Our students speak

The most enjoyable moment of my school day is when I have the opportunity to hear our students share their ideas, thoughts and reflections. This may be during class time, as expected, but it is also during other times of our day, as well. It might be during recess, lunchtime, before school, after school or other special moments.

This week I had the privilege of hearing our students deliver their speeches for Round one of the Mikolot Speaking Competition. With only a one sentence topic/saying to address, our students are free to present whatever perspective, understanding and insight they wish to share.

This week’s Parashah is Emor, which means ‘Speak’! I am happy to present here the thoughts of our Year 11 student, Sonia Redman, whose speech, on Each year we recite the words of the Haggadah “Now we are slaves, next year we will be free”. Are we truly free today? I hope you will enjoy.

Rabbi Daniel Siegel

Sonia Redman

Mikolot prepared speech 

Each year we recite the words of the Haggadah “Now we are slaves, next year we will be free.” Are we truly free today?

Every year, Jews throughout the world celebrate Passover, telling the story of Hebrew slaves fleeing from Egypt. But there’s much more to Passover than a commemoration of historical events. At the root of all the symbols, customs, storytelling and ritual, lies one central idea that binds the Seder’s distinct parts into a single whole: “Now we are slaves, next year we will be free.”

Today, we live in a free country. But are we truly free? There are two main ideas that prove our perpetuated slavery that I will briefly discuss; freedom of self, and freedom of others.

Firstly, through examination of our alleged freedom of self, it is revealed that in fact we are not free today. How often do we feel constrained from being who we really want to be and from doing what we really want to do? We are slaves. Slaves to our own inhibitions, fears, habits, cynicism and prejudices. These self-appointed pharaohs prevent us from expressing our true inner self, from reaching our spiritual potential. Our souls are incarcerated in selfishness, laziness and indifference. 

Freedom is more than freedom from slavery, tyranny or persecution. True freedom is in the mind. On the night of Passover, this idea of freedom is given full expression in the Haggadah. It is revealed to us that the miracle of the Exodus was not completed with the people’s departure from their slavery, they needed to develop to become a truly free people and not merely runaway slaves. In other words, the slave is bound by two things: first, by his subjugation to another’s will, and secondly by his lack of a will and personality of his own. A person who retains his own essential character can never completely be enslaved; and, conversely, a person who has no independent self-image can never be truly free.

A further example of this is the atrocities of the Middle Ages that did nothing to damage, alter or diminish the spiritual vitality of the exiled Jewish people. Despite persecution and exclusion, the Jewish people’s exile was never really complete, for they did not lose their essential character. Paradoxically, it was assimilation that made Jewish exile complete, for when the assimilated Jews parted with their own distinctive character, they gave up the last shred of independence. Thus, even if they had gained freedom as an individual, they became exiled in terms of spirituality. 

Through all the laws and customs of the Seder night, what we are really emphasising is the most important thing about ourselves: “Now we are slaves, and next year we will be free.” As we go through the rituals and recite the Haggadah, we must bring ourselves to understand that we shall truly be free only when we live as individuals.

Self-awareness is one aspect of freedom that deters us from true redemption. Another involves the freedom of all people. To truly be free, we must understand what it means to not be free, to connect to those who are constrained, to lack indifference and to demonstrate empathy. 

We read in the Maggid section of the Haggadah about the maztah and the bitter herbs. The bitter herbs represent slavery due to their sharp taste. The matzah symbolises the Exodus of the Hebrews, their freedom from slavery. It is not just the symbolism, but also the order these items are spoken about in the Haggadah that is interesting. First we speak of the matzah and finally the bitter herbs. But this seems strange. Why does the symbol of freedom precede that of slavery? Surely slavery preceded freedom so it would be more logical to talk of the bitter herbs first? The answer, according to the Chassidic teachers, is that only to someone who is free, does slavery taste bitter. Had the Israelites forgotten freedom they would have grown used to slavery. The worst exile is to forget that you are in exile.

How does this relate to contemporary society? I will explain. Freedom is reflected in two Hebrew words, chofesh and cheirut. Chofesh is ‘freedom from’, cheirut is ‘freedom to’. Chofesh is what a slave acquires when released from slavery. But this kind of liberty is not enough to create a free society. A world in which everyone is free to do what they like begins in anarchy and ends in tyranny. That is why chofesh is only the beginning of freedom, not its ultimate destination. The important definition is cheirut. Cheirut is collective freedom, a society in which my freedom respects yours. It rests on self-restraint and regard for others. The ultimate aim of Torah is to fashion a society on the foundations of justice and compassion, with recognition towards the integrity of all creation. Thus we say in reading the Haggadah, “Next year may we all be bnei chorin,” invoking cheirut not chofesh. It means, ‘May we be free in a way that honours the freedom of all’.

In conclusion, the Pesach story remains the limitless source of inspiration to all those who long for freedom. It teaches us that freedom and justice must belong to all, not some; that all human beings are equal; and that in order to experience true freedom, we must hear the cry of slavery.