There is a rule at Yeshivat Maharat regarding halakhic inquiries: No P shaylas (questions) before p. That is, no anxious Pesach question may be asked until Purim—the seemingly smaller p—is behind us. We must pace ourselves. Yet this rule never works. Even before the flour-filled hamentaschen are baked and the crumbs of the mishloach manot are scattered, the questions begin. How can I kasher X for Pesach? Might I consume Y on Pesach? Where are we holding on kitniyot derivatives this year? Etc. etc. etc. The torrent of concerns seem urgent and endless. Indeed, there is a frenzy that surrounds this holiday that seems somehow intrinsic to it. Pesach does not feel like Pesach unless some kind of crazy preparation precedes it. But why? Might this intense, anxious energy actually be religiously significant? Might our heightened experience of time around this holiday of redemption teach us something about redemptive time?

The Biblical story of Yetziat Mitzrayim notably accents its frenzied pace. “Ki b’chipazon yatzata me’eretz mitzrayim”—“For in haste did you leave the land of Egypt” (Devarim 16:3), we are told. The Israelites themselves were instructed on the eve of the Exodus: “Va’achaltem oto b’chipazon” (Shemot 12:11). Regarding the Passover sacrifice, “You shall eat it in haste.” Indeed the whole evening was characterized by bustle:

And they baked unleavened cakes of the dough that they had taken out of Egypt, for it was not leavened, since they had been driven out of Egypt and could not delay; nor had they prepared any provisions for themselves (Shemot 12:39).

Matzah, the most quintessential of Pesach foods, becomes an emblem of this hurried state, a testament to the dramatically rapid rate of redemption. When we place it at the center of our Seder tables then, we are thematically placing chipazon at the center of our story. We are reminded that our fates may change overnight. That long-suffering pain just might one day lift. As the midrash says, “Yeshuat Hashem k’heref ayin,” “Divine salvation comes in the blink of an eye” (Midrash Lekach Tov, Esther 4:7).
One wonders if the Pesach frenzy mirrors just this sort of energy. Perhaps it too channels the swift pace of transformative change.

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There is another side to our liberation story though. And that is the long, plodding arc of the narrative that is the book of Exodus. Whether one starts the clock with the descent of Jacob’s children to Egypt or the full enslavement of Bnei Yisrael; or from the moment that God hears the cries of Israel or the moment that Moshe pleads for freedom, the journey of redemption takes time. The pace of the storytelling is notably slow. Note, for example, the description of God’s “awakening” to Israelite pain:

A long time after that, the king of Egypt died. The Israelites were groaning under the bondage and cried out; and their cry for help from the bondage rose up to God. God heard (vayishma) their moaning, and God remembered (vayizkor) the covenant with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob. God looked (vayar) upon the Israelites, and God took notice (vayeda) of them (Shemot 2:23-25).

As if in slow motion, God is stirred in four stages: God hears, God remembers, God looks, God takes notice. There is no haste here.

A few chapters later, God’s deliverance plan is announced:

Say, therefore, to the Israelite people: “I am God. I will free you (v’hotzeiti) from the labors of the Egyptians and deliver you (v’hitzalti) from their bondage. I will redeem you (v’ga’alti) with an outstretched arm and through extraordinary chastisements. And I will take you (v’lakachti) to be My people, and I will be your God. And you shall know that I, the Lord, am your God who freed you from the labors of the Egyptians. I will bring you (v’heiveiti) into the land that I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and I will give it to you for a possession, I God” (Shemot 6:6-9).

Again, we see a plan in four (or five) stages, evolving over time, indicating no rush toward redemption. It is, rather, a process that must unfold, step by step. Consider too the ten stage spectacle of the plagues. Or the four days of lamb watching leading up to the Passover sacrifice. Over and again, the motion slows down and stretches.

This elongated story of redemption does not happen “b’chipazon,” and it does not happen “k’heref ayin,” “in the blink of an eye.” An alternative rabbinic metaphor seems more fitting:

The great Rebbi Ḥiyya and Rebbi Simeon ben Ḥalaphta were walking in the valley of Arbela before morning and saw the dawn (ayelet ha’shachar) that started radiating. The great Rebbi Ḥiyya said to Rebbi Simeon ben Ḥalaphta: Great man, so will be the deliverance of Israel; it starts out little by little (kim’a kim’a) and grows and radiates as it goes on. What is the reason? “Though I sit in darkness, God is my light” (Micah 7:8) (Jerusalem Talmud Yoma 3:2).

Here redemption is likened to the dawn, inching ever so slowly toward light. The first cracks of a rising sun are often not recognizable in the dark. When has night ended and morning begun? There is beauty and mystery in that ambiguity.

Redemption that arises like the dawn is perhaps so understood—gradual, often imperceptible, illuminating. Kim’a kim’a. Little by little, we might be surprised to find ourselves in a new day.

This incrementalist, process-oriented view of radical change is also reflected in the rituals of our holiday of redemption. The structure of the Seder, the grand Order, is a step by step march of transformation. Fifteen steps to be exact. Through four cups of wine, four questions, and so much talking and singing and debating, the intensity of haste (chipazon) yields to more stretchy, languid time. We are encouraged, like the great rabbis of Bnei Brak, to slowly make our way through the night to the dawn. So that we might say, “Raboteinu, higia zman kriat shema shel shacharit,” behold the time of light has come.

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For R. Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter of Ger (1847-1905), this latter pace best captures the rhythm of redemption—the slow, incremental, laborious work of lasting change:

Even though it is said, “You went out in haste,” this does not mean that the redemption was completed in haste. Rather, the beginning took place as a kind of leap and jump—outside the normal order of stages…But afterward, a person must proceed in their service in an orderly way, repairing each and every detail. This is the meaning of the Counting of the Omer: to refine the inner qualities little by little. For what is given from above on Pesach must afterward be acquired by a person through their own effort, until it becomes a complete and fully internalized possession within the soul (Sefat Emet, Pesach 1886).

The Exodus was not the completion of salvation. It was, in fact, just the beginning. I would add that it was the culmination of one gradual process and the inauguration of another. Leaving narrow places (meitzarim) does not guarantee expansive freedom on the other side. Just as for the Israelites of old, so too for ourselves today. The journey continues. The dawn breaks. And we must—step by step, day by day—make our way to the light. Kim’a kim’a.

For this reason, the beginning of the Omer count is so very significant as a Pesach observance. Whether at the Seder table on night 2 (chutz la’aretz) or not (b’aretz), we temper our celebration of the Exodus achieved with a forward-looking turn to what has not yet been redeemed. “Hayom yim rishon la’omer.” Today is the first day of the count toward Revelation. Our work is just getting started.

The Haggadah tells us: “B’chol dor va’dor chayav adam lirot et atzmo k’ilu hu yatza mimitzrayim”—“In each and every generation a person must view themself as though they personally left Egypt” (Mishnah Pesachim 10:5). Perhaps this injunction is there to ingrain in us not a lofty hope for overnight transformation but a commitment to the hard work of gradual growth. Yes, we ought to lean into the activation energy of chipazon. Prepare with excitement and holy anxiety. Cultivate a hunger for matzah—the food of frenzy—and consume it in proper amounts, in the right duration. But lest we be lulled by the high energy/easy burnout of haste, the Seder comes to give order, structure, and guidance for the long haul. Linger a little. Get comfortable. Slow down. For the road to redemption is long and you might not even realize that you are on it.

Chag sameach.