Shabbat Messages

The smells of barbecue and sweet Moroccan treats wafted through the air as I walked through Gan Sacher (Sacher Park) in Jerusalem in the days after Passover, during the years I was living in Israel. Thousands of people would spend the day there, commemorating Mimouna, the North African celebration that marks the end of the holiday. Most years, Mimouna is a giant public celebration in Israel.

But this year is different.

With a fragile ceasefire in the war with Iran, and restrictions on large gatherings being lifted only tenuously, those years when we knew well in advance that Mimouna would be spent strolling through barbecue-filled Jerusalem parks, feel like a lifetime ago.

Mimouna’s origins are somewhat mysterious, but the celebration itself is unmistakable: communities gathering in homes and public spaces to reintroduce chametz (leavened foods forbidden during Passover) and to publicly affirm that, although the festival of liberation has ended once again without the world being redeemed, the Jewish people hold fast to the faith that it will.

Maimonides, the medieval sage, has become associated with Mimouna because of the Hebrew phrase ani ma’amin, “I believe.” It is the statement from his Thirteen Principles of Faith that redemption, in the form of the Messiah, will one day arrive. So while this beautifully stubborn Jewish belief - that a redeemed world will come to be - is nothing new, the muted Mimouna festivities this year are a poignant reminder that redemption remains elusive.

This Shabbat’s Torah portion, Shemini, tells the story of a different kind of muted statement of faith in a better world. At the very moment set up for celebration - the dedication of the Tabernacle and the ordination of the priests - Aaron, Moses’ brother and the High Priest, faces any parent’s ultimate nightmare. His sons, Nadav and Avihu, die in an instant, consumed by fire. While the circumstances surrounding their deaths invite their own examination, what is relevant here is Aaron’s response:

Vayidom Aharon.
Aaron was silent.
(Leviticus 10:3)

Aaron demonstrates what Judaism has taught since that moment: sometimes, when the world feels most broken, when fear overwhelms and redemption is out of sight, there are no words that can on their own bring healing or restore a sense of security.

And yet, the silence itself is not empty. It creates time that is essential to be able to reassert our faith that redemption is possible even if we cannot yet glimpse it, and it gives the space that is needed for gaining clarity about what part each of us can play to help make redemption a reality.

Just days ago, we sat around our seder tables and retold the story of the Exodus. Liberation from Egypt was not the end of the journey, but the beginning. Along the way, the Israelites wandered through the wilderness, tested at every turn. They had no roadmap and they could not see their destination. Like Aaron in his grief, theirs was a path without easy answers.

And still, our ancient ancestors kept going—not with certainty, but with conviction.

So too, this year, in the aftermath of a muted Mimouna, when Passover has ended once again without redemption in sight, we hold fast to that same quiet, stubborn faith. Even without a roadmap, even without clarity, we continue forward—together—trusting that one day, we will reach the Promised Land.

Ani ma’amin.

Let us hold on to our faith, acting accordingly and doing our part to help bring redemption closer.

Shabbat shalom,

Rabbi Leah Lewis