As we come out of the Passover holiday with its special readings, we re-enter our regular Torah sequence.

I’ve spent the better part of the past ten days thinking about ways in which I (joyfully) feel personally liberated of late.

And also where I still feel a little stuck in the “narrow place,” an English translation for “Egypt.”

Though joyful to feel growth in certain ways, the state of our country very much concerns me.

Because:

It would have been (bad) enough had Republicans downright refused to create laws to reduce gun access in our country, but making guns even more accessible?

And:

It would have been (bad) enough had abortion been outlawed in certain states, but to go after abortion pills for the entire country as well?

It would have been (bad) enough for temperatures to rise to 90 degrees F. in NYC in May, but for that to happen in mid-April?

In the words of Greta Thunberg, “Our house is burning up.”

It all feels like too much.

Like what happens in this week’s Parsha with Aaron’s sons who are swallowed up by fire for making an unauthorized burnt offering to God.

But the Parsha is teaching us about holiness and restraint: what foods to eat; when to make offerings; not to get too enthusiastic about doing it all now, before its time.

I heard an Episcopal priest and theologian, Barbara Brown Taylor, define “holy.”

She said holiness means being able to maintain a sort of equilibrium even as the earth is shifting under our feet.

She commented on the passionate need many of us feel to “change everything now.”

She points us in the direction of seeing ourselves as one person in a bucket brigade, each making a contribution to put out the fire;

As Taylor says, we participate in the bucket brigade without knowing whether we ourselves will make it out alive.

But we do it because it’s the right thing to do.

Because life is holy, and it’s holy to help our fellows.

Putting out the fire is a collective activity, not an individual one—for the greater good.

Passover is about retelling a story of hope for the liberation of the collective.

It’s a story that says that we as a people will be able to overcome whatever comes our way.

It is a call for and of hope.

Our Torah commands us to tell the story of the Exodus every year so our children will learn and understand and continue to hope—for a collective, not an individual, freedom.

Many Jews include the stories at their seders of other people who are enslaved in today’s world—and other peoples that have overcome extreme adversity, especially that of Black Americans who depended on our Exodus story to give them hope.

Thus, we continue to continue to do our part.

Because we must.

It’s how we live a holy life.

For a collective freedom.

And say Amen.