The truth is, I hadn’t planned to release another newsletter so soon after the first one. However, with the arrival of Passover and people beginning to wish each other a ‘Happy Holiday’ again,
I felt a heaviness in my heart.
This prompted me to write to you, to share some reflections on the holiday and how its insights are interwoven with the bitter realities we are facing these days.
Shay
Passover
In Hebrew, we refer to it as Zman Cheruteinu, meaning ‘Time of Our Freedom.’ This Feast of Liberty commemorates the moment our ancestors left the slavery of Egypt to be reborn as free people.
In the Hebrew calendar, the month of April is known as Nissan, designated as the first month in the Torah, counting from the Exodus from Egypt. It is declared, “This month shall be unto you the beginning of months; it is the first unto you of the months of the year.”
The name “Nissan,” like all the months of the year, was established among our people at the beginning of the Second Holy Temple period following the return from the Babylonian exile. “Nissan” is first mentioned in the Book of Esther: “In the first month, which is the month of Nissan, in the twelfth year of King Ahasuerus, the lot (in Hebrew – Pur) was cast,” and in the Book of Nehemiah: “It came to pass in the month of Nissan, in the twentieth year of King Artaxerxes.”
The name “Nissan” derives from the Akkadian language, meaning ‘sprouting bud’ in spring, as it is noted: “The buds have been seen in the land.”
There is a meaningful hint in the name ‘Nissan,’ derived from ‘nes’ (miracle in Hebrew), which signifies the numerous miracles performed for Israel, especially the Exodus from Egypt. Additionally, it comes from ‘nissayon’ (test in Hebrew), referring to the trials and challenges the children of Israel endured.
Nissan initiates the annual cycle of Jewish holidays, symbolizing the nation’s birth. Thus, it stands as the “first” month, ushering in the Jewish journey through the months of the year.
During Passover, the monumental journey of the people of Israel begins—a physical quest that started in the Sinai deserts, passed through Mount Sinai, and culminated in the Promised Land 40 years later.
The Jewish people boast a history spanning over 3,300 years. Today, Jews of various types, colors, religious observances, and traditions live both in the Land of Israel and in the diaspora. Some regard Judaism primarily as a culture, while others see it as a way of life.
Yet, on one question, I have no doubt that they would all give the same answer: What happened over 40 years?
I have no shadow of a doubt that they all would say the same thing:
40 years after leaving Egypt, we wandered in the desert until we reached the Promised Land.
But was it merely a physical journey?
I think we can all agree that wandering the desert for 40 years also leads to a mental journey. In a Bible lesson yesterday, I heard a beautiful analogy that I would like to share with you.
A Nation Is Born
The Exodus from Egypt symbolizes the birth of the nation of Israel.
The Plague of the Firstborn (the final and most devastating of the ten plagues God inflicted upon Egypt to compel Pharaoh to free the Israelites) and the subsequent departure through a door smeared with blood vividly echo the imagery of birth from a bleeding womb.
The parting of the Red Sea (a miraculous event where God divided the waters, allowing the Israelites to escape from the Egyptian army on dry ground), occurring 8 days after the Passover sacrifice, represents the nation’s ‘circumcision’—a covenant marked by separation and commitment. At this moment, the people of Israel were distinctly separated from the pursuing ‘foreskin’ of their Egyptian oppressors.
The revelation at Mount Sinai (a pivotal moment when God delivered the Ten Commandments to Moses and the Israelites), marks the acceptance of the commandments, signifying a phase of initial maturation.
The lengthy period in the desert mirrors adolescence, a time of growth and testing (“I remember for you the kindness of your youth,” Jeremiah 2), characterized by numerous challenges and divine provisions, including manna and water directly from God. This period also represents the “betrothal” phase between the people and their God (“I will betroth you to me forever,” Hosea 2).
Entering the Promised Land shifts the relationship from betrothal to a marriage covenant. Upon arrival, the people of Israel experience a foundational event at Mount Ebal, signifying ownership and commitment—the ceremony of blessings and curses that elevates the relationship to a new, tangible level and cements the transition from the desert betrothal to a marriage anchored in cultivating the land and a mutual bond with it.
This journey reaches its zenith with the construction of a permanent and stable home for the bride—the sons and daughters of Israel—and for the groom—God Himself, in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.
Every Year…
Every year at Passover, we sit around the Seder table, ask the questions, and every father fulfills the commandment to tell his son the story of the Exodus from Egypt, and you shall tell your son on that day saying…
And what a father will tell his son this year? Are we truly free? Or are we merely slaves to the whims of politics, led by two modern-day pharaohs, at opposite ends of the same rope? Upon closer inspection, we see they are not so different from each other. One is Jewish, the other Muslim. One bears direct responsibility for bloodshed, while the other also holds significant responsibility for the blood on the first one’s hands.
Recently, there was an interview on TV with a family member of those kidnapped (those whose loved ones are still held captive in Gaza). I don’t recall the exact question posed by the interviewer, and honestly, it’s not even relevant. Her immediate response, however, was strikingly candid: ‘Are you talking about Bibi or Sinwar?’
Once, even among politicians, there was a sort of decency—if not exactly integrity. When they overstayed their welcome, they knew it was time to lay down the keys and go home.
Today, it seems the more you foul up, the more extremist you are, and the more blood is on your hands, the tighter you cling to power, as if there were no backbone left.
These are not easy words for me to write, and I wish I would never have to write something like this about an Israeli prime minister. It’s very hard for me to express this, and it may not be popular, but I find it crucial to say: my country has been hijacked by two madmen—one a terrorist, the other facing a criminal trial.
200 Days
It’s been 200 days since October 7th,
and the citizens still lack security!
200 days later,
politicians are seen smoking cigars and taking vacations.
200 days later,
the ultra-Orthodox still refusing to share the burden and
enlist in the army like everyone else.
200 days later,
and the fate of 133 citizens, kidnapped by Hamas, alive and dead, their only crime was living near the border.
As Bibi once bluntly told an attendee at a conference in Kiryat Shemona who asked why a hospital wasn’t being built there, ‘You’re not interesting, you’re boring.’
That dismissive attitude is exactly what we’re seeing now.
To those in power, the kidnapped are just old news, boring.
The prime minister’s chair, as well as the position of the terrorist Sinwar, seems to be far more important.
From one, you might still expect, think, and hope that a bit of fairness and integrity would remain. On the other, I expect nothing because he leads a terrorist organization.
So, this year it is certainly not a happy holiday,
nor can it truly be called a Festival of Freedom.
Rather, it seems fitting to name it the Festival of Mourning.
One God, two Pharaohs, and 133 Jewish hostages dreaming of freedom, while a son asks his father,
“Why, in 2024, are the Pharaohs not letting my people go?“
Much love,
Shay
Thank you for taking the time to read the Born In Israel Compass.
This newsletter does more than just provide updates; it offers a thoughtful analysis of the diverse factors influencing life in the State of Israel. My goal is to deepen your understanding of the realities on the ground, moving beyond the common slogans and headlines.
In light of the rapid changes and significant events, such as the recent attack from Iran, I am committed to keeping the Born In Israel Newsletter free for everyone.
However, during these challenging times, particularly with tourism — my main source of income — at a standstill, your support would be especially meaningful.
If you find this newsletter enlightening and feel moved to help sustain my efforts, I would deeply appreciate it. Please know there is no obligation; only contribute if you feel like doing so.
Much love and respect,
Shay
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