Just last week, as Passover was about to begin, I found myself on a Zoom with a b’nai mitzvah family. The young woman will be chanting from one of the many sections of the Torah which enumerate our festival celebrations, and her father asked—as many do when confronting the original Biblical text—about the custom of observing eight days of Passover.
Because, you see, no matter which account you read in the Torah—be it Exodus, Leviticus, or Deuteronomy—the text is quite clear: You shall eat unleavened bread for seven days (Lev. 23: 6).
And so, as I often do, I explained the system of the moon, and witnesses, and signal fires—and the relative insecurity of this method of message transmission. I explained the differences between Passover in Israel and in the Diaspora, and how the choices of rabbis both ancient and modern resulted in differences in practices across different denominations.
The debate over when to welcome leaven back into our lives (for those of us who are gluten-full, at least) is a wonderful example of our tradition at its messy, complicated, nuanced, specific best. Down to the most picayune, ancient concern about a sliver of the moon, this attention to detail belies a concern about getting it right; I worry that in today’s world, perhaps it misses the point.
So today, on this day that is a regular day for some in our community and the last day of Passover for others, I want to offer this idea—or perhaps this blessing—for this day, betwixt and between.
Pesach is the story of collective liberation. The Book of Exodus reminds us that:
