There is a well-known Chassidic fable that recalls how Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, one of the leading early Chassidic Rebbes, eagerly prepared for the Seder night, wanting to make it the best and most impressive Seder possible. As the story describes, the Rebbe was filled with pride and excitement as he went about preparing for and beginning the Seder.

Soon after the Seder began, as the tale goes, a Heavenly voice called out to him and said “What are you so proud of? One of your simple villagers, the porter Reb Chaim, is making a Seder just as worthy as yours.”

Upon hearing this, the Rebbe dispatched his followers to find the simple porter and see what could possibly be so special about his Seder.

Upon reaching R’ Chaim’s house, his wife opened the door and stammered in surprise, “What could you possibly want from him? My husband is fast asleep, drunk as a log.”

The men nevertheless couldn’t ignore their Rebbe’s request and shook R’ Chaim awake, dragging the still-inebriated porter down the road to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s home.

Upon the porter’s arrival, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak welcomed his guest and asked him about his Seder.

The simple porter struggled to focus: “Dear Rebbe,” he stammered. “I’ll tell you the truth. Because I know that I can’t drink my brandy for the eight days of Pesach, yesterday I made sure to drink enough to last me for that whole time. Needless to say, soon thereafter I collapsed in my bed and fell fast asleep.

“I remained in a deep sleep until a couple hours ago when my wife shook me awake and said ‘Chaim, why aren’t you leading the Seder, like every other Jew?’ I looked back at her and said, ‘What could you possibly want from me? I’m a no-good ignoramus, my father was a no-good ignoramus and I have no idea how to lead a meaningful Seder. The one thing I do know is that we Jews were once exiled to Egypt and we have a God who took us out of there. And now we’re stuck in exile, but Hashem will once again get us out of here!’”

R’ Chaim continued speaking, “I looked out from my bed and saw the table was set with the cups of wine, matzah and eggs all waiting for me. I struggled out of bed, ate the matzah and eggs and drank the wine. In my already drunken state, I couldn’t stay up much longer and quickly staggered back to bed, where I was again soon fast asleep until your chassidim came and brought me here.”

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak listened attentively to the man’s story. He immediately realized that the poor porter’s Seder was so warmly accepted in Heaven for no reason other than because it had been performed without any embellishment or haughtiness. The man’s simple telling of the story of the exile as the Seder was originally intended was all that God wanted.

This fable, like so many other Chassidic tales, should be internalized in the spirit in which the genre is intended.

These fables should be read perhaps not literally, but to uncover the beauty and majesty that comes out of simple, pure human expressions in their service of Hashem. And that these actions, performed without pomp and circumstance, can have the same, or even greater meaning as those performed by the wealthy, accomplished and learned members of society.

The underlying lesson is that Hashem longs for that purity. And that the earnest actions of the simple Jew can reach heights far greater than those who might “pull out all the stops,” yet are less capable of behaving with humble, heart-felt emotion.

This year, we have been privileged to hear incredibly inspiring expressions of faith from some similarly humble sources, albeit under very different conditions, whose actions serve as an inspiring addition to our Chassidic fable.

Specifically, several of the released female hostages, young women who had experienced the worst of humanity and endured horrific physical and mental abuse, emerged from that hell on earth with remarkable strength in their faith and their Judaism.

Even those who might not come from traditionally “observant” backgrounds have spoken of how the depth of their connection to their faith helped preserve their dignity and resolve in the face of the sheer evil of their captors.

This is not simply a matter of the fact that the simple purity of faith gave them strength under indescribable horrors. Their actions and statements reflect a pride in their Jewish identity and the recognition that their experiences will serve to inspire fellow Jews both today and for many generations to come.

As Jews, answering the question of who we are has become increasingly challenging. All-too-often we are distracted by details intent on putting us into a smaller box: We are Charedi Jews, secular Jews, Modern Orthodox Jews, right wing Jews, you-name-it Jews …

Yet when we answer with those types of definitions, we are almost hoping the questioner understands that we aren’t one of “those other” types of Jews.

The lessons of these young women, true heroines of our times, is a modern retelling of the Chassidic fable. We should take pride in our Jewish identity not solely because of what we look like, how we dress, or how invested our Seder table might be. These former hostage women—not simply because of their sacrifices and what they endured, but more so because of the lessons they have to share—are now beacons of inspiration to relay truths in ways that we could never hope to convey.

We should take pride in our Judaism because of a historic and ancient bond to our peoplehood that exists regardless of how we might define ourselves, who we vote for, which shul we attend or where we might live. That pure, simple, yet critical message should inspire us and motivate us to reach out to our fellow Jews in a spirit of caring, compassion and unity.

May we be blessed with a Pesach together with our families in holiness and happiness, and a holiday where all the hostages are safely returned.

Rabbi David Stav is the chair of the Tzohar Rabbinical Organization and the chief rabbi of Shoham.