The very essence Passover is based on an understanding that it is spent in the company of others. The concept of someone spending the holiday alone is so foreign to us that it makes the coronavirus crisis we are facing this year that much more daunting. To think of children, parents and grandparents separated from one another is deeply painful, yet we know that it is a reality we will be forced to deal with.
As with all challenges imposed on us in life, we cannot allow them to defeat us but need to find the inspiration within them to try to make us better.
Going back to the very earliest Passover observances, our sages teach us that the Korban Pesach — the Passover sacrifice — was intended to be eaten in groups. From that initial lesson, we know that retelling the story of the Exodus at the seder should be done with others. Unlike certain commandments that are dependent on individual behavior, here we are encouraged to do the mitzvah as a community.
In ancient times, Passover was a holiday where massive crowds descended upon Jerusalem. The courtyard of the Temple was filled to beyond capacity. The Hallel services, offering thanks to HaShem for all he had bestowed on us, were described by scenes of terraces and rooftops that trembled under the weight of the people. Blessedly, that tradition has extended to modern times when throngs come from all over the country and the world to the Kotel to participate in the Birkat ha-Kohanim — the Priestly Blessing — on Passover and Sukkot.
Over the past few days and weeks, I have been flooded by the painful stories of people who describe how much they were looking forward to being together with their families for the holiday. Togetherness and community is an ideal of Jewish tradition that we typically took for granted and then — seemingly almost in an instant — it was robbed from us by an enemy we can’t even see.
In years past, the home was just a setting where we held the seder. This year, we can do our best to elevate it in meaning.
As difficult a prospect as this is — and envisioning scenes of elderly parents alone at the seder table fills our hearts with pain — there is precedent that can give us hope and inspiration. We once again return to that original Passover. Still in bondage, the Jews were not able to leave their homes. There is a remarkable value in recognizing that our homes have a tremendous sanctity — and hopefully through this challenging year, we will once again be learning that lesson.
People sometimes think that we need to seek out our synagogues when looking for holiness. While certainly the shul is known as a place of sanctity, our homes are also a Mikdash Katan, a small reflection of the ancient Temple.
This year, we will be challenged to take that understanding to a higher level. While I fully acknowledge that it will not be easy, we need to do everything possible to inject our homes with added happiness so that we can truly embrace this reality. In years past, the home was just a setting where we held the seder. This year, although not by choice, with each of us being confined to that space, we can do our best to elevate it in meaning.
My sincere prayer is that by internalizing this lesson, we will all be blessed to again see the streets of Jerusalem — and streets all across the world — quickly return to be filled with the traffic and the flood of humanity, and we will soon see days defined only by happiness and health.
Chag kasher v’sameach.
Rabbi David Stav is the chief rabbi of the city of Shoham, Israel, and founder and chairman of the Tzohar Rabbinical Organization in Israel.
