Redemption: The good, the bad and the ugly

It should have been that our ancestors’ redemption from slavery meant they were finally free. That was what they had cried out for, after all: freedom from their enslavement. 

Nothing else bad should have happened. They had suffered for years, but finally, God liberated them with a strong hand and an outstretched arm, leading the way through the Sea of Reeds to the base of Mount Sinai. It should have been a straight shot to the Promised Land. No more grieving — only celebrating.

Yet, this is not our story. Our ancestors were pursued out of Egypt and trembled at the sea until it parted. They were terrified of not having water to drink, food to eat, protection from their enemies and safety for their families. They feared for their lives as God prepared to give them the Torah. Life after liberation was complicated and messy. They were freed but did not know what it meant to be free.

And still we critique them for being stiff-necked and stubborn, for their lack of faith and childlike tantrums: “You brought us out of Egypt only to kill us and our children and our livestock with thirst!” they scream. “Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us to the desert to die?”

How dramatic, we might say, but that’s how they felt. After years of embittered slavery, here, in a space of freedom, they felt ready to die. Miraculous food could not mitigate their fears. God said, “I am with you,” but they felt alone and vulnerable. Life post-liberation had begun and they could not accept it. They fought against it. “All we have is this manna to eat!”

When retelling our Passover story, we tend to skip over this part — the part where liberation is sometimes hard and lackluster, and freedom is short-lived. We like to focus on the moment of redemption and not the life that follows. We do not mention the return of routine, the ordinary that follows the extraordinary. We do not talk about the disappointment, depression or tragedy that can strike so soon after joy. We somehow justify the injustice of additional pain for a people who already suffered through slavery. 

It should have been that our ancestors’ redemption from slavery meant they were finally free, but life does not always end on a high note. It is a masterpiece that ebbs and flows, reaching and falling. Our ancestors were liberated from Egypt but trapped at the sea. They were redeemed from the water but ensnared by the barren desert. God freed them from hunger and thirst, but they were dominated by their fears. They escaped the Egyptians but were attacked by Amalek. Each moment was a true moment of liberation, worthy of gratitude and celebration, but none finished the story.

So it is with us. A man declared free of cancer still carries the anxiety that his next check-up will reveal its return. A woman who finds love after heartbreak is grateful, but terrified that she may break again. Parents who live through the death of a child may find joy with the birth of a sibling; yet, every day may continue to remind them of what they lost. The day after redemption, we become aware of all the ways we still need to be redeemed. 

The story of the Exodus is the story of our lives, and the honesty of the text reveals the strength and comfort there is to draw from our master story. We were liberated from narrow spaces, but we were not promised a journey free from complication. We were released from a moment of suffering, but our liberation did not exempt us from future pain. Perhaps there can be some comfort in naming that truth: Our moments of liberation are meaningful but, like our ancestors, they are fleeting. To the best of our ability, if we can celebrate them, we should. Loudly, and with timbrels. Because they will not last forever.

We might also try to remember that the only consistency of wandering was God’s presence. Harold Kushner, in his book “The Lord Is My Shepherd,” writes, “God’s promise was never that life would be fair, that if you were a good person, illness and injury would spare you and would happen only to people who deserved it. … God’s promise was that when we had to face the pain and unfairness of a world as we inevitably would, we would not have to face it alone, for God would be with us.” 

The same can be said of redemption: God never promised that we would be free from suffering after slavery, only that the possibility of freedom existed and that we would not have to wander alone. 

This year, as we gather to retell the story of our ancestors’ complicated and sometimes messy Exodus from Egypt, we will also remember that every generation must, and often does, see itself as having come forth from Egypt. The communal and individual extraordinary redemptive moments of our lives are followed often by the ordinary nature of our existence. 

And so we wonder: What will life look like after liberation? Where might each of us gather strength to continue the journey? What will it mean to experience the presence of God beside us, for all of life, now and tomorrow?

Rabbi Dara Frimmer is a rabbi at Temple Isaiah. You can follow her on Twitter @rabbidara.