The holiday of Passover has many names, and in Hebrew, that is never coincidental. Each name reflects a different layer of meaning: the holiday of spring חג האביב (chahg hah-ah-veev), the holiday of matzah חג המצות (chahg hah-mah-tsoht), the holiday of freedom חג החירות (chahg hah-cheh-root), and the holiday of redemption חג הגאולה (chahg hah-geh-oo-lah).

While each of these names captures something essential about the holiday, it is the idea of redemption and liberation that has always resonated with me most.

We are guided, through the text of the Passover Haggadah הגדה (hah-gah-dah), to see ourselves as if we personally came out of Egypt, in every single generation. As a child, I never fully understood that idea. I wondered what exactly was being asked of me. Was it about paying respect to those ancient Israelites, acknowledging our historical hardships? Was the Passover Seder meant to function like a memorial day? Similar, in some ways, to the Holocaust Remembrance Day, a time dedicated to looking back?

The answer came to me much later in life.

About six years ago, I found myself trapped in a destructive cycle that was slowly threatening to consume me. My situation was characterized by patterns of behavior that I could not seem to break. I was, for all intents and purposes, a slave to my circumstances. At the time, I would not have described it that way, but looking back, the parallel feels almost too obvious to ignore. That was my Egypt.

The Invisible Hold

As I began studying psychology, I found myself becoming increasingly interested in Jewish teachings and in theology. I was introduced to ideas that connected these worlds in ways I had never considered before. One of those ideas was the concept of finding your own inner saviour. But before I could even begin to approach that idea, I had to come to terms with something much less comfortable: the existence of my own personal Egypt.

Through both psychological frameworks and Jewish thought, I began to understand that this idea is universal. We all have a place we are shackled to – something we need to become free from. Sometimes it is external: a job that drains us, a toxic relationship, financial instability, or dependency on substances. At other times, it is entirely internal: behavioral patterns, character traits, or deeply rooted beliefs that no longer serve us. These internal structures can function just as powerfully as any external limitation, creating what can only be described as an inner prison.

In recent years, especially in light of the ongoing war and the hostage crisis, the concept of a very real, physical “Egypt” and the urgent need for liberation have been brought into focus. Freedom is no longer an abstract or philosophical idea. It is tangible and immediate.

As a community and as a people, the longing for Freedom is now at the forefront of our collective consciousness. At the same time, this reality forces us, as individuals, to confront what freedom actually means in our own lives.

Moving Forward Despite Doubt

The Passover story itself offers an important perspective on this. When God took the Israelites out of Egypt, He did not do so alone. There was a leader, in the form of Moses. And yet, Moses, one of the central figures of the Torah, shared a defining quality with many of its great figures: he was deeply human and deeply flawed. He doubted himself, resisted his role, and questioned his own ability, famously asking:

 “?מִי אָנֹכִי כִּי אֵלֵךְ אֶל פַּרְעֹה” (Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh?) 

Our tradition, with its infinite wisdom, never presents us with perfect beings. From Moses to King David, the most iconic figures are portrayed with complexity and vulnerability. 

This idea became central to my own understanding of redemption. I was introduced to a concept that exists at the intersection of psychology and Jewish teachings, the idea that each of us has an “inner Moses.” This is not a grand notion, but a practical one. It suggests that even in moments of doubt, even when we cannot imagine where to find the strength we need, there is a part of us capable of leading ourselves forward. A part of us that can initiate change.

Redemption גאולה (geh-oo-lah) in this sense is not a single moment or a historical event. It is an ongoing process. It is the ability to recognize where we are stuck, to confront it honestly and authentically, and to take steps, however small, toward change.

The Promised Land

This process is rarely linear. Like the Israelites in the desert, there are doubts and moments of regression. There are times when progress feels impossible, and stopping on the side of the road, sweating and exhausted, is the only way to keep going. There are times when we feel like we are going in circles, wondering why it is taking us decades to cross the desert. 

In my own experience, there were many moments of failure, periods where I lost faith, and others where I slowly began to regain it. Over time, I found my way toward what I can only describe as my own promised land.

It is important to note that this “promised land” is not necessarily a physical destination. While a nice view can certainly help, for myself, the deeper shift is internal. It is reflected in a sense of stability that develops over time. More than anything, it is about maintaining faith, not in the sense of certainty, but in the willingness to continue moving forward despite a lack thereof. In other words, continuing to be uncompromising in one’s faith despite the uncertainty we might encounter along the path. 

The different names of Passover – freedom and redemption – are not just descriptions of the holiday, but frameworks through which we can understand our own experiences. They remind us that freedom is multifaceted and that redemption is within reach. Perhaps this is what it truly means to leave Egypt. Not simply to remember a historical event, but to engage with it as an ongoing personal reality. And just like the story we retell each year around the Seder table, it is a process that does not belong only to the past, but to every generation – and to each of us individually.