Rabbi Rena Arshinoff, Baycrest

This year the Passover seder will invoke profound reflection as we recite “Why is this night different from all other nights?” In a broader context: “why is this Passover different from all others?” Try as we do to feel the joy in our holiday of freedom, there is a pervasive sadness this year as we are separated from one another. Passover is a time for celebration and being together as we rejoice in our history and tradition. The Hagaddah says “we were slaves to Pharaoh”. What about modern day metaphoric “slavery”? We are all slaves to something – we each experience personal challenges.

This year we live globally with the modern plague of Covid-19 and as we do, for some the slavery is fear; for others hunger; for others loneliness; and indeed for some, it is illness. Our seder reminds us of plagues and to do something – “let all who are hungry come and eat”. But what will happen when our virtual seders are finished, the holiday is over, the dishes put away until next year, and the remaining matzah made into matzah brie to finish it off? How easy it is for us to forget about those who are hungry, isolated, ill, confused, and frightened. Spiritual hunger during this Covid-19 plague is real. Such feelings are not seasonal; chesed is not centered merely on a holiday or pandemic. We are all currently frightened – reach out continually to others in the safest and most appropriate way. Chag Sameach.

‍

Rabbi Aaron Flanzraich, Senior Rabbi, Beth Sholom Synagogue

Without question you and I have spent the past weeks asking and saying, this is unbelievable. And it is. We’ve said, there are no words. No question. We are in a struggle of many ways and many levels. This struggle has us told to avoid large crowds, to not be outside of our homes unless necessary, not to draw close to people we care for, to shake hands, hug, to kiss, to keep the very young away from the elderly for the sake of the elderly - because the very young appear to have a more robust immunity to COVID - all of this asks us to undo the way we have been taught to live since we drew our first breaths. We are cut off from the people we love and care for. Restaurants and offices are closed. Entertainment and public spaces locked off. Our schools and beloved synagogues are shuttered. Pesach is approaching and many of us will be sitting without family at a table. This is deeply unnatural for us. But deeply necessary as well.

In moments like this we feel alone, anxious and filled with questions of why and what will be. But this has a lesson: there are times in our lives when we are given the opportunity to become something different, to become a person who can re-see what makes life poignant and beautiful. And we are learning it is not the things – but the people.
‍
Much will be written of this time and how much was lost. But these moments are also an opportunity. In having all this taken away are we not reminded that Jewish survival and success has been built on the very things we long for now: family, friends and community? Let us deeply re-commit to them all as soon as we are able.

Join me as I pray for the healing of the ill. As I pray for the well-being of the medical professionals who place their lives on the line to care for us. As I pray to return to the way things used to be but with a new sense of how important they are. Join me as I pray to never take them for granted again.

With my blessings for good health, safety and peace.

‍

Rabbi Baruch Frydman-Kohl, Beth Tzedec Congregation, Vice-Chair of the Canadian Rabbinic Caucus

When I was a child, my mother told me that the full bedtime Sh’ma need not be recited on Seder night. It was a time of special divine protection. The Torah states: “It is a night of watching-vigil (leil SHiMuRim) for the Eternal, to bring them out of the land of Egypt; this night is for the Eternal One, a watching-vigil for all the Children of Israel, throughout their generations” (Exodus 12.42).

The word stem of SH-M-R (guard, watch) occurs twice in this verse. One tradition suggests that this redemptive night in Biblical time would become a redemption moment in the future. Anticipating the Holocaust, another commentator imagines that there can be an “eclipse” of God; the Holy One and the Jewish people are each on guard, watching for the full moon of transformation. A medieval scholar says that just as God was watching during the night, so the people of Israel should remain awake during the meal and into the night.

Because the Talmud identified Seder night as a time of protection from evil forces, later generations would open house doors (this later became identified with Elijah). But during darker times, periods of pogroms and blood accusations, Pesah became a time of vigilance. In 17th century Poland, Rabbi Avraham Gumbiner taught that during periods of danger, doors should be closed for safety,because we shouldn’t rely on miracles.

This Pesah, our doors must be closed to protect ourselves against possible infection. Even with faith that God is with us during difficult and dark nights, even while yearning for a future redemptive time, we shouldn’t rely on miracles. This is a leilSHiMuRim, a night to be on guard, in social isolation, so that we will enjoy many future Pesah celebrations with those we love.

‍

Rabbi Levi Gansburg, Founder & Spiritual Leader, Chabad on Bayview

The Gurs Concentration camp housed thousands of Jews during the Holocaust. Despite their harsh reality, they remained steadfast in hope and commitment to God and their traditions. Prior to Passover 1941, they compiled a Haggadah, so that they may celebrate the Holiday of Freedom even in the confines of their slavery.

Pinchas Rothschild, wrote these lines of their feelings as the holiday arrived:

"At the time, celebrating the Passover holiday in the Gurs camp, we felt as if a refreshing breeze from the Promised Land had descended upon us via the desert: "By the strength of His hand, God took us out from the house of slavery."

Before Gurs, we had led a carefree existence in the Diaspora, and had not attempted to truly understand or remember the miracle of the Exodus from Egypt – from slavery to freedom. Now, it was as if that which befell our nation in those distant days touched us and became part of our everyday existence. Then as now: the reality and the expectations. We vacillated between the hope for freedom and the hardships still waiting for us, as we began to prepare for the holiday week in the camp."

Pesach 2020 will be challenging for us all. Yet, these few lines must inspire us to celebrate it in introspection, hope, faith and determination. Indeed, in years to come, we will reflect on our response to our generation’s greatest challenge.

May God give us the strength to allow our Holiday of Freedom to free our minds and uplift our hearts even amid a world deep in pain and uncertainty.

‍

Rabbi Jarrod Grover, Beth Tikvah Synagogue

There is a fascinating dispute in Jewish law concerning the custom of lighting a Yizkor candle on Jewish holidays. While it is permitted to light fire on holidays, the Torah restricts that permission to uses which fulfill the needs of the day. For this reason, Rabbi Meir Eisenstaedter, chief rabbi of Pressburg in the 19th century, ruled that it was forbidden to light a Yizkor candle on a Jewish holiday.

Eisenstaedter's ruling created much pain and distress. The community felt robbed of the visible symbols of their loss at the times when they missed them most. A few years later, Rabbi Avraham Sofer revisited the matter. With an understanding of the emotional and spiritual needs of mourners, Sofer came up with a compromise. He permitted the lighting of the Yizkor candle, but recommended that it be placed on the dining table. That way, the light from the candle would enhance the joy of the holiday and fulfill a need.

In one sense, it's quite odd to take a candle which represents the soul of a loved one, and place it on a dining table. In another sense, however, Rabbi Sofer's compromise enhances and elevates the ritual. As our tables are illuminated with the brightness of missing souls, we remember that presence can be more than physical nearness.

For many of us this Passover, those who have been near feel particularly far, in many different ways. In such circumstances, Rabbi Sofer's symbol speaks to us powerfully. Those we yearn for can still be invited to join us at our tables. As long as they illuminate our lives, they are very much present.

‍

Rabbi Debra Landsberg, Temple Emanu-El

Isolation and plagues. Every Pesach we recount the plagues and recall God’s fearsome power. Yet this year, we are acutely aware of another aspect of the Pesach story: remaining at home in isolation was an essential part of what kept our ancestors safe (Exodus 12:22).

Isolation’s protective power against danger runs through our texts and our history. On the same page of Talmud in which there is detailed argument about the nature of a plague that the rabbis experienced in their lifetime (BT Shabbat 33b), we encounter the story of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. Shimon bar Yochai endured years of isolation in a cave to protect himself from the Roman regime which sought his death.  His story (though not about a plague) offers us guidance in our time of isolation: 1. he filled his time with Torah, and 2. he was only allowed to re-enter the world when he could interact with people with compassion.

Isolation can challenge each of us to the core. Yet our history and our Torah teach us that redemption is not just God’s miracles in days past. We can transform our isolation with living Torah. Every call we make to someone who is in need, every tech tutorial we can offer, every extra penny of tzedakah, every compassionate word is an expression of Torah: All Israel is responsible for one another (BT Shevuot 39a). This Pesach as we remember how God redeems us, may we also remember our power to help redeem others.

‍

Rabbi Howard Morrison, Beth Emeth Bais Yehuda Synagogue

One of my favorite Hebrew songs goes as follows: "Kol Ha'Olam Kulo Gesher Tzar M'od. V'Ha'Ikar Lo L'Fached Klal - The entire world is a narrow bridge. The essential thing is not to fear at all."

For those who do not know the music, I encourage you to go on line, hear the melody, and learn it for yourself. The Hebrew in song form is more powerful and meaningful than a mere English translation.

If there were ever a time when the world was truly a narrow bridge, now is that time. All humanity is united through the plague of Covid-19. No one in the world is exempt. No place in the world is untouched.

The second part of the song is our challenge, hope, and inspiration - "The essential thing is not to fear at all." Many individuals on their own are fearful about the changes taking place in society regarding health, economy, employment, watching and educating children, and more.

To combat anxiety about the present and unforeseeable future, we need the presence of a spiritual, empathetic, and caring community. In many synagogues, volunteer Chesed committees are calling and assisting hundreds and hundreds of people.  In addition, rabbis and synagogues are reaching out with davening, music, Divrei Torah, and topical learning.

After the Second Temple was destroyed, and the ritual sacrifices could no longer be brought, it was determined that one would find atonement by performing acts of "Chesed - Loving kindness."

I hope and pray that religious and educational outreach efforts along with individual people's own sense of goodness will keep our community spiritually and emotionally strong as we walk on a narrow bridge together into the world of the unknown.

Be safe. Be healthy. Be well. Better days are coming.

I wish everyone Chag Kasher VSameach.

‍

Rabbi Philip Scheim, Beth David Congregation

My most memorable Pesah Seder took place four decades ago, at the Moscow apartment of Refusenik and activist Yuli Kosharovsky, of blessed memory. Seated around the crowded table were Yuli’s students, who diligently attended his clandestine Hebrew classes, all preparing for the Aliyah to Israel for which they had been struggling and suffering. The Haggadah’s words: “Now we are enslaved, next year, may we be free” recited at that table, unimaginably powerful at the time, gave me the feeling that we were seated at the front lines of Jewish history, where our people’s resolve would force redemption to come.

Passover 5780 will become a story that will be shared at future Sedarim, when, God willing, a sense of normalcy will be restored. We will retell how we carried on during this year of struggle, and how we never relinquished the hope captured at the Haggadah’s conclusion, of Next Year in Jerusalem, of a future of dreams fulfilled, of the restoration of good health, optimism and opportunity, notwithstanding the trials of the moment.

‍

Rabbi Yael Splansky, Holy Blossom Temple

Exodus 12: 3-4 describes for us how the original night Pesach was carried out: “Each shall take one lamb per family, one lamb per household. Let them share with a neighbour who dwells nearby, in proportion to the number of persons. You shall contribute for the lamb according to what each household will eat.” The message is clear and resonates for us today as much as it ever did.

If you have too much, share with your neighbour. If you don’t have enough, accept from your neighbour. More than the buying frenzies, these trying days have shown remarkable generosity. More than isolation of the spirit, people are showing extraordinary selflessness. More than fear, people are showing real courage.  

So if you have something to give – a talent of skill, a gift of funds, the ability to reach out to another to break the loneliness or vulnerability -- Pesach is the time to give it. And if there is something you need, Pesach is the time to receive it from your neighbours, your fellow congregants, fellow Jews, fellow citizens.  

Because God knows, we truly are all in this together.

‍

Rabbi Tzvi Sytner, The Village Shul

First and foremost, I hope everyone is keeping healthy and staying safe.

If there’s one word I’ve been hearing time and time again over the last few weeks, it’s “unprecedented”. Everyone’s saying we’re living in unprecedented times. I believe it’s true, we are, but for many reasons. I believe we all have an opportunity right now that we’ve never had before in our lives, and may not ever have again. You see, in times of fear, people go into survival mode. Everyone begins to look out for themselves. Do I have enough toilet paper? Enough food? Let me empty the shelves of hand sanitizer. The natural human response at times like this is survival. Yet, while that may be out natural response, our higher self can transcend our nature. All of humanity stands at a fork in the road. Will we look out for ourselves or for those around us? Can we put ourselves aside and think, which elderly person may need a call at this time? Who can I text to check in on? Perhaps I can send matzah or groceries to someone who can’t afford? My wife and I often discuss the distinction between selfISH and selfLESS with my kids, and sometimes when they have a choice to make, we'll ask them, do you want to be “ISH or LESS”? Let’s use this unprecedented opportunity to move away from ISH and move towards LESS, so that when this is all over, we are living in a much more giving world.

Rabbi Steve Wernick, Beth Tzedec Congregation

“The Seder as Therapy” is the title of an eerily relevant comment of a new Haggadah by Tablet Magazine.

We read aloud of our travails — and of the dire punishments visited on our Egyptian oppressors by an all-powerful and vengeful God — with the intention of reexperiencing both the dread of oppression and the exhilaration of freedom. In contemporary terms, the Haggadah can be seen as both a trauma narrative, filled with the psychic repetition that trauma produces, and a story of redemption, shot through with joy and song.  (Daphne Merkin, P.37)

We are living through an international trauma. The coronavirus is disrupting every aspect of our lives, including Passover. Haggadah itself, however, provides us the wisdom.

Psychologists tell us that an effective way to deal with trauma is to tell the story of the experience over again. Trauma-informed story-telling helps us to identify and label the event, explore its meaning and evaluate its personal impact.  

In retelling the Exodus story as if we were there and as if it happened to us, Judaism has developed an internal resiliency to trauma. We have been here before. We have been redeemed. We will be redeemed again.

As we celebrate Passover this year it is important to share, in person and virtually, exactly how different this night really is. And to remember and celebrate the joy of simply being able to do so, with the knowledge that this pandemic will end and next year, God willing, will be better.