As Pesach approaches, our minds often leap ahead to the big moments: the splitting of the sea, the triumphant songs of freedom, the matzah that represents our redemption. It’s a story of miracles, liberation, and hope. And we tell it every year, because we need to believe in the possibility of getting to the other side.
But there’s another part of the story. A quieter part. One we sometimes rush past. The part that comes before the freedom. The exile. The bitterness. The pain that didn’t yet have purpose. The nights that felt endless. And it’s exactly there that God shows up first. Not at the sea. Not with the plagues. Not with the triumph. But in the sorrow.
אָנֹכִי בְצָרָה — “I am with you in the trouble.” Not above it. Not after it. In it. That presence—in the darkness—is its own kind of miracle. Because when pain is witnessed, it shifts. When bitterness is wrapped in faith, it becomes something else entirely.
On Seder night, we take maror—the taste of slavery, loss, heartbreak—and we wrap it in matzah, the bread of faith and hope. It’s called korech. We eat the bitterness, but we don’t eat it alone. We hold it with faith, and in doing so, it becomes bearable. It becomes part of a larger story.
This isn’t a theology of pain. We don’t celebrate suffering. But we honor the truth that even our hardest moments are not empty. We acknowledge that the journey to freedom doesn’t skip over the ache—it moves through it. And we are not alone in that movement.
Maybe the real preparation for Pesach isn’t just cleaning out our homes—but softening our hearts. Making space for both the pain and the presence. Making space for the truth that transformation often starts where we least expect it. This Shabbat, and this season, may we carry both the maror and the matzah. May we hold our sorrow with tenderness, and our faith with strength. And may we remember: the story doesn’t end in exile. It moves toward redemption—with every step, with every breath, and always, with presence.
Shabbat Shalom and chag kasher v’sameach Rabbi Sarit