The Secret To Jewish Survival

The smell of fresh Matzah and juicy meat mingles in the air. Although the Seder has just begun, there have already been numerous grape juice spills This year, my sisters and I are spending Passover by my sister and brother-in-law for the first time, yet the familiar scents and scenes of the many Passovers from my childhood seems to have found its way to Pittsburgh.

I smile softly as I take in the scene in front of me:

The entire Seder table is focused on my two young nieces who captivate their audience as they ask the Four Questions to their parents and aunts with pride. We applaud enthusiastically as the two children finish the last of the questions. They then sing the ancient melody that begins the story telling portion of the Hagadah. The girls begin a lively rendition of"Avadim HaYeinu . . . we were slaves".

My siblings and I continue the Levin family tradition of taking turns reading the story of our miraculous exodus from Egypt.

I have read and learned the Hagadah for well over two decades, both in school and on my own time.

But as I read through each passage during this year's Seder, I noticed an interesting phenomena, a pattern I am shocked I have not realized until now.

The main point of the Seder is to recount the story of the Jew's slavery in Egypt and the miraculous way in which G-d saved us. In fact, telling the story of Passover is largely the most important commandment of the holiday, as the Torah tells us,"VeHigaddta LeVincha"- and you should tell your son".

Yet, when I looked at the actual text , I observed how little the Hagadah talks about the actual oppression the Jews faced in Egypt. In the entire Hagadah, Pharoah's name is only mentioned 5 times. Even in the few places the Hagadah does talk about the pain we endured, it is always followed by "and G-d saved us. . . and we called out to G-d and He heard us . . . "

This struck me as odd. If we are telling the story of our oppression, should we not mention our oppressor? What kind of recounting is it if we do not talk about the pain and suffering we experienced under the Egyptian rule?

My curiosity was spiked even further as I decided to count how many times the Hagada uses the words hallel (praise), hodu (thanks) and niflaos (miracles). The Hagadah uses these expressions of thanks almost 100 times! The story telling portion of the Hagadah is founded in thanksgiving and praise to G-d for the miracles He performed for us.

The lesson could not be more obvious and timely:

When G-d obligates a Jew to sit around the table with their family and tell our nation's history, He ensures that the story we tell is not one of victims and bitterness, but rather a story of victors and gratitude.

This is precisely where the secret to the Jewish nation's survival lies.

Pain and grief line the pages of our history books, but they are never the main character.

When a Jew recounts their nation's story, it is done with joy rather than pain

When we remember and tell over the story of Passover, we approach it with honesty- there is not beating around the bush. Yet the overarching focus is not on the back breaking labor and torture we endured, but rather on "Yetzias Miztrayim"- our leaving Egypt.

This realization at the Seder brought me back to January 5th, 2020- the Jewish solidarity march.

On that day, over 20,000 people Jews peacefully marched across Manhattan in response to the increase in anti-semitic attacks in the USA.

20,000 people, their history laden with pain and persecution.

Yet, as I marched along side the large crowds , I felt no bitterness, no sorrow.

Like the seder table, the focus of that march was not on our mutual pain and suffering, but rather our collective Jewish pride and gratitude.

As I marched and chanted along to the breathtaking Jewish folk songs, my face broke out into a huge grin.

I felt someone thrust a megaphone into my hand.

"Hey, you look like you have something to to tell the group!" one of the directors of the march exclaimed to me.

Laughing, I took hold of the megaphone and braced myself to addressed the thousands of Jews in front me.

What does a Jew do with such an opportunity? What does a Jew tell her fellow people?

I did not realize it at the time, but I acted exactly as the Hagadah does.

I did not lament, "We are an oppressed nation!"

I did not complain, "Why is it always the Jew??"

I did not agonize, "It is hard to be Jew!"

I did none of that

Instead, I took a deep breath and bellowed into the mic a Jewish chant from my childhood:

"Every body say, 'Ah!' "

"Every body say, 'Ooh'"

"Every body say, 'I am proud to be a Jew!'"

And then:

"Hear O Israel, the Lord our G-d is One!"

The crowd repeated after me with excitement, amplifying my Jewish pride and joy in thousand folds.

This is why the Jewish people have lasted as long as we have.

Because, no matter how much persecution we face, we retell our story with pride and thanks.

Years of Jewish oppression did not birth a jaded, resentful nation, but rather a nation filled with gratitude to G-d and an unshakeable joy.

The high pitched sound of my nieces' voices shake me from my memory and bring me back to the Seder table in front of me. They finish their performance with words that pierce my soul.

". . . veHakadosh Baruch Hu Matzilainu MeYadam- and G-d saved us from (our oppressors') hands."

Tears of emotion sting my eyes as I softly whisper my own ending to the song . . . "and we responded with gratitude and thanks."