Excerpted from Rabbi Aaron Goldscheider’s Torah United: Teachings on the Weekly Parasha from Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, and the Chassidic Masters, co-published by OU Press and Ktav Publishing House
Living Memory
Remembering our past is a key feature of Jewish life. Yearly, our entire community gathers to remember Amalek’s dastardly attack on the fledgling Jewish nation as they left Egypt: “Remember (זכָוֹר) what Amalek did to you” (Deuteronomy 25:17). Weekly, we remind ourselves as we consecrate Shabbat during Friday night Kiddush that Shabbat is “a commemoration (זכִּרָוןֹ) of the creation of the world.” Daily, we recite the all-important Shema and in so doing discharge our obligation to recall the Exodus from Egypt in the third passage, an obligation codified by the Mishnah based on the verse, “that you shall remember (תִּזכְרֹּ) the day you left Egypt all the days of your life” (Deuteronomy 16:3). So many commandments and rituals center on the Exodus; an entire holiday commemorates the event. Why must we Jews constantly bear in mind the Exodus?
Our greatest Torah scholars have grappled with this question. One approach suggests that remembering the Exodus is a way of thanking God and cultivating gratitude each and every day. The Haggadah we read during the annual period devoted to commemorating the Exodus, Pesach, confirms this: “Had the Holy One not taken our forefathers out Egypt, we, our children, and our grandchildren would still be enslaved to Pharaoh in Egypt.” How can we not be grateful?
A second approach was taken by the second Gerrer Rebbe, the Sefat Emet. He said that we are not merely to recall the foundational event of the Exodus, but to internalize it. The birth pangs that heralded the imminent birth of our great nation in Egypt were meant to instill within the Jews of the time, and within all generations of Jews to come, absolute faith in God.
Many of us recall the association between the four cups of wine drunk at the Passover Seder and the arba leshonot ge’ulah, the four expressions of redemption – “I shall take you out . . . I shall rescue you . . . I shall redeem you . . . I shall take you to Me” (Exodus 6:6–7). The Sefat Emet shifts our focus from these stages of redemption to its culmination: “so that you shall know that I am the Lord your God” (Exodus 6:7).
The Exodus occurred in a specific time and place, but it also represents a state of mind. The word for “Egypt” (מִצְרַיִם) shares multiple letters with the word for “strait” (מֵצַר) and “pain” (צַעַר). The Sefat Emet writes, “Truthfully, at every moment every Jew has an Egypt (מִצְרַיִם).” As we encounter these “Mitzrayim moments” in our daily lives, we are supposed to recall how God acted in Egypt, so as to sear into our consciousness unfailing trust in God. Just as He answered the cry of our forefathers in Egypt, so will He answer us. Recalling the Exodus is not about remembering an earth-shattering event from the annals of Jewish history, but reliving the redemption by God’s hand.
In the Shabbat Kiddush, we recite the words: “the first calling to holiness (לְמִקְרָאֵי קוֹדֶשׁ) a commemoration of the Exodus from Egypt.” Rebbe Naftali Zvi Horowitz of Ropshitz remarked that the memory of the Exodus calls us to holiness, that is, it gives us encouragement in our darkest moments to transcend. Though the Jewish people had gotten trapped in the impure and immoral quicksand that was Egypt, God did not only lift them out of it, but He raised them to great spiritual heights to receive the Torah and live with God’s presence, the Shechinah, in their midst. As God did miracles for our forefathers, so can He do them for us.
The idea that God takes us out of our personal Egypt or performs miracles, albeit less conspicuous ones, for us today, rests on the fundamental Chassidic conception that God is accessible to every Jew, that His presence can be felt even as He is intangible. The Lubavitcher Rebbe once shared an anecdote at a farbrengen, a gathering of Lubavitch Chassidim, about how we can “taste” God:
When the teachings of Chassidut were first being heard throughout Russia and Latvia, the Alter Rebbe, Shneur Zalman of Liadi, once passed through the city of Shklov on his travels. Shklov was then famous for its antagonism to Chassidut and for the rigorous hold exerted by the mitnagedim (opponents of Chassidut) over the entire city.
The Alter Rebbe entered the city and directed his steps to the main synagogue. He went up to the bimah and in his singular melodious tune, translated a verse from Psalms (34:9) into Yiddish: “Taste and you will see that God is good.” These soothing words, having emanated from his pure, truthful heart, pierced the hearts of his listeners. Scores of young people ran after him. They began to learn the teachings of Chassidut; soon they became prominent personalities in the Chassidic community.
The Alter Rebbe expressed a profound idea in a simple and uncomplicated way: one can “taste,” intimately feel, God’s presence. The young people drawn to him and his teachings must have realized that this was what was missing from their lives, and desired to experience the joy and meaning that follows from the sensation of God’s presence. Rav Avraham Yitzchak Hakohen Kook, who was profoundly influenced by Chassidic thought, interpreted that verse from Psalms as follows. We “see” the miracles and divine providence that surround us, which are external indications of the divine presence, but we can also internalize, or “taste,” God’s presence. Every single one of us is in reality very close to God.
Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, it is told, felt this to be the case even with those who have lived a life of sin and feel as distant from God as possible:
One of the town’s assimilated Jews fell seriously ill, and thought he was about to die. He became very melancholy, and could not be comforted. Rebbe Nachman came to visit him. With tears in his
eyes, the old man confided, “Rebbe, at a time like this, I only wish that I could pray.” Rebbe Nachman asked him, “Why not? Why can’t you pray?”The old man replied, “Rebbe, you know that I haven’t been a very observant Jew. Saturday was my best day of business. I enjoyed a good restaurant meal too much to even attempt to keep kosher. I really haven’t lived a religious life. How can I pray to God when I feel so far away from Him?”
Rebbe Nachman fixed his gaze on the dying man and spoke. “Have you ever walked out on a clear bright night?” he asked. “Have you ever viewed the heavens, and contemplated the great vastness
of space? Have you ever stared upward with fixed attention, as if you could penetrate the fathomless depths of space, as if you could probe the hearts of the stars and steal their secrets? Have you ever felt the words of the Psalmist, “The heavens declare the glory of God, the sky above tells that He made it?” The old man nodded his head. “Then,” continued Rebbe Nachman, “you are much closer to God than you could ever imagine. God searches out the tiniest ember of faith, and fans it into a brilliant light, to guide us throughout our lives.” The old man was comforted.
To remember the Exodus is to imbibe God’s immediate presence or immanence. If God is with us, we can transcend our faults and failings no matter where we are in life.
