Gritty Optimism in Dark Times

Gritty Optimism in Dark Times
Rabbinic Intern Rebecca Thau

As we began the festival of Passover last night,
We embarked on a journey of liberation.
Here’s how the rabbis of the Mishnah sum it up:
מַ תְ חִיל בִּגְנוּת וּמְ סַיֵּם בְּשֶׁ בַח
We begin with degradation and end with praise.

The Exodus story starts
With slavery and desperation,
So it’s helpful to know
That the story will end with deliverance and joy.
No matter how dark the beginning appears,
The ancient Israelites’ suffering
Is a precursor
To their eventual freedom.

It would be nice to have that guarantee in our own lives– To know that,
No matter how tough things get,
Our stories
Will end with exuberant songs of praise.

But, like us,
The ancient Israelites
Didn’t have that real-time guarantee.

We know where their story ends.
We’ve read the Haggadah before,
Or at least watched
The Prince of Egypt, The Ten Commandments, or the Rugrats Passover special.

But our biblical ancestors didn’t have that luxury.

Without knowing how their story would end,
How did they respond
To their difficult circumstances?
From the depths of their despair,
How did they maintain hope?

I’ve been thinking a lot about one midrash
This Passover season,
A rabbinic story that encapsulates gritty optimism
In the face of pessimism and pain.
In this midrash,
One audacious heroine not only
Manages to sustain her own hope,
But also convinces others to preserve their hope, too.

This midrash begins
With Pharoah’s harrowing decree
To murder all Israelite baby boys.

Our rabbis wonder how Moses’s father,
Amram,
Reacted.

In their telling,
Amram shuts down.
Despondent, he exclaims,
“The people of Israel are birthing children for naught!”1 Seeing no way forward,
He leaves his beloved wife
And swears off intimacy,
Lest they have a baby
Who would be doomed from the start.

In response to Pharaoh's cruelty,
Amram wonders,
What’s the point in building a family or a future When it could all be taken away?
Crushed,
He jumps to the conclusion that
There’s no reason to go on living and loving.

Attempting to prevent the pain of loss,
Amram prevents the love that precedes it–
As if that love were also for naught.
He closes himself off,
Building a protective shield.

And Amram wasn’t alone.
The other Israelite men followed his lead
And swore off intimacy, too.

Just like that,
It seemed like Pharaoh had won.
Demoralized,
The people of Israel
No longer believed they could build a better future. So, they simply gave up.
Hopelessness became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

This is where
Our protagonist intercedes.

Miriam,
Amram’s young daughter,
Confronts her father directly.
She chastises him, insisting:
“Your decree is harsher than Pharaoh’s! Pharaoh's decree only applies to the boys,
But yours applies to the girls, too!
And Pharoah is wicked,
So his decree might not happen.
But you, Dad,
You’re righteous–
So your decree will happen.”²

Miriam–
A little girl–
Bravely enters the fray
To remind her father Amram
To keep hoping in the face of hardship,
Even without a promised “happy ending.”

Inspired by his daughter’s powerful message, Amram reunites with his wife Yocheved
And convinces the other Israelite men to do the same.

We know what happens next.
Amram and Yocheved have a baby boy–
Moses–
The child who will grow up
To liberate the Israelites
From bondage and degradation.

After 400 years of slavery,
The Israelites are redeemed
Because Miriam
Reignited their collective belief
In the possibility of a better future.
The people of Israel
Only move “from degradation to praise”
Because one brave little girl
Reminded her dad
Not to give up on hope
And not to give up on love.

Miriam teaches us
That cultivating hope in dark times
Is neither foolish nor naive.
It is courageous.
Hope does not require us
To pretend that nothing bad is happening
Or to know there will be a “happy ending.” Rather,
Miriam shows us that
Hope is choosing to believe in–
And build–
A brighter future
When we face impending darkness.

Many of us entered this Passover overwhelmed– By personal challenges
Or by the challenges in the world around us.

In times like these,
It’s easy to shut down,
Like Amram.
That’s often my coping mechanism.
When things get to be too much,
It sometimes feels like the only option–
The only means of self preservation–
Is to avoid the pain and overwhelm
By retracting from the world.
Miriam calls those of us with this tendency
To respond differently.

Others of us entered this Passover season Celebrating new, exciting possibilities this spring.

Perhaps this is how Miriam felt, too.
Perhaps this is why
She could imagine a better future
Beyond the Israelites’ struggles.

Miriam’s hope gives her the strength
To recognize others’ anguish–
And to help them forge a way out of their pain.

Miriam proves to her father–
She proves to us–
That we all have the power
To inspire others to maintain hope.
Even the smallest among us,
Even those of us who worry
About the authority or importance of our voices, Can pull those we love
Out of melancholy and despair.
Miriam reminds us
That we can all make a vital difference
In the lives of those closest to us.
And, through this one-on-one encouragement, We just might impact
The outlook of our entire community.

Even without a guarantee
That their degradation would someday become praise, Miriam doesn’t give up on hope.
She reminds us what’s possible for us:
She calls us to confront despair
And engage in acts of positive purpose.
She calls us to keep living
And to keep loving,
Even when it feels nearly impossible.

Whether you entered this Passover
Feeling as defeated as Amram
Or as confident as Miriam,
May we all heed the lesson of this midrash:
May we cultivate gritty optimism ourselves
And help our loved ones find hope,
So that we can build our way
Out of the darkness
And towards joyful songs of praise.

²אָמְ רָ ה לוֹ בִּתּוֹ גְּזֵרָ תְ ךָ קָ שָׁ ה מִ שֶּׁ ל פַּרְ ע ֹה, שֶׁ פַּרְ ע ֹה לֹא גָזַר אֶלָּא עַל הַזְּכָרִ ים, וְאַתָּ ה עַל הַזְּכָרִ ים וּנְקֵ בוֹת. פַּרְ ע ֹה רָ שָׁ ע הוּא וּגְזֵרָ תוֹ 2 סָפֵק מִ תְ קַ יֶּמֶ ת סָפֵק אֵינָהּ מִ תְ קַ יֶּמֶ ת, אֲבָל אַתָּ ה צַדִּ יק וּגְזֵרָ תְ ךָ מִ תְ קַ יֶּמֶ ת