By now, most of us likely have heard about the EverGiven, a massive Japanese owned container ship that is stuck and blocking the Suez Canal. The Suez Canal connects the Red Sea and the Mediterranean, and is a vital artery for international shipping. If only Moses could raise his staff and part the waters again to free the ship and reopen the lane!
But on this Erev Pesach, with the first Seder tonight, for the moment, the lens will be both Aaron and his sons and Moses, all at the same time.
Moses will be involved though, he’ll be the agent who consecrates Aaron and his sons as kohanim, as the priests who will perform the rituals in the Mishkan, the portable holy place our ancestors will take with them through 40 years in the wilderness.
Unlike the splitting of the sea, the consecration of the priests is not a miracle. It happens with a detailed set of instructions about preparations before the ceremony and what happens during the ceremony. There are special clothes for the priest candidates to wear, and the holy place is complete and has itself already been consecrated.
The contrast with the scene at the sea could not be more striking. At the Sea there is fear, confusion and noise, crashing waves, the rumble of approaching chariots, and although Moses has faith, God tells the people to walk forward toward the water even before it parts.
At the Mishkan, there is silence and the comfort of procedure. There is fear, but a different kind of fear, a holy fear of the candidates hoping they can withstand the restrictions until the holy moment arrives.
There is one element in common in the fear experienced in both locations, the fear of life and death. At the sea our ancestors see the powerful Egyptian chariots closing in, ready to strike. At the Mishkan, the priest candidates know that if they trespass in the holy places, they expose themselves to God’s requiting that offence with harshness.
For this reason, the priests receive an ancient form of protection. During the ceremony, Moses daubs of Aaron and his two sons with the blood of a ram, on their right earlobe, their right thumb, and the big toe of their right foot.
Jacob Milgrom, the great scholar of the Book of Leviticus, explains in the ancient world this ritual daubing, of the extremities, the vulnerable parts of the body, both purified the individual and warded off demonic forces. Abraham Ibn Ezra observes in this ritual daubing the blood atones for Aaron’s soul, through the spirit of life which it formerly contained, nefesh tachat nefesh, a soul for a soul.
We notice the parallel with the Exodus story we will tell tonight. The night our ancestors leave Egypt they daub the doorposts and lintels of their homes with lamb’s blood, the doorway that, like the earlobe or big toe, is the outer part, the extremity of the home, the part that faces out to the world, and where the world meets the people who live inside.
But there is a key difference here between the daubing of the priest and of the Israelites homes according to the Midrash. We usually think of our ancestors smearing the blood on the outside facing part of the door, visible to passersby on the street. Rashi explains, based on the Midrash, this traditional view is incorrect.
He explains our ancestors smeared the lamb’s blood on the inside part of the lintel and doorposts, such that anyone outside the home would not know about it at all. Why does the Midrash suggest the blood is on the inside part of the doorway?...Because God does not need the blood on the outside of the door to know which homes belong to Israelites and which to Egyptians, according to the Midrash, God already knows.
The point of the smearing is then not to identify the homes to the outside world, but rather to serve God’s way of beginning to instruct the soon to be free Israelites in having faith in God’s instruction. God wants to see the people doing this mitzvah, this instruction, and then God will pass-over and go on with the night’s tasks.
While our Seders still happen indoors, just like the first Seder on our night of freedom in Egypt, over the centuries the Seder has evolved to give us the courage to open our doors to those in need and to open our doors with messages we want to communicate to the world. At the beginning of our Seder we say kol dichfin yatay ve’yachul, all who are hungry let them come and eat. Would that we could do this again soon, and open up our Seders to welcome people looking for connection into our homes. Over the years prior to the pandemic, both my wife and I have run into people at the Supermarket shopping for Passover, started up a friendly conversation, asked about their plans, and then invited them to our house if they were looking for a Seder, and the same has happened through the synagogue, or work.
And we open the door to welcome Elijah, Eliyahu Ha’Navi, either traditionally with a defiant message of strength and will against our enemies, or an updated version of hope for spreading love and God’s spirit of compassion to the world.
The Seder, whether the indoors part or the parts where we turn outward to the world, challenges us – asks us to be sensitive, aware, to be courageous, to never give in to injustice, and to live in strength since, as we unfortunately are all too aware, there are Pharaoh type forces today, just in a different form. We cannot take our Judaism, our Jewish communities for granted, in a metaphorical way, we either all leave Egypt together or we do not leave at all. If one is still enslaved, we all are. The Seder is a statement that family is important, our and that our tradition and its teachings are still relevant. It a statement that justice requires both faith, courage, and often, some level of sacrifice.
And so we return to the Ever Given, stuck in the Suez Canal, try to imagine one of us pulling the chain to move the boat, and then one more, and another, until we’re all pulling together, in the same direction, then, if we could work like that on all our challenges, we could address them united, supporting and strengthening one another, and we could free whatever and whoever is stuck, anytime anywhere – and, in real life, shipping through the canal affects all of us.
I’m thinking about rolling up my sleeves and heading over to the canal, anyone care to join me?
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