“It [Seder night] is a night of anticipation for God, to take them out of the land of Egypt; this night is for God, guarding all the children of Israel throughout their generations” Exodus 12:42).
Based on this verse there is a custom not to lock the doors of one’s house on Seder night, even when going to sleep, as a sign of our faith that God will guard us on this night. Therefore, it is deeply paradoxical, tragic and even ironic that during many centuries in Europe, Seder night and Pesach in general was fraught with danger and fear due to the blood libels which claimed that Jews used blood from slain Christians to make their matzah. Many a pogrom occurred based on these unfounded rumors leading to wholesale murder and destruction of Jewish communities. In a different set of circumstances, the Marranos who lived in Spain or their extensive empire of the time, were forced to observe Pesach in secret at the risk of their lives. There are also many documented stories in the recent past of how Jews managed to conduct Seders in concentration and forced labor camps under harsh and inhumane conditions we can barely imagine. They conducted these Seder’s at the risk of their very lives.
We can easily understand how those parts of the Seder that recall our harsh slavery in Egypt resonated for Jews in exile for the last nearly 2000 years, yet those parts of the Seder that are full of praise and thanksgiving, and which celebrate God’s saving power and the above promise of Divine protection must have seemed somewhat oxymoronic considering the dire straits that Jewish communities often found themselves.
Above, we proposed that Judaism embraces paradox. Yet, here we see that it is not just in an intellectual or philosophical sense, but for the Jewish people who have lived through 2000 years of exile and extreme persecution, living with paradox has been an immediate, necessary and oftentimes, a very challenging reality. Although on one hand literally millions of Jews went to the stake or gas chamber for being Jewish, many Jews throughout the generations could simply not live with the inner contradictions and paradoxes of being Jewish and left the faith. In our days, these Jews are represented by the fifth child, the one who does not attend a Seder.
This then brings us to the subject of faith, purpose and destiny. The Jewish people are called “believers, the children of believers.” Only faith in God and the mission He placed upon us thousands of years ago, and a strong sense of destiny and ultimate world redemption, could keep a people who suffered thousands of years of persecution united as a people, especially when weak and scattered to the four corners of the earth. The history of the Jewish people quite simply transcends all other historical precedent. It is only this type of super-rational faith that could confront the real paradoxes presented to the Jewish people who not only survived, but in many cases, thrived. It seems that overcoming the paradoxes confronting the Jewish people through the ages gave birth to unparalleled resiliency, strength, ingenuity and a unique depth of soul.
Indeed, the paradox of free choice and Divine Providence discussed above is even greater when contemplating the paradox of a perfect God and the very (seemingly) imperfect world we live in. On one hand, we believe that everything happens for a reason, and in a sense, everything is exactly the way it should be. On the other hand, it strains one’s moral and ethical fiber to the point of breaking that the way the world is now is the way it is supposed to be. These mutually true, yet opposite, viewpoints exist in the context of the Torah, in which God has commanded us to rectify a world where imperfection seems to be built into the system.
Although we may not be able to completely resolve these apparent existential contradictions, we are forcefully bidden by our tradition to try to bring about healing, rectification and redemption whenever and wherever possible. Though free will and God’s Providence exist simultaneously, we are tasked with exercising our free will in the present as if there were no Divine Providence and that all depends on our actions, only accepting the reality, as it were, that “all is [truly] in the hands of Heaven” after the fact.
This profound and paradoxical approach to G-d and life is movingly illustrated in the following Chassidic story: A man once came to his Rebbe and asked him the question: “Rebbe, you say there is a Divine purpose for everything and everyone; but, what then is the Divine role of atheism?” To which the Rebbe replied: “When someone knocks on your door asking for charity or help, you must act as if G-d does not exist, and that this person’s welfare is thus completely up to you. In such a moment, you must not think that all is up to G-d. You must act!”
The philosophical and historical paradoxes discussed here are found subtly woven throughout and between the lines of the Haggadah and the various rituals of Seder night. Why is this night different than all other nights? On one level the answer is that on no other night do the Jewish people, despite it all, exhibit such pure faith in our tradition, our God and our national mission. Just reading the Haggadah and performing the Seder is a supremely meaningful act of faith and expression of freewill.
