Passover is a time where we celebrate our suffering.
The most prized possession, the most pronounced expression of who you are are your wounds. It expresses you more eloquently than any poem, defines you better than any words, depicts you greater than any picture.
What you have to be most proud of in your life are your wounds and scars. It conveys a time that you once loved but lost; it shows of a moment where you cared but you burned; it reveals a fight that although you did not win but you also never lost. Your suffering describes you, your pain is what made you, and it is what perpetually creates you.
It’s not that you can’t heal but you don’t want to. It’s not that it doesn’t hurt but losing what hurts would hurt more. It’s not that you can’t move on but moving on would be taking a step back.
It is our wounds which enriches our lives, enlivens our existence, and gives meaning to our struggles. On Passover we collect the pain that we went through not only on a national level but also on an individual level, we commemorate it, celebrate it, and we commit to never forget about it. To forget about it is to forget who we are; to lose our wounds would mean to lose the texture of our life. For we know in our hearts that it is the woundless life that is the most wounded life.
2014