Rabbah Saphir Noyman Eyal offers a deep and timely reflection on Passover, especially in a year filled with confusion, pain, and uncertainty. She reminds us that the journey of transformation is not about fear, but about love — not about submission, but about choosing faith over reason.

The will to receive for oneself, which persists throughout the 6,000-year spiritual process, is not meant to disappear. Rather, it exists so that, in the end, it can be transformed — not through awe or fear, but through a conscious act of love. That is the essence of Passover: the shift from fear to love, from instinct to intention.

Rabbah Saphir connects this to the image of being dust under the feet — afar — tied linguistically and spiritually to Pharaoh (Paro) and the back of the neck (oref), symbols of resistance and stubbornness. Dust clings. It never fully disappears. Yet even what is left behind, like the ashes of a sacrifice, is gathered into a sacred place. Mixed with water — with grace — it becomes a test, a mirror of inner truth and loyalty.

This year, the Seder questions are harder to frame. Last year was painful but clear. This year feels foggier, more complex. There is more fear because the unknown itself has become clearer. Neither side of any struggle seems to know how to move forward — and it’s becoming evident that no one will get exactly what they want.

So the real question of Passover becomes: What truly separates Rosh Hashanah from Pesach? And in facing the unknown, do we respond with fear — or with love, with faith?

Rabbah Saphir Noyman Eyal reflects on the experience of participating in a second seder, especially when it involves family. She highlights the internal conflict of choosing to give up one's expectations, recognizing that this form of seder is often disconnected from the true spiritual assembly of Passover. When attending a family reunion-style seder, you are engaging in a gathering that lacks the depth of a spiritual community, where the focus is not on the transformative journey of the seder but more on maintaining tradition, and often, on superficial interactions. In such settings, even meaningful insights may be met with indifference, lost amid casual conversation.

This experience contrasts with the ideal seder, where there is an intentional community focused on spiritual work. In these contexts, the guidelines of Passover — the rituals, the study, the shared purpose — create a space for deep transformation and reflection. Without these shared guidelines, the true power of the seder is lost, leaving participants in a state of spiritual separation.

Rabbah Saphir stresses the importance of creating a "screen," a spiritual ecology that supports growth and transformation. This is only possible when there is a collective intention — a community actively working towards a common spiritual purpose. Without this, the experience of faith and the awareness of one's limitations remain within the realm of reason, and though they may inform and guide, they cannot fully activate change.

In essence, the difference between reason and faith lies in the experience of overcoming limitations. As we confront our own limitations through reason, we learn to trust in faith — the belief that, even within our limitations, help will come. This process of evolving through faith within reason is the key to spiritual growth, but it can only be realized within a community that shares this intention.

The story of Passover and the Exodus from Egypt has always been a central part of Jewish tradition, but its deeper spiritual significance goes beyond just freedom from physical slavery. When we look at the cities of Egypt, such as Ramses and Pithom, they were not merely storehouses; they were the administrative and cultural heart of the Egyptian Empire. These cities symbolized the peak of Egypt’s achievements — a model of what it considered to be civilization’s pinnacle.

But what Egypt represents spiritually is not just success, but also the tyranny of the will to receive. The culture that built these monumental cities enslaved itself to material achievement, beauty, and order at the cost of the spirit. This is the essence of what we are meant to confront during Passover — our own enslavement to material desires and the superficial achievements that keep us from spiritual growth.

Passover serves as a reminder that while we may be physically free, our spirit can still be trapped by the very desires we think will bring us fulfillment. The paradox of modern society is that we often exchange one form of slavery for another, thinking that by fulfilling our material needs, we can satisfy our soul. But this is not true freedom.

The Exodus was not just about leaving Egypt; it was about the awakening of the spirit to a new possibility — a shift in perception where the importance of material wealth is seen for what it truly is: a tool, not the goal. This is why every year, we must renew our understanding of Passover. We cannot afford to treat it as a simple celebration of freedom; we must dig deeper to understand how our desires shape and sometimes imprison us.

True freedom, as Passover teaches, is not about merely improving our external circumstances; it’s about the spiritual liberation from the tyranny of the will to receive for oneself. Only when we understand our true limitations, both personally and universally, can we transcend them and align ourselves with a higher purpose.

As we celebrate this festival, let us remember that the physical exodus from Egypt must mirror a spiritual exodus within ourselves. Only by recognizing the false idols we’ve built and the limitations they impose on our spirit can we truly break free and move toward a life of spiritual elevation, guided by faith and the greater good.