In its first sentences, the Haggadah discloses what I believe is one of the keys to Jewish survival. Jews have a singular ability to commemorate history, while not being a prisoner of it. Victims justifiably seek justice and when they cannot attain it, they are paralyzed and cannot move forward. By contrast, Jews are perennial victims who refuse an identity of victimhood.
Halachmaanya starts by recalling the “bread of affliction” eaten by our slave forefathers, but instantly pivots to an invitation to the hungry to come eat with us. The juxtaposition of these two concepts should not come as a surprise. The phraseכִּֽי־גֵרִ֥ים הֱיִיתֶ֖ם בְּאֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרָֽיִם ׃—“Because you were strangers in Egypt,” appears four times in the Torah. In no case is it followed by a call for revenge against Egypt. Instead, it is always followed by a call for kindness to the stranger in our midst.
In his Haggadah, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, zt”l, recounts a story told by Holocaust survivor, Primo Levi. Levi and other prisoners had been left behind in their camp by the Germans because they were too sick to join a death march. They awaited the arrival of the approaching Soviet army. Levi and a couple of the inmates got a fire going and other inmates decided to give them an extra slice of bread in appreciation.
“Only a day before a similar event would have been inconceivable. The law of the lager (concentration camp) said: ‘Eat your own bread and if you can, that of your neighbor,’ and left no room for gratitude … It was the first human gesture that occurred among us. I believe that that moment can be dated as the beginning of the change by which we who had not died, slowly changed from haftlinge (prisoners) to men again.”
As Rabbi Sacks observes, “One who fears tomorrow does not offer to share his bread … one who is willing to divide his food with a stranger has already shown himself capable of fellowship and faith; the two things from which hope is born.”
Sadly, Egypt was only the first of many tragedies endured by our people. Yet, each generation has shown the remarkable ability to “get off the mat” and “play the hand that was dealt them”—fueled by faith and hope.
Which brings us to Dayenu … It outlines 15 acts that God performed on behalf of the Jewish people from slavery to freedom. After each, we loudly declare, “Dayenu—it would have been sufficient for us,” and, presumably, we would have been grateful. But do we mean it? If God had taken us through the Red Sea but not drowned our enemies, would we really have been satisfied and grateful?
When building the Mishkan (the tabernacle in the desert), the Torah notes that contributions were so numerous that they had to tell people to stop. Using the same root as “Dayenu,” דַיָּ֛ם, the Torah states: וְהַמְּלָאכָ֗ה הָיְתָ֥ה דַיָּ֛ם לְכׇל־הַמְּלָאכָ֖ה לַעֲשֹׂ֣ות אֹתָ֑הּ וְהֹותֵֽר—“The peoples’ contributions were sufficient and there was extra.” In other words, the builders of the Mishkan had what they needed to build the Mishkan—“It was sufficient.” If we apply this nuanced interpretation to Dayenu, we proudly declare that if God had stopped at any of the 15 steps, it would have been sufficient for us. Due to our faith and hope, we would have moved forward.
Last December, I visited battle-shocked Israel on a mission, full of scenes of both devastation and inspiration. However, I did not process the most inspiring image of my trip until my return.
The fields outside of Kfar Aza were green as small vegetable plants sprouted. Even under normal circumstances, agriculture is an act of faith. Much of the investment in time and money is up front and then you depend on factors controlled by the Almighty to determine your success or failure.
To create green fields in Kfar Aza, in December 2023, meant that brave people planted those seeds under daily fire from Gaza, without most of their foreign workers and in the shadow of their pogrom ravaged kibbutz. No one would have faulted them for staying away and relying on government compensation. Yet, like generations of Jews before them, they rejected victimhood and in an act of faith, planted for the future.
As we sit down for the second post-Oct. 7 Seder, we might think of an additional verse of Dayenu. If God’s only blessing for us had been the inclusion among the Jews of so many heroic people of hope and faith in the face of adversity—the farmers, the hostages, the soldiers, the first responders and so many others in Israel—“Dayenu.”
Chag kasher v’sameach!
Dror Futter is Senior President Counsel at Touro University and lives in Teaneck, NJ. The views expressed herein are solely those of the author. Dror wishes to thank Rabbi Mendy Kaminker of Chabad of Hackensack for his feedback on this article.
