With quiet reverence, my elderly neighbor laid a towel on the ground in her backyard. Kneeling upon it, she kissed the earth. “I do this,” she said in her thickly-accented English, “so that you should kiss the ground that you are living in America. Never take freedom for granted.”
I had become a bar mitzvah that summer and Mrs. Lichaa, dressed in her Seder finery, felt I was ready to appreciate that the Exodus from Egypt was more than an ancient legend from the Torah.
Following in the footsteps of our biblical ancestors, Mrs. Lichaa and her family had left Egypt carrying only a few possessions. Her husband, a respected physician, had been warned by a sympathetic patient in the Egyptian military that rising tensions between Israel and Egypt would soon worsen conditions for Egyptian Jews. Although Dr. Lichaa hesitated, hoping the situation would stabilize, Mrs. Lichaa was adamant that there was no time to waste. They had to leave Egypt while it was still possible to get out. And so, forsaking their comfortable lives and their wealth, they came to America to build a new future for their children.
That spring afternoon, with Passover just hours away, I was captivated by the intensity of my neighbor’s words and by the power of her actions. When I reflect on that day, I see Mrs. Lichaa exemplifying a key Talmudic teaching (BT Pesachim 116b): “In each and every generation, a person is obligated to see themselves as though they had gone forth from Egypt, as it is said, And you shall tell your child on that day, saying, ‘It is because of that which God did for me when I went forth from Egypt’ (Exodus 13:8)”.
Mrs. Lichaa understood, almost uniquely, that the boundaries between our sacred stories and our lived experience can be quite porous. Having literally fled from Egypt, she knew what it meant to leave behind a settled life in the hopes of finding freedom in a new and uncertain land. For her, reciting the account of the Exodus was more than a ritual; it was almost autobiographical. Mrs. Lichaa wanted me to see that our ancient texts were more than just our people’s stories – in a very real sense, they were her story.
The Talmudic directive “to see” ourselves (lirot) as if we had gone out from Egypt was central to the powerful lesson Mrs. Lichaa wanted me to absorb. Maimonides, the medieval rabbi and physician, offered a compelling variant on this idea. Instead of passively “seeing” ourselves as having fled slavery, he wrote that we must actively “present” ourselves (l’harot) as having escaped Egyptian servitude (Mishneh Torah: Chametz u-Matzah 7:6).
These two teachings form a complementary pair: gratitude for freedom must be expressed in our heart and also with expressive action. Had Mrs. Lichaa only spoken her words to me, I would have been moved. As the Talmud says, she certainly “saw” herself as someone who had fled Egypt! However, by kneeling and kissing the earth, by “presenting” her conviction for all to see, she offered me a lesson that continues to resonate with me to this day.
Mrs. Lichaa understood that escaping oppression is only a part of the journey. Freedom, even when passionately sought and acquired, doesn’t always equate to living a life of ease. We must also cherish, protect and share the blessings of liberty, especially when they are purchased at great cost. The Seder presents a wonderful opportunity to put this lesson into practice.
At my family’s Seder, we often take a moment to give personal answers to a question posed to the group. Past favorites have included, “What is a moment in your life that felt like a personal exodus?” and “With which of the four children of the Seder do you most identify, and why?”
This year, inspired by my memories of Mrs. Lichaa, I’ll pose a new question at our Seder: “What do you cherish most about your freedoms in our country, and what are you willing to do to ensure that you – and others – can continue to live freely?”
Mrs. Lichaa taught me that freedom is not merely an inheritance; it is a responsibility that we must actively cherish, protect and nourish. This Passover, may our words and our deeds ensure that future generations inherit not only the story of liberation, but its lived reality. As we celebrate this season of liberation, may we merit to share the gift of dignity, justice and true freedom not only with our loved ones, but also with all who dwell on earth. Θ
Rabbi Josh Breindel leads Congregation Beth El of the Sudbury River Valley.
