Among the most difficult capacities to cultivate in ourselves and our children are the qualities of empathy, sympathy, and compassion. Empathy is the ability to sense other people’s emotions and imagine what they might be feeling or thinking. Sympathy is a sense of pity or sorrow that we feel for another—but it may not be reflective of the actual experience of the other. Compassion is the combination of sympathy and empathy that motivates us to act in an appropriate manner to alleviate the suffering or difficulties of another.
Over the years, I’ve reached deep into the story of the Exodus from Egypt narrative, contemplated how it’s explored in the Haggadah, and read countless essays plumbing the story’s depths. Perhaps the most important principle that comes from its pages is the idea around which the entire seder is constructed: “In every generation a person must see themselves as if they personally have left Egypt.” What’s the goal of that command? Why isn’t the Torah’s imperative—”remember that you were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt”—enough by itself? Why must the experience be personalized to such an extent that each of us must feel as if we were actually there?
I believe that in shaping the Haggadah, our rabbinic ancestors sought to turn our own tale of enslavement and liberation into an exercise that strengthens every generation’s empathy, sympathy, and compassion. The Torah invokes the Exodus account whenever it instructs the Israelites to care for the stranger, the widow, the orphan, or the poor. By declaring that “you” know their hearts because you knew hardship in Egypt, the Torah seeks to advance the historical memory of slavery, expanding it into a broader message of action and concern for the circumstances of others.
Each Passover, we sit at the seder table and recall the story as if we personally lived it. Our empathy, sympathy, and compassion muscles are strengthened, so that when we are invited to extend that caring to others, we’ll be more likely to do so. For the great majority of us who are sufficiently abled so that we can get by more readily in the world, it’s easy to overlook those whose differing abilities diminish their capacities. Jewish Disability Awareness, Acceptance, and Inclusion Month reminds us that we have to extend that heightened sense of awareness to all who would join our community so that the barriers to full inclusion—like the Red Sea—are parted, and all might join us as equals.
—Rabbi Ron Stern
Read and watch Rabbi Sari Laufer’s sermon from Friday’s Shabbat evening service, which also explores inclusion, exclusion, empathy, and sympathy.