See No Stranger (Shabbat HaGadol)

Over the last year, I’ve fantasized about what it would be like to be with people again. Though I’m an introvert, I’ve missed spending time in-person with others, the give and take of conversation, offering tea and a place to sit.

Now, as reality sets in, and many of us begin to gather safely with each other, I worry we may not end up acting as hospitably or generously as we imagined we would…

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Though Passover is again a virtual experience this year, its rituals are real: we do them with our bodies, and they change the way we experience the world. One particularly powerful ritual we do is pour a cup and open our door to Elijah.

Now, this ritual isn’t mentioned in any biblical or rabbinic texts; it only begins to appear in an obscure 15th century text.

So why has it become so popular?

One theory connects this ritual to our people’s past redemption on Passover: to a hope Elijah will arrive at some future Pesach to herald the arrival of the Messianic era — a time of abundance and equity, when everyone is free.

But I think the way we do the ritual tells us more about why we do it: before we fill Elijah’s cup, we say kol dichfin: “all who are hungry, come and eat!” Perhaps what we now call Elijah’s cup was originally for those who needed a place to eat.

If so, the invitation at the beginning of the seder, and our invitation to Elijah would be one and the same. To this point, many folks tales depict Elijah disguised as a beggar. On seder night, he comes to each Jewish home, and — based on how he is treated — goes to the Heavenly Court to report on how ready the Jewish people is to be fully redeemed.

Our act of pouring a cup and opening the door to welcome Elijah each year thus becomes a test of our ability and desire to welcome others -- to open our door, our hearts, even to people or experiences we may consider unpleasant or undesirable.

Put another way, this moment in the seder is our chance to make sure our values actually translate into action:

How wide do we open our doors, and the doors of our hearts? How ready do we feel to welcome a stranger to our table? And what social systems close us and our homes to other people, turn Elijah into someone we may see as less than, instead of simply a part of us we do not yet know, a part of us that can offer us redemption and wholeness?

Tomorrow night, we will say, “Now we are slaves, next year may we be truly free.” As we begin to encounter other people again, especially those we consider strangers, may we treat them the way we hoped we would. This year, may we confront and transform the systems that have created a hierarchy of human value, so next year we and all people may be truly free.

May it be so.