I would like to share an important discovery with my dear readers about Pesach. To illustrate it, let me begin with a small moshol that drives the point home:
Yitzy was an adventurous boy. He loved exploring and was thrilled when summer arrived and he could wander through the woods. It was a bright, sunny day when he poked his head into the house and called out, “Mommy, I’m going out to play.”
Yitzy headed off. Without even realizing it, he went deeper and deeper into the woods, having the time of his life picking leaves, studying trees…and then, suddenly, the sky turned ominously dark. He could barely see where to go. He turned to head back home, but couldn’t figure out where he was. First, he walked one way, then another, and the sky kept getting blacker and blacker. Yitzy was lost. He was completely alone.
Soon, it was pitch black. The air smelled like rain. He heard threatening rumbles of thunder growing closer. Yitzy sank down onto the ground, absolutely petrified, frozen with fear. He was breathing heavily, trying to clear the feeling of a big, black panic bubble clogging his throat. Tears of utter terror poured down his cheeks, mixing with the slowly increasing rain. Pulling his knees to his chest, he cradled his head and rocked back and forth, unable to do anything.
“Maybe I should scream for help and someone will hear me,” he thought. That idea was quickly chased away by another. “Nah. No one will hear me anyway.”
And so he just sat there, unable to move…
In another part of the woods, Shirah was also out exploring when the thunderstorm began to roll in. Startled by the sound of thunder, she looked up at the sky and was filled with fear—it was quickly becoming black, illuminated only by terrifying streaks of lightning. Glancing around, she didn’t see a single familiar signpost.
“Oh no!” she thought. “I must have been so distracted that I wandered off the path. I have no idea where I am or how to get back.”
A feeling of panic began to rise in her throat, until she pulled herself together. “One minute, Shirah!” she told herself sternly. “There’s no reason to panic. Remember that nature course you took last year? They trained us what to do in an emergency. And you even remembered to bring some supplies.”
She quickly dropped her backpack and rummaged through it. “Flashlight—✓. Water bottle—✓. Compass—✓. Extra batteries—✓.”
With each item she found, she felt calmer. “Look, I even have extra batteries in case the flashlight dies, and a few chocolate bars for energy.”
Straightening her shoulders, she set up a game plan. “Okay. First, I’ll use the compass to figure out which direction to go. I won’t use the flashlight until it’s totally dark. And I’ll take only small sips of water and little nibbles of chocolate.”
With a plan of action, she felt calm enough to try and find her way back home…
The Question
It was during the Seder that a question was asked—so simple, so basic, and yet it landed with the force of a thunderclap.
We had just finished the Four Kashos and Avodim Hayinu. We had just described how we had been avodim to Paroh in Mitzrayim and Hashem took us out with a strong hand. Amazing. Inspiring. We are no longer subservient to Paroh. We are free!
“Really?” one of the teenagers at the table asked innocently. “I thought we’re still in golus. I don’t understand. Back then, we were slaves to Paroh. And today, we’re still in golus. If someone lives in Russia, they’re avodim to Putin. In Eretz Yisroel, they’re avodim to the anti-religious government. In America, we’re avodim to our phones and devices…”
It’s a basic but powerful question: What did we really gain from Hashem taking us out of Mitzrayim if we’re still in golus, still facing its many challenges?
Yes, America today is a relatively hospitable golus, even with the recent uptick in open anti-Semitism, but what about all the other painful stops along the way?
Throughout the centuries, Yidden have continued singing Avodim Hayinu. We sang it under the Spanish Inquisition. We sang it through years of pogroms in Ukraine and other countries. We’ve heard stories of Yidden gathered in the barracks of Auschwitz and other concentration camps, where—after a backbreaking day of slave labor, under the noses of the Nazis—they sang Avodim Hayinu on the Seder night.
So, what is the answer?
The Difference Between Golus Mitzrayim and the Other Goluyos
The Sefas Emes teaches a foundational lesson about the difference between the golus of Mitzrayim and the other goluyos that we have tragically endured since then—a lesson we must internalize.
He explains that the golus of Mitzrayim was so all-consuming that it was simply impossible for us to accept upon ourselves ohl Malchus Shomayim. We were so trapped, so mentally and spiritually bound, that we could not think about anything beyond our enslavement.
The Zohar Hakadosh explains that a person tied down with heavy ropes by another human being simply lacks the capacity to accept Malchus Shomayim.
Yitzy, frozen and paralyzed in the forest, represents that state: completely overwhelmed, helpless, unable to move, much less rise to anything higher.
So, why are the terrible goluyos we’ve experienced since any better? Was Mitzrayim truly worse than Auschwitz?
According to the Sefas Emes, the answer lies in the very first posuk of Hallel that we say on Pesach: Hallelu avdei Hashem—Those who are avdei Hashem should praise Hashem.
The Gemara learns from this posuk that the moment we left Mitzrayim, we underwent a fundamental transformation. We were no longer avdei Paroh. We became avdei Hashem.
This new status was cemented at Krias Yam Suf and solidified at Har Sinai. Ever since, we have remained avdei Hashem, and that cannot be taken from us.
How Do Yidden Dance Before Being Killed?
We hear stories of Yidden in the worst possible matzayim, like under the Communist regime in Russia, who still kept their minds focused on Hashem and lived with emunah.
We’ve all heard about those holy avdei Hashem during the war who refused to be subjugated to the Nazis. The Nazis could starve them, torture them, and kill them, but there was one thing they could never touch: their minds, their tzelem Elokim, their awareness that they were Yidden, and that they were proud and happy to be Yidden.
How else can one explain a Yid dancing and singing “Ivdu es Hashem b’simcha” before being shot or gassed to death?
Yes, there were Yidden who did just that.
Closer to our times, we’ve heard about some of the Gaza hostages—tinokos shenishbu, who knew almost nothing about Yiddishkeit—who somehow managed to cling to Hashem in those dark tunnels. They made brachos. They tried to make Kiddush.
It is inexplicable, unless you understand that a spark of Yiddishkeit, placed in us at Yetzias Mitzrayim, Krias Yam Suf, and Har Sinai, continues to burn in every one of us.
Once we became avdei Hashem, we gained something eternal—a flame of emunah, a spark of Yiddishkeit that no nation and no golus can extinguish.
We are no longer avdei Paroh. Yes, we suffer. Yes, golus is hard. But we are avdei Hashem—forever.
The Daily Reminder and the Dual Lesson of Matzah
The Sefas Emes explains that this is why, every morning in Pesukei Dezimra, we recall how Hashem saved us from Mitzrayim. Then we sing the Shiras Hayom. Why?
Because before we are mekabel ohl Malchus Shomayim by saying Krias Shema, before we commit to serving Hashem, we must remember: We are no longer avdei Paroh. We are avdei Hashem.
I recently saw a beautiful addition to this idea that offers both chizuk and perspective.
On Pesach night, we eat matzah. Why? For two reasons. First, matzah is lechem oni, bread of affliction, a reminder of our suffering and slavery. Second, it reminds us of our cheirus, our freedom, as we left Mitzrayim in haste with matzos on our backs.
This duality teaches us that suffering leads to redemption. The seder, the “order” of this world, is that pain often precedes geulah.
That is the message of matzah: There are hard times and there are good times. The hard times lead to the good, not just on a national level, but on a personal, micro level as well.
We all experience difficulties. But we must believe that Hashem will bring geulah from the very depths of our golus.
Serving Hashem Through It All
Our task in golus is to serve Hashem through both good times and hard times.
A true oveid Hashem doesn’t need to feel inspired or uplifted to serve Hashem. A true oveid Hashem holds on with emunah even in the darkest moments.
He davens the same. He does chesed the same. He strives to maintain good middos, to act like an ehrliche Yid, even when life is hard.
That is the lesson of Yetzias Mitzrayim: Once we became avdei Hashem, we were given the power to remain His servants, no matter what.
There is no golus dark enough to separate us from being avdei Hashem.
And that, dear reader, is why we sing Hallel this Yom Tov.
