At the Water’s Edge: Women, War, and the Road to Redemption

The Haggadah does not romanticize Jewish history. It articulates a pattern. In every generation, destructive forces arise; in every generation, Divine deliverance accompanies us. This year, as we move from Purim to Pesach against the backdrop of Operation Lion’s Roar, the words “b’chol dor vador omdim aleinu l’chaloteinu… – in every generation they rise against us to destroy us, and the Holy One, blessed be He, saves us from their hand” – feel less ceremonial and more lived. We have confronted brutality, uncertainty, and the resurgence of hatred. The threats differ in form from those of Egypt or Persia, yet the underlying drama is familiar. Jewish vulnerability and Jewish resilience continue to unfold side by side.

Purim and Pesach offer two complementary models of that drama.

In Egypt, oppression was overt and crushing. Pharaoh enslaved, decreed infanticide, and attempted to strangle a nation at birth. Redemption erupted through revealed miracles – plagues, wonders, and the splitting of the sea. By contrast, the Purim story recounts an annihilation plotted through royal edict and political intrigue. G-d’s Name is absent; salvation emerges through hidden reversals, sleepless nights, and courageous human initiative.

Both narratives are indispensable. Sometimes history is thunderous; sometimes it moves beneath the surface. Sometimes the miracle is unmistakable; sometimes it is discerned only in retrospect. Our generation has witnessed elements of both – military strength and strategic brilliance alongside fragility and profound dependence on Avinu SheBaShamayim.

Chazal direct our attention to a deeper current. “In the merit of righteous women the Jews were redeemed from Egypt” (Sotah 11b). Rashi explains that this is the basis for obligating women in the mitzvot of the four cups and Megillah reading, “because they too were part of that miracle” (Pesachim 108b). The redemption from Egypt and from Haman’s decree flowed through the merit of righteous women. This is not ancillary praise; it is a theological assertion about how geulah germinates.

The midwives defied Pharaoh’s command, fearing G-d more than a tyrant. Yocheved placed her child upon the Nile in an act of faith that fused realism with hope. Miriam stationed herself at a distance, guarding the possibility of a future she could not yet see. Bat-Pharaoh extended compassion across enemy lines. Similarly, in Persia, eight hundred years later, Esther’s courage was neither impulsive nor theatrical. She fasted, prayed, strategized, and ultimately risked her life by entering the king’s chamber unbidden. Her defining moment is captured in Mordechai’s charge: “Who knows if it was for such a moment as this that you attained royalty?” (Esther 4:14). Destiny demands response.

Across these narratives, a shared quality emerges: women who refuse to surrender the future. They nurture life under conditions designed to extinguish it. They imagine continuity when circumstances constrict. They convert private anguish into national responsibility.

To inhabit Jewish history is to stand repeatedly at that shoreline. We know the arc of our story, but we do not control its pacing. We pray, we act, we defend, and we rebuild while awaiting clarity. Waiting, however, is not passivity. It is the capacity to prepare spiritually for redemption even before it is fully visible. Chazal note that the women left Egypt with timbrels, confident that song would yet be needed (Mechilta, Beshalach). They anticipated gratitude amid danger.

Our own moment has demanded similar resolve. Jewish women have steadied homes and institutions under strain. They have translated grief into tefillah, fear into chesed, and bewilderment into deeper attachment to Torah and peoplehood. They have insisted that covenant does not expire under pressure.

The declaration “in every generation” therefore functions not only as reassurance but as mandate. We are summoned to spiritual maturity: to reject naïveté about hostility while refusing despair about destiny. We build an army and recite Tehillim. We engage diplomatically and deepen our learning. We protect life and cultivate meaning.

At the Seder table this year, our children’s questions may carry added weight. What distinguishes this night? What distinguishes this year? How do we remain visibly, unapologetically Jewish in a world where that visibility can invite danger? The answer will not be delivered as a slogan. It will be transmitted through tone, conviction, and example.

We will recount the narrow straits from which we have emerged, and those we still traverse. We will affirm that history has not been random. And we will train our gaze toward the horizon. As we journey from Purim to Pesach amid ongoing struggle, may we merit to witness the fuller unfolding of deliverance. And as we wait at the water’s edge, may we prepare the instruments of song – confident that the One Who redeemed us from Egypt and from Persia has not withdrawn His promise.

For those seeking to deepen their Seder experience through contemporary women’s Torah voices, a newly published Haggadah, Az Nashir: On the Path to Redemption, developed in conjunction with the Shvili Center, The Layers Press, and Matan, offers divrei Torah and reflections that continue this legacy of faith-filled leadership.

Rabbanit Shani Taragin is Educational Director of Mizrachi, Mizrachi Lapidot and Matan Eshkolot Programs for Educators Programs for Educators, and the Rosh Beit Midrash of Mizrachi-Tzemach David Women’s Learning Hub, Mizrachi Lapidot, and Yeshiva University in Israel Women’s Torah Studies Program.