Dear Friends,
We live in a world in which disagreement and debate are increasingly seen as conflict and divisive rather than an exchange of ideas that create the potential for learning and growth. All of this, of course, is anathema to Judaism which is based on disagreement and debate. (And we’re pretty darn good at it!!!) The entire Talmud, codified in 650CE, is in fact one long series of rabbinic disagreements.
The ritual of Elijah’s cup is part of this aspect of Judaism. Each of the four cups of wine we will drink at the Passover Seder is connected to one of the four promises God made to the Israelite people in the Torah that they would eventually be redeemed from Egyptian servitude. But even here the rabbis disagreed. Some identified a fifth Divine promise of redemption, and as a result insisted there be five cups of wine instead of just four. Other rabbis were steadfast in their belief that there were just four promises of redemption. They insisted the Seder include just four cups of wine. They argued. They debated. And they were unable to come to an agreement.
Unable to resolve this conflict, they decided to place a fifth cup of wine on the table but not drink it. The hope, they said, was that when the messiah came, whose arrival would be announced by the prophet Elijah, a decision would be rendered as to whether there should be four or five cups.
That cup became known as the cup of Elijah. And all because the rabbis couldn’t agree.
But the lessons we draw from the wine during Passover don’t end there.
As you know, when we recall the ten plagues God sent against Egypt, we remove ten drops of wine from our cups—one for each plague. They are a symbolic way of stating that the fact that our freedom from Egypt required the suffering of others means our joy as we celebrate our ancestors’ escape from slavery is reduced.
It’s reminiscent of the rabbinic story that after the Israelites finally crossed the Reed Sea to freedom, the angels in heaven began to sing. God, the story says, silences them and then offers a divine rebuke, stating, “My creatures are dying and you sing songs?”
When anyone suffers, even our enemies, the rabbis taught, the Divine presence in the world is reduced.
This Passover is taking place in the shadow of October 7th—the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. I know many will find it challenging to celebrate knowing all that happened—and continues to happen. And as we sit down to our festive meal next week, we do so knowing that over 130 hostages are still being held by the Hamas terrorists who kidnapped them.
This year I invite you to add a ritual element to your Seders to acknowledge this reality. You might choose to:
- Leave an empty place setting at your table for those who are unable to celebrate Passover and freedom this year.
- Remove an extra drop of wine to acknowledge the suffering of civilians in Gaza.
- Remove another extra drop of wine from your glasses for the innocent men, women and children held hostage as a sign of our hope that they will soon be reunited with their families, and like our ancestors before us, once again know the sweetness of freedom.
- When you open the door for Elijah do so not only to symbolically welcome him, but also to make the statement that, despite the rapid rise of antisemitism in America, we will not hide behind closed doors.
- Take a sip from Elijah’s cup as an acknowledgement that the future and security of our community are in our hands.
For many of us, this year’s Passover will feel different. It will feel different because it IS different. But the promise of Passover was not merely for our ancestors. It was a promise to us as well. And it is a reminder of the role we each play in helping to secure the future of our community.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Daniel Cohen