upon ourselves - ke-ilu yatzanu
miMitzrayim - as if we (ourselves personally) came out of Egypt.” If
our guided imagery exercise worked, then perhaps - just perhaps - you’ve
had a little taste of what it must have been like to be a Jew who actually
left Egypt. Perhaps - just
perhaps - you began to fulfill that obligation to look upon yourself as if
you personally came out of Egypt. Of
all the messages of the Passover seder, that message is indeed the most
important. It is important
for us to never lose sight of what it was like to be a runaway slave.
It is important to us never to take for granted the sweet taste of
newly acquired freedom. It is
important for us never to forget the heavy burdens of servitude and the
sting of the taskmaster’s whip. For
once we lose sight of these things, once we forget these things, once we
take what blessing we have for granted, we become greatly diminished as
human beings; as appreciative human beings, as sensitive human beings, as
compassionate human beings. There
is a wonderful Hasidic story, which I have shared with you in the past,
which so beautifully drives home this important message.
It is about a poor man who could not afford to purchase wood for
the fire to heat his home for the winter.
So he left his freezing family and went to the home of the
wealthiest man in town, seeking some tzedakah, or at least a loan.
The wealthy man turned him down.
So the poor man went to the rabbi, seeking his counsel, enlisting
his support. Upon hearing his
story, the rabbi immediately went to the wealthy man’s home.
He knocked on the door, and when the wealthy man answered, the
rabbi said, “I need to speak with you on an important matter.”
“Of course, rabbi! Come in!” the
wealthy man responded. “No,”
said the rabbi. “It’s
won’t take that long. You
just come out.” And the
wealthy man did. And the
rabbi began to talk. He
quoted verses from Torah and Talmud and Midrash and commentaries.
It was all very scholarly, but not very much to the point. The wealthy man, shivering in the cold without a coat, said
“Rabbi. I am sorry, but I
do not see your point. Come
inside and we’ll talk about it” “No,
that’s not necessary. Just
wait. It will become clear in
a minute.” And the rabbi
droned on. Finally, not able
to take the cold any longer, the wealthy man burst out saying, “Rabbi! I have no idea of what you are talking about!
I am freezing. I can’t stand this cold any more. Please! Come
inside now!” The rabbi then
turned to the man and said, “If you cannot stand this cold, after this
short time, then tell me. How
do you think it feels for this other fellow and his family who must live
with this cold all the time? This
other fellow, to whom you denied the money to purchase the wood to warm
his home.” We
human beings can learn in many ways, but we learn most effectively through
our experiences. However, we
have also been given some great gifts.
They are the gifts of empathy, and of our own imagination.
Through these gifts, we can begin to identify with the experiences
of others, without actually having those experiences.
We can put ourselves in their shoes without actually being in their
shoes. We can begin to feel
their pain, and we can begin to appreciate their joy. The
Passover seder does this magnificently.
Those who framed this ritual were truly educational geniuses.
The harshness of the matzah, the Bread of Affliction.
The bitterness of the maror. The
salt water tears. Just
looking at the charoset, so much like the mortar with which the slaves
made Pharoah’s bricks. The
litany of “Dayeinu,” “It Would Have Been Enough.”
The taking of wine, our symbol of joy, out of our cups as we recite
each of the Ten Plagues. So
much of the seder is intended for us to revisit the Passover story through
experience, and not just through words.
For it is only when we begin to experience it, that we can begin to
fully appreciate it. But
why is this so important for us?
Why is it not enough to simply retell the story?
Our lives are not their lives.
We are not slaves. We
are a free people in a free land. We
have wealth. We have comfort. We
have security. We have
everything that they did not have. Why
is it not enough for us to just remember what they went through?
To tell the story and leave it at that? It
is not enough, for the story is not yet over.
The story continues as long as there is suffering in the world. The story continues as long as there is someone who is being
persecuted or discriminated against; as long as there is someone who is
being treated like a slave. As
long as such people exist, we who are former slaves ourselves, cannot sit
idly by. We must remember the
pain of our own suffering and the elation of our own liberation so that we
can better appreciate what it is they are going through and how important
liberation is for them. We must remember the pain of our own suffering and
the elation of our own liberation so that we can accept, without question
or doubt, our responsibility to aid and assist these people in their quest
for liberation, in every way possible. There
are so many in our world, in our society, and indeed, in our community who
are such victims, and in need of our help.
I will not enumerate them for you now.
You know many of them and their causes all too well.
However, there is one group I wish to bring to your attention.
For some strange reason we do not hear too much about these people
and their suffering from the American news media.
Why? I do not know.
Yet their suffering is real, and their need for our help is also
real. I
am speaking about the victims of slavery - modern day slavery - in Sudan. For the past several years, there has been a brutal civil war
being fought there; a war being fought primarily over religious lines.
Like the American Civil War, it is a war between the North and the
South. However, in North
Sudan, there is a fundamentalist extremist Islamic government that is
striving to suppress the Christians and the Animists who populate the
South. The Islamic forces
raid the South, attacking villages, in which they slaughter all the men
and take the women and children as captives.
These captives are then sold into slavery. Often, these slaves are also forced to convert to Islam, and
tragically, many of them are genitally mutilated. We
cannot stand idly by and permit this situation to continue.
This Passover, we need to pledge ourselves to the cause of ending
slavery in Sudan. To this
end, I wish to give each of you a special prayer to be said at your seder
tables this weekend. I also
wish to call upon you to contact your Senators and Congressmen, and
encourage them to support the Sudan Peace Act.
This bill which is before Congress condemns Sudan for its practices
of slavery and other human rights abuses and expresses Congress’ support
for an internationally sanctioned peace process.
In addition, it would authorize the Secretary of State to support
the peace process with resources and diplomatic efforts. You
can do this very easily, if you are on the internet.
All you need to do is go to the website of the Religious Action
Center of Reform Judaism. Through
that website, you can send letters to all your legislators with just a few
clicks of your mouse. So
little effort can accomplish so much good! Another
prayer found in our Haggadah is “Avadim hayinu le-Faroh beMitzrayim. Ve-yotzeinu Adonai Eloheinu misham beyad chazakah u-vizro’ah
nituyah. - We were slaves to Pharoah in Egypt.
But the Eternal our God brought us out of Egypt with a strong hand
and an outstretched arm.” We,
who are now free, as we celebrate our freedom, must resolve ourselves to
serve as God’s agents in the cause of freedom for all people. This
is the living message of Passover. |
