Pesach

Pesach is not just a Yom Tov we observe; it is a journey, a story that repeats itself every year in our own lives. It is the night when we remember that we were once in Mitzrayim, enslaved, crushed under the weight of a world that did not allow us to be who we truly were. But Hashem, in His infinite mercy, lifted us up, broke the chains, and brought us to freedom. Pesach is the Yom Tov of geulah, but geulah is not just a historical event—it is the foundation of our avodah every single day.

There are moments in life when we feel stuck, when we feel like we are drowning in the struggles of this world, when we feel like we are in our own personal Mitzrayim. Whether it is the weight of parnassah, shalom bayis, raising children, or the inner battles of the soul, every person has their own Mitzrayim. The yetzer hara whispers, “This is who you are, and you will never change. You will never rise higher.”

But Pesach tells us a different story. Pesach tells us that there is no such thing as a person who cannot be redeemed. Even the lowest slave, who had no identity of his own, was taken out by Hashem Himself. Even those who were so lost that they could not hear the voice of Moshe Rabbeinu, even those who had given up hope, were pulled out with Hashem’s outstretched hand. And if Hashem took us out of that Mitzrayim, He can take us out of any Mitzrayim.

We sit by the Seder, and we say, “Avadim hayinu”—we were slaves. But we don’t just say it as a history lesson. We are supposed to feel it. To feel what it means to be trapped and then to feel the overwhelming chesed of Hashem as He pulls us out. And the truth is, there is always another Mitzrayim ahead of us. There is always another challenge. Because Pesach is not the end of the journey—it is the beginning. We are not just leaving Mitzrayim; we are heading toward Har Sinai, toward Kabbalas HaTorah, toward becoming who we were meant to be.

It is easy to think that freedom means comfort, that the goal of leaving Mitzrayim was to finally rest. But the opposite is true. The freedom of Pesach is the freedom to serve Hashem without barriers, without excuses, without the chains of the yetzer hara holding us back. It is the freedom to work harder, to grow higher, to demand more from ourselves because we know that Hashem believes in us.

And that is why the days of Pesach are called the “days of faith.” Because to live as a Jew, to push forward even when it is hard, requires an unshakable emunah that Hashem is always there, leading us, guiding us, giving us the strength to keep going. Every mitzvah we do, every small act of kedushah, every moment we choose to rise above our struggles, we are reliving Yetzias Mitzrayim. We are proving that we are not slaves to our past, not slaves to our habits, not slaves to the yetzer hara. We are free.

And yes, it is a struggle. Growth is not easy. Leaving Mitzrayim was not easy. Chazal tell us that only 20% of Bnei Yisrael made it out—because freedom is a choice. Not everyone is willing to fight for it. But those who do, those who push forward even when it is hard, will see Hashem’s yad just as clearly as our ancestors did at Krias Yam Suf.

Pesach is a gift, an opportunity to break through barriers that seemed impossible, to start fresh, to walk out of the darkness and into the light. But it requires one thing: to believe. To believe in Hashem’s power to redeem, to believe in the infinite potential that lies within every Jew, and to believe that no matter how deep the exile—whether it is the exile of the body, the mind, or the soul—geulah is always within reach.

And so, as we sit at the Seder, as we taste the matzah, as we sing the words of Hallel, we must take it deep into our hearts: we are free. And that freedom gives us the strength to never stop growing, to never stop fighting, to never stop believing in the greatness of what we can become. Because just as Hashem took us out of Mitzrayim, He is taking us out today. If we are willing to follow Him, there is no limit to how far we can go.