By Sam Sutton and Ronnie Tawil, Founders, Sephardic Community Federation (SCF)

For more than twenty years, the Sephardic Community Federation (SCF) has served as the political and civic backbone of our community. Long before civic engagement became widely embraced, SCF was doing the quiet, necessary work – building relationships with elected officials, advocating for our institutions, and ensuring that community concerns were represented at every level of government.

Over time, our work produced real results. SCF helped secure tens of millions of dollars in government funding for community schools, synagogues, and social service organizations. It played a central role in defeating harmful proposals like the Coney Island Casino, advancing critical rezonings to protect community properties, and registering tens of thousands of voters.

Through years of advocacy and groundwork laid by SCF, the conditions were created for a deeper level of community involvement. Joey Saban is the byproduct of that foundation, reflecting the long-term impact of SCF’s efforts.

The Turning Point

Joey Saban’s 2024 run for New York State Assembly was more than a campaign – it was a turning point in our community’s political consciousness. His candidacy ignited a passion for civic engagement that reshaped how our community saw itself and its power. Joey did not simply run for office; he inspired belief. Belief that leadership could come from within. Belief that participation mattered. Belief that our community could move to the center of political life.

Few believed a challenger could make a serious impact in that race, but Joey proved that assumption wrong. His campaign galvanized thousands – especially younger voters and families who had never before engaged politically. Neighbors became organizers. First-time voters became advocates.

By Election Day, more than 15,000 members of our community turned out to vote – an unprecedented show of engagement. But the most important result of Joey Saban’s campaign was not found in a vote total. It was found in a permanent shift in mindset.

Joey’s run put our community on the political map in ways we never even knew were possible. Leaders across New York State took notice – not just of a candidate, but of a community that had awakened to its influence and was ready to exercise it.

That awakening directly led to the election of Sam Sutton to the New York State Senate. Once again, this outcome was no accident.

From the earliest conversations to the final strategy, Joey Saban played a profound and indispensable role. Sam Sutton’s decades of relationships and political work opened doors in Albany for Joey to be able to line up the nomination for him and build the political infrastructure necessary for success. He then stepped fully into his role as Chief of Staff to Senator Sutton, where his impact has been nothing short of transformative.  

Together with Senator Sutton, Joey has been deeply involved in shaping every major policy initiative, guiding strategy, building coalitions, and ensuring that the community’s priorities were not just heard, but delivered.

The Results

The results speak for themselves. In just a matter of months, Senator Sutton secured nearly $30 million in funding for religious communities across New York State – resources that will strengthen schools, protect institutions, and serve families for generations.

Equally significant has been the introduction of landmark legislation to protect the Jewish community and confront anti-Semitism, including:
        •       Legislation establishing buffer zones between houses of worship and protests, safeguarding the dignity and security of prayer.
        •       A bill to codify the IHRA (International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance) definition of anti-Semitism into New York State law, providing clear standards for accountability and enforcement.

The momentum Joey ignited, with our guidance, has only continued to grow. This past summer alone, SCF and its partners registered over 10,000 additional community members to vote. That energy carried into the most recent mayoral election, with nearly 25,000 Sephardic voters casting ballots – a powerful demonstration of a community fully awake to its strength. This is what sustained leadership looks like. A community that votes is respected. A community that organizes is heard. A community that believes in itself shapes its future.

What began as a single political campaign has become a movement rooted in belief, participation, and results. With our mentorship, Joey Saban showed our community what is possible when vision meets courage. The momentum he created continues to grow – and as we set our eyes to the 2026 elections, its greatest impact is still ahead.

The text of the Haggadah that we read at the seder is ancient, dating back millennia, and has been carefully preserved as an integral, cherished and sacred component of our annual celebration of Pesach. 

But while the entire text should be carefully and attentively recited, and is worthy of deep study and analysis, there is one segment whose critical importance is emphasized by the Haggadah itself. 

Toward the end of the maggid section, we read the teaching of Rabban Gamliel of the three things which must be mentioned at the seder, or else one fails to satisfy his obligation on this special night.  As a matter of practical Halacha, anyone who, for whatever reason, had left the seder table must return for the reading of this section.  In many homes, the devoted women spend time in the kitchen tending to the preparations for the meal which is served after the reading of maggid.  They must ensure to come back for the section that begins “Rabban Gamliel omer…” so they can fulfill their obligation of the seder, which is binding upon women no less than men.

The three things which Rabban Gamliel tells us we must discuss at the seder are pesach – the special sacrifice which each Jew was to bring on the afternoon of Erev Pesach in the Bet Ha’mikdash; matzah – the special unleavened bread which we eat on Pesach; and marror – the “bitter herbs” which we are required to eat at the seder.  Rabban Gamliel teaches that part of our obligation at the seder is to speak about the meaning of each of these mitzvot:

• The pesach sacrifice commemorated Gd’s “passing over” (“pasach”) the homes of Beneh Yisrael on the night of the Exodus, shielding them from the plague of the firstborn which He brought upon the Egyptians.
• The matzah reminds us of how Beneh Yisrael were rushed out of Egypt, before their dough had an opportunity to rise, such that they ended up baking flat matzah instead of ordinary bread.
• The marror symbolizes the pain and suffering of slavery, which the Torah describes as “bitterness” (“Vayemareru et hayehem ba’avodah kashah” – Shemot 1:14).

All this is fairly straightforward, and well-known to many of us.  There is, however, a glaring problem with Rabban Gamliel’s presentation that deserves our attention – the sequence.  Surprisingly, Rabban Gamliel speaks of the symbol of slavery only after he mentions the symbols of the Exodus.  The pesach and matzah commemorate aspects of our ancestors’ experience at the time of the Exodus, whereas the marror represents the “bitterness” they endured during the 210 years prior to that night.  Should we not have expected Rabban Gamliel to mention the marror first, before the pesach and matzah?  Why did he reverse the order?

Grasping the Full Extent of the Bitterness

Several explanations have been offered for this sequence of presentation.  One answer is that the “bitterness” is often fully appreciated only after it has ended.  People who endure a certain form of hardship for an extended period grow accustomed to it, to one extent or another, and only when they are relieved of this distress do they begin to grasp just how difficult it was.  Many of us have probably had the experience of putting on a new pair of eyeglasses and realizing only then how poorly we saw before then.  Many times, we recognize the gravity of a situation only after it has passed.

This perhaps explains an enigmatic kabbalistic teaching associating the marror obligation with a story told in the Book of Beresheet.  Describing Yosef’s brothers leaving Egypt, the Torah writes, “Haboker or, veha’anashim shulehu” (“The morning light appeared, and the men were sent off” – Beresheet 44:3).  The kabbalists observe the final letters of these four words (resh, resh, mem and vav) are the same letters that spell the word “marror.”  Somehow, the image of the brothers’ departure at dawn is connected with marror.

The explanation might be that only when the light emerges do we recognize the dreariness of darkness.  The full extent of the “marror,” of the bitterness and darkness of exile, can be appreciated only in the “morning,” when the light of redemption shines. 

Accordingly, Rabban Gamliel lists marror after the matzah and marror – because only after Beneh Yisrael left Egypt did they recognize the gravity of the “bitterness” they had endured.

Sweetening the Marror

A second answer to this question goes to the heart of the meaning of Pesach, and the timeless lesson of faith that it teaches us.

As briefly noted earlier, our ancestors spent a total of 210 years in Egypt – from the time that Yaakov and his family moved there to escape the devastating famine in Canaan, until the night of the Exodus.  This is alluded to in Yaakov’s formulation when instructing his sons to travel to Egypt to purchase grain: “Redu shamah” (literally, “Go down there” to Egypt – Beresheet 42:2), as the word “redu” in gematria equals 210.  However, when Gd informed Avraham that his descendants would experience a period of harsh exile, He mentioned a 400-year period of enslavement (Beresheet 15:13).  How did a 400-year sentence become a 210-year sentence?

One of the common answers given is that the bondage was so harsh, and so brutal, that Beneh Yisrael suffered in 210 years the amount of suffering that they were to have endured in 400 years.  The labor was so intense, and so backbreaking, that they completed 400 years’ worth of hardship in just 210 years.  This is comparable to a 20-year mortgage which a homeowner manages to pay up in just ten years by making significantly higher monthly payments than he was supposed to.  Beneh Yisrael “paid” 400 years of slavery in 210 years because they suffered so terribly during those years.

The Arizal taught that this “condensing” of the Egyptian exile was necessary for Beneh Yisrael’s survival.  Ancient Egypt was a decadent pagan culture, characterized by idol worship and immorality, and Beneh Yisrael were submerged in this society.  Kabbalistic tradition describes how our ancestors plummeted to the “49^th level of impurity” – just one step before the 50^th, which would have marked the point of no return.  Had Beneh Yisrael remained even a moment longer in Egypt, they would have fallen lower, to the 50^th level, from which they could never have recovered.  To prevent this from happening, Gd “expedited” the exile, intensifying the people’s workload so they could complete 400 years’ worth of slavery before descending to the 50^th level.

Ironically, then, it emerges that the “bitterness” of exile is what saved Beneh Yisrael.  At the time, of course, they could not understand this.  But the truth is that the uniquely harsh conditions they endured guaranteed their survival.

This helps explain a number of otherwise perplexing aspects of the marror.  First, it perhaps sheds light on why we customarily fulfill this mitzvah by eating Romaine lettuce.  The Mishna in Masechet Pesahim (39a) lists several vegetables which one may use as marror, the first of which is hazeret.  The Gemara comments the hazeret is the preferred vegetable to use for this purpose, and it identifies hazeret as hasa – lettuce.  This word, the Gemara explains, alludes to the fact that “has Rahamana ilavon” – Gd had compassion on Beneh Yisrael.

The Gemara’s discussion seems very difficult to understand.  Why would we choose for marror a vegetable that alludes to Gd’s mercy and compassion?  Of course Gd has compassion – but the marror symbolizes precisely the opposite of compassion, the suffering inflicted upon our ancestors in Egypt.  Why should we associate specifically the word “hasa” with marror?

In light of what we have seen, the answer becomes clear.  The bitterness of exile was indeed a form of compassion, in that it allowed Beneh Yisrael to survive.  The marror was bitter – but its bitterness prevented our nation from disappearing in the dustbin of history.

Likewise, we can now understand the custom to dip the marror in the sweet haroset.  We might have wondered, if the objective of marror is to signify bitterness, then why would we dilute its bitter taste with haroset?  The answer is that the Egyptian bondage was bittersweet.  It was bitter – but the bitterness itself facilitated the ultimate salvation and guaranteed our survival.

Returning to Rabban Gamliel, marror is listed at the end because it must be revisited after the pesach and matzah, after the salvation.  Before then, there was nothing “sweet” at all about the bondage.  The people suffered terribly, in ways we could never imagine.  But in hindsight, we can discern the “sweetness” of the bitter exile, and appreciate how it was necessary for our survival.

Living With Faith

Pesach is often seen as the holiday of emunah (faith), reminding us of Gd’s ultimate control of the world and His boundless love for His cherished nation.  The “bittersweet” quality of the marror teaches us one of the fundamental tenets of emunah – that life’s challenges and hardships are, in ways we cannot understand, to our ultimate benefit.  It might take years to see the “sweetness,” and in some instances, we might never see the “sweetness.”  But we must live with the belief that even the “bitter” experiences are “sweet” and are part of Gd’s plan for us.

Countless stories are told of singles who experienced anguish after a rejection, which then led to a much better match that became a beautiful marriage.  Of business deals that didn’t go through, as a result of which a far better deal was struck with someone else.  Of jobs that were lost, leading to much better jobs.  Of children’s struggles that built them and prepared them for outstanding success.

As mentioned, we do not always see the “sweetness.”  But the marror teaches us to believe it is there, to trust that everything Hashem does is for our ultimate benefit. And when we live with this faith, then our lives become so much “sweeter,” even as we confront difficult challenges.

Ellen Geller Kamaras

“Poland is both a former Jewish paradise and a vast cemetery – overflowing with history, scholarship, creativity, and unbearable loss. We mourned children, scholars, and families erased from history. Visiting Poland, however, is an act of defiance and a testament to the resilience of the Jewish people.”  –  Ellen

Why, at 70, did I journey to Poland?

After participating in a Post-October 7 Mission to Israel, I felt I could no longer postpone visiting my parents’ birthplace and the sites of Nazi atrocities. My love for Israel was forged at a girls’ yeshiva in Brooklyn and from the ashes of the Holocaust. Bearing witness to the aftermath of October 7 crystallized something in me. I knew it was time to see the sites of mass destruction connected to my own family and to confront my parents’ history.

I needed to witness the barbarism of the Nazis. Only then I felt I could fully speak about the resilience, courage, and survival of our people during World War II and in Israel today. Only then could I grasp the meaning of the words Never Again Is Now.

Growing up, my parents shared their stories every Shabbat: forced labor camps, hiding in forests, hunger, and loss. My mother witnessed her father’s murder. After liberation, the family reached a displaced persons camp in Munich and eventually rebuilt their lives in America.

My Jewish identity was shaped by my parents’ experiences and by my Jewish education. Israel represented survival and renewal.

Off to Poland

Two large Jewish groups were on the same flight to Warsaw. One group of men had completed daf yomi and they were traveling to visit the graves of revered rabbis. The other group included unmarried young women on an Ohel Sarala mission, paired with childless couples through Bonei Olam. Ohel Sarala facilitates single women donating tzedaka to Bonei Olam, which assists couples struggling with infertility. The single women pray for children for their assigned couple, and the couple, in turn, prays for a match for their single.

Sitting on a Polish LOT flight surrounded by so many observant Jews felt surreal. We filled more than half the plane – a living contrast to the destruction we were about to confront.

Approximately 3 million Polish Jews were murdered during World War II, about 90 percent of the pre-war Jewish population.

Our tour guides emphasized both the rich thousand-year history of Polish Jewry and the Holocaust’s devastation. The trip balanced education with emotion.

Warsaw

Before World War II, Warsaw had the second-largest Jewish population in the world after New York City. Nearly 30 percent of its residents were Jewish.

We visited the Jewish Cemetery, where over 250,000 Jews are buried. It was bitter cold, evoking for me my mother’s accounts of frostbite and Elie Wiesel’s descriptions of freezing camps and deprivation. Seeing the beautiful Hebrew headstones deeply moved us.

The cemetery is a silent witness to both extraordinary cultural vitality and to catastrophic loss. We continued to Heroism Street near the former Umschlagplatz (in German: collection point or reloading point – meaning, the holding areas adjacent to railway stations in occupied Poland where Jews were gathered for deportation to Nazi death camps). Here between 254,000 and 265,000 Jews were deported to Treblinka in 1942. Nine out of every ten Jews in Warsaw were murdered. Nearby, the monument to the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising honored those who resisted, choosing fighting over submission.

At the Polin Museum, we traced Jewish life in Poland from medieval times to the present. The Nozyk Synagogue, the only functioning prewar synagogue in Warsaw, reflected both loss and continuity. Before the war, there were more than 400 synagogues in the city..

Lublin and Majdanek

In Lublin, we stayed at the hotel in the former Chachmei Lublin Yeshiva, founded by Rabbi Meir Shapiro, the visionary who created daf yomi.  Standing in the bet midrash, we felt the presence of generations of dedicated talmidim who once filled that space.

At the Grodzka Gate Center, Polish volunteers, some attempting to do penance for their family members, preserve Jewish memory with devotion and respect.

Majdanek was our first concentration camp. It shattered any emotional distance I still had. Once a POW camp, it became a major killing site. We learned about “choiceless choices.” This term was coined by Lawrence Langer in Versions of Survival: The Holocaust and the Human Spirit, to describe the no-win situations and  impossible moral dilemmas faced by Jews during the Holocaust. Seeing the collection of over 56,000 shoes, 6,000 of them small children’s shoes, and the crematoria was overwhelming and revealed the systematic cruelty of the Nazi machine.

Tarnow and Krakow

Arriving in Tarnów, a Chassidic town in Galicia once home to 25,000 Jews, we encountered a landscape of devastation. Forty synagogues were destroyed, including the New Synagogue, often referred to as the Jubilee Synagogue or Franz Josef Synagogue, built in honor of Emperor Franz Josef. One surviving column stands as a memorial in the 15th-century Jewish cemetery. Philanthropist Ronald Lauder helped restore the original bimah, the remaining fragment of the destroyed Alta Shul. Today, one Jew lives in Tarnów, Adam Bartosz, an ethnologist who is the Director of the Regional Museum in Tarnow and is the President of the Committee for the Renovation of Jewish Monuments in Tarnow.

At Zbylitowska Góra, a village in the Tarnow District, we stood before mass graves. A Yiddish inscription reads: “Here lie eight hundred battered heads of children.” We recited Tehillim, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of the loss.

In Krakow’s Kazimierz district, we saw a glimmer of Jewish life slowly reviving. We visited synagogues, the JCC, and memorials. Auschwitz-Birkenau was the largest concentration and extermination complex. This site was the emotional climax of our journey. Some wore Israeli flags and walked through the gates, adorned by a replica of the original “arbeit macht frei” – work sets you free. We saw barracks, gas chambers, and rooms filled with victims’ belongings. Piles of shoes, tallitot, suitcases, and hair testified to mechanized murder and forced us into silence.

The industrial scale of murder defies comprehension. We prayed for our loved ones in both camps.

My niece and I found my grandfather’s name in the Book of Names at Auschwitz, connecting our personal family story to the collective tragedy of our people.

Reflections

This journey strengthened my belief that “Never Again” must be active, not symbolic. We must never be helpless again. The atrocities of the Shoah and of October 7 must never be repeated. We must fight Holocaust distortion and trivialization and preserve historical truth.

Just three years after the Holocaust ended, we miraculously reestablished Jewish sovereignty in our ancestral homeland. We are ambassadors of light, resilience, and hope.

Rabbi Label Lam

The wicked son, what does he say? “What is this service to you?” “to you,” – “but not to himself.” Since he has excluded himself from the people at large, he denies the foundation of our faith. Therefore, you should blunt his teeth and tell him: “It is because of this, what Hashem  did for me when I went out of Egypt.”- “for me,” – “but not him.” Had he been there, he would not have been redeemed.  – Pesach Haggadah

At the Pesach seder, we have a sacred obligation to “tell your child” about the Exodus from Egypt. It is of vital importance that each and every child exit that Pesach seder feeling that much more attached and committed to the historical mission of the Jewish People. Therefore, the mitzvah of the evening is expressed in terms of speaking to “your child” and not to children in general. Each one needs his or her own special medicine or lesson.

The “wicked son” as he is titled cannot be totally wicked. Otherwise, why is he at the seder, and why do we even engage him in discussion? Why is he called wicked? He has given up! He has surrendered to negativity. Our definition of failure is not falling down but is staying down. Now the wicked son speaks from his lowly perch, having separated himself from the community of Israel and feeling cynical about the possibility of change.

It is interesting that in answering him, most of the conversation is expressed as an aside. The parent is not talking to him at all but rather to the others, in his presence. Yet the mitzvah of the evening is to “tell your child.” Why are we then advised to speak to the assembled? It is as if saying, “Everyone has free choice! If he does not want to be a part of it he is not a part of it!”

Story from the Cemetery

I heard an unbelievable story not long ago from Rabbi Mordechai Twerski. He had recently met with family members of the Debriciner Rov and they shared with him the following incident. They went to the grave site of their holy relative, the Debriciner Rov, ztl. There they saw a youngish couple praying. Not recognizing them as family members they were curious as to why this couple was there. So they asked them what it was that brought them to this place.

They told the following story: “Twenty-two years ago we were young kids who got married to each other.  After a short while it became clear to us that we didn’t know what we were doing together. Every day was a different disagreement and another fight. We were not getting along at all. After trying and trying we were thinking about divorce. Then my wife was expecting, so we stayed together in the meantime. Having a child did not make married life easier. If anything, it complicated matters. So we decided it was time to get divorced. We didn’t know exactly how to go about getting a Jewish divorce so we went to the Debriciner Rov. After hearing about our struggles in marriage he agreed to help us with the divorce. He instructed us to come back the next day and to bring our son. We thought this was part of the process. When we came back the next day with our son, he asked to see the child. He motioned that we hand him over. We did.

He sat with the child, a little baby, in front of us, and he spoke to the child, stroking him affectionately all the while. “From this day forth your life is going to be very difficult. You will be bounced from house to house. You’ll spend one Shabbat with your mother and another Shabbat with your father. Most of the kids in school won’t understand your situation. They might not be eager to play by your broken home. Growing up as a happy child will be a steep challenge for you. Getting married will be difficult as well. It is not your fault. You have done nothing wrong. This is the lot that has been handed you. I want you to know that you will need extraordinary strength and courage and tremendous help from Heaven to attain a normal life.”

The Happy Ending

After his little talk with the child he handed the baby back to us. We were both crying. We looked up at each other and decided then and there, for the sake of the child, to give it another try. That was twenty years ago we had that encounter with the Debriciner Rov. We eventually worked out our differences. We are now happily married, Baruch Hashem. Tonight that child, our son is getting married and we wanted to come here today to express our deep feelings of  gratitude to the Rov.”

Sometimes the wise approach is not to speak directly to a person especially if they have demonstrated they are not ready to listen. Speaking aloud to another is a preferred method to land the same powerful message, but indirectly. The natural defense mechanisms of the one who is feeling so hopeless and defeated are relaxed, the words are less likely to be taken as a personal affront, and hey you never know who’s listening.Rabbi Label Lam is a renowned Torah educator and international speaker; his writings can be found on Torah.org.

Rabbi  Daniel Levy

Recalling the Ten Makot (plagues) that Hashem performed in Mitzrayim is the highlight of every child’s seder. The specific pasuk in which we learn of our obligation to share the story of leaving Egypt with our children uses unique terminology. In Shemot (10:2), the word “hitalalti”  meaning “made fun of” is used. The Rambam explains that in rendering the damage caused by the plagues, Hashem took revenge for all of Paraoh’s wicked decrees against the Jews. He cites the pasuk from Tehillim: “The one who sits in Heaven will degrade them. Hashem will laugh at them.” Essentially, Hashem made a mockery of the Egyptians. According to Rashi and the Rambam, part of Sipur Yetziat Mitzrayim is discussing this irony.

The Be’erYosef (R’ Yosef Salanter) elaborates on this commentary as follows. When Hashem commanded Moshe to warn Paraoh that Egypt would be plagued with locusts and grasshoppers, He prefaced the warning by saying that He would harden Paraoh’s heart. Up until this point Paraoh had been relatively respectful while interacting with Moshe, but by Makat Arbeh (the plague of locusts) Moshe and Aharon were out of Paraoh’s favor. After Makat Choshech (the plague of darkness) Paraoh’s hostile behavior continued as he warned Moshe: “Get out of here. Be careful. I do not ever want to see your face again.”

Paraoh’s Might Fails

Interestingly, in his time of need, the mighty king of Egypt who purported to act like a god, was running through the streets in the middle of the night screaming, “Where is Moshe? Where is Aharon?” The Jews, his former slaves, were laughing at a man they feared and just months ago. As Makat Bechorot ( the killing of the firstborn) descended Paraoh screamed: “Get up and get out and serve your Gd as you requested!”

Let’s recall that Paraoh went to the bargaining table with Moshe numerous times. First, he completely refused to let the Jews go, and then he relented slightly asking, “Who do you want to go?” He agreed to let only the men go and pray before hardening his heart again. But now, a desperate Paraoh not only totally acquiesced, he was ready to send animals for sacrifices! He begged, “Please pray for me not to die, as I am a firstborn.” Is there a bigger mockery than that? Elaborating on these details is an integral part of our fulfilling the mitzvah of Sipur Yetziat Mitzrayim – the obligation to share the story of leaving Egypt with our children.

For a long time, Paraoh believed himself to be a god. After all, the Nile River came to his feet and he provided food to his humble servants and the whole land of Egypt. By Makat Arbeh however, all the grains of the field were destroyed and a terrible famine was felt throughout the land. Paraoh’s pride took quite a hit, as “the mighty provider” proved to be powerless to feed anyone. The once superior Egyptians were now hopeless subjects with nowhere to turn. They came to realize that their “mighty Paraoh” was a phony, a mere mortal, a human being totally helpless to save even himself. He, like all of us, was subject to the mercy of the one true Gd, Hashem. Sharing these amazing insights with our children and depicting how Paraoh’s ego was deflated is sure to enhance our fulfillment of Sipur Yetziat Mitzrayim on Pesach.

Barad and Arbeh

After Makat Barad (the plague of hail) descended, Mitzrayim looked like a war zone. The grass was ruined, broken trees blocked all the roads and walkways, and the crops of flax and barley were decimated. The Egyptians experienced tremendous shock at seeing the mass destruction before them, but the fact that wheat and buckwheat remained was a small consolation prize. Miraculously these crops were spared from this horrific plague.

Alas, even this small pleasure quickly turned to sorrow as the plague of Arbeh eradicated all the crops in Egypt. R’ Shlomo Homner, who wrote Sefer Eved Hamelech, describes how the Egyptians prepared salted and pickled grasshoppers for dinner. They filed their storage houses with these delicacies, yet they faced disappointment yet again when the grasshoppers flew away. The Jewish people laughed at the Egyptians and teased them saying, “How many grasshoppers did you eat today?”

In a similar fashion, the wild animals left the land after Makat Arov so that the Egyptians could not benefit from the skins. Measure for measure, Hashem mocked the Egyptians, who ridiculed the Jews during their enslavement in Egypt.

May we merit seeing true justice as Hashem shows us the final redemption and His name is sanctified before the world – Amen!

Place in Sidebar: The Ipuwer Papyrus In the early 19^th century, an ancient papyrus was discovered in Egypt. It was taken to the Leiden Museum in Holland, and interpreted by the renowned British Egyptologist, Sir Alan Henderson Gardiner in 1909. The papyrus was written by an Egyptian named Ipuwer and appears to be an eyewitness account of the devastation wrought by the ten plagues throughout Egypt. Describing the plague of blood, the text in the papyrus states the following:

The Ipuwer Papyrus (Papyrus Leiden I 344), also known as The Admonitions of Ipuwer

2:5-6          Plague is throughout the land. Blood is everywhere.

2:10          The river is blood.

2:10          Men shrink from tasting… and thirst for water.

3:10-13      That is our water! What shall we do…? All is ruin.

Did You Know? 

Ancient Egyptian kings avoided drinking wine because of its resemblance to blood!

Rabbi Yehuda Finchas

Nearly 15,000 nurses across New York City launched a strike on January 12, 2026, making it one of the largest nursing strikes in the city’s history. The strike lasted over three weeks. What does the halacha say about healthcare workers who withhold their labor – not for higher pay alone, but for the ability to provide safe care?

Medicine Demands Fair Compensation

The Gemara establishes that asia d’magan b’magan magan shaveh – “a physician who works for free is worth nothing.” The Rosh explains: “When the doctor does not receive payment, his heart and mind are not meticulous regarding the core needs of the patient.” Hacham Eliyahu Bakshi Doron (Responsa Binyan Av 3:69)  therefore rules: “The public are obliged to pay appropriate salaries to physicians and allow them to focus on their holy work.” Medicine performed under duress is inherently compromised medicine.

The New York nurses’ argument introduces precisely this nuance: the status quo itself was dangerous. If nurses working under a broken system cannot provide necessary care, then the strike changes from abandonment to preservation – fighting for conditions necessary to fulfill the mitzvah of healing.

The Children of Israel Are Servants to Me

Hacham Eliyahu Bakshi Doron discusses medical strikes at length. He explains this halacha stems from the principle that every employee has the right to stand up for their freedom, and the employer has no power to prevent them from doing so. The Shulhan Aruch writes that “a worker may retract even in the middle of the day” (Choshen Mishpat 333:1). Even if already paid, they may cease work, with the money becoming a debt. The reason: “For the Children of Israel are servants to Me” (Vayikra 25:55) and not servants to servants. This prevents employment from becoming a form of inescapable servitude. Work performed under coercion is slavery, forbidden regardless of economic agreements. Hacham Ovadia Yosef, zt”l, (Yechaveh Da’at 4:48) acknowledges that “the minhag hamdina, the custom of the land, is to strike.” But it does not apply in all situations.

The Red Line: Pikuach Nefesh

Hacham Ovadia Yosef, while permitting teachers to strike under certain conditions, draws a sharp line regarding healthcare. In Yechaveh Da’at IV:48, he writes explicitly that the permission to strike applies “except for matters involving life-saving measures, such as hospital services.” Pikuach nefesh (saving a life) overrides nearly every other commandment. Hacham Bakshi-Doron reinforces this in Binyan Av, arguing that a doctor or nurse is bound by the negative commandment, “Do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor.” From this perspective, abandoning a patient in immediate danger is akin to bloodshed. No financial grievance or administrative dispute can justify leaving an ICU bed unmonitored.

Medicine as Mitzvah, Not Merely Profession

Hacham Bakshi Doron writes that the medical worker is not a servant of the hospital, but is a servant of Hashem – tasked with the mitzvah of healing. “Medicine is not a profession but a mitzvah, the most sublime mitzvah of saving lives. If they are forbidden to strike, they are indeed slaves – but slaves to the Holy One, Blessed be He.” A caregiver devoted to saving life is no servant to man – “there is no freer person than one who serves Hashem.”

Some argue medical strikes ultimately improve healthcare by forcing better conditions. This must be absolutely rejected. The principle is ironclad: ein dochin nefesh mipnei nefesh – we do not push aside one life for another. There is no halachic justification for withholding lifesaving care from patients before us, even to save more patients in the future. Each nefesh has infinite value; mathematical comparisons are meaningless.

Conclusion

Nurses and physicians are entitled – indeed obligated – to demand conditions that allow them to practice medicine responsibly and with yishuv hada’at. A system that exhausts its caregivers violates human dignity and ultimately endangers life. Yet the red line remains immovable: wherever pikuach nefesh is present, the duty to heal overrides every tactical consideration. The halachic mandate is disciplined protest – one that preserves emergency care, protects the vulnerable, and refuses to turn human lives into bargaining chips. In this balance, halacha affirms both truths at once: the caregiver is not a slave to institutions, and the patient is never abandoned. Rabbi Yehuda Finchas is a worldwide expert, lecturer, and author on Medical Halacha. He heads the Torat Habayit Medical Halacha Institute. He is the author of “Brain Death in Halacha and the Tower of Babel Syndrome” and “Nutrition and Hydration in Halacha.” To contact Rabbi Finchas, email rabbi@torathabayit.com.