Editor’s note: Passover was celebrated April 12-20.

Last Saturday and Sunday evenings, Jews around the world engaged in the ritual of the Passover seder. We gather around the table, we bless the wine, we dip the greens, and then, before the meal, before the storytelling even hits full speed, we break the middle matzah.

This tradition is called: Yachatz.

A ritual, a gesture, a crack.

We haven’t left Egypt yet. We’re still in it.
Still in the narrow place.
Still surrounded by oppression, fear, uncertainty.
Still waiting.
And yet… the ritual begins. The story starts. The light starts to push through.

This year, I will hold onto Yachatz more tightly than usual.

Rabbi Shoshana Cohen teaches that through Yachatz, we pause to remember the persistence of brokenness. We crack the middle matzah in two — not because we are free, but because even in moments of stability, we carry fragments. And in moments of uncertainty, Yachatz forces us to hold the despair honestly while still reaching for redemption.

This is the sacred paradox of matzah: it is both the bread of affliction and the bread of redemption. How can it be both? Because, as Rabbi Cohen says, our redemption is actually born from affliction. Hope and resilience are born from suffering and despair. As the late Leonard Cohen wrote, “There is a crack in everything… that’s how the light gets in.”

And as Rabbi Naomi Levy reminds us in “Hope Will Find You,”

“Don’t search for the moments of joy. Live them. Don’t wait for the moments of pain. Accept them. Don’t anticipate the end. Discover it.”

These words echo through our Haggadah. Redemption doesn’t arrive with a trumpet blast…it begins in the quiet, in the cracks and narrow places, in the first step taken while we’re still unsure of the path.

This year, more than other years, I’m noticing the cracks and I’m yearning for the light. 

Cracks in our world — the violence, the war, the polarization, the aching uncertainty and anxiety and fear so many are carrying.

Cracks in our community — the worry for mental health, the weight of losses, the economic strain, the heartbreaks that go unspoken.

Cracks in myself — the days I feel helpless and lost and where joy and grief live shoulder to shoulder.

And still, Yachatz calls us to begin.
Still, we gather.
Still, we retell our story.

Because even while we are still in Egypt, still waiting for our full liberation, something sacred stirs. The Rabbis teach that the first Seder happened while we were still in Egypt. Liberation begins in captivity. The seed of freedom is planted not on the other side of the sea, but right here — at our table, in the broken matzah, in the heart that keeps beating even when hope feels far.

That’s the power of Passover. It doesn’t just tell us a story of victory… “we were slaves and now we are free”… it roots us in a tradition of empathy. The Exodus story isn’t just a celebration; it’s a call to agency.

We retell the story every year because we remember what it felt like to be there. The Torah commands: “You shall not oppress the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” This isn’t ancient history…it’s a present-tense moral imperative.

So, why is this Passover different from all other Passovers?

Because this year, we are tired. The brokenness feels fresh. Because this year, we are still learning how to hold despair and resilience in the same hand. Because this year, we are still daring to dream of a world more whole than the one we see around us.

Here in Northwest Colorado, I’ve seen what those cracks of light can look like… a meal dropped off at someone’s door by our Chesed (loving kindness) committee. A phone call just to say, “I’m thinking of you.” A gathering of voices in prayer, even when it’s hard to sing. A difficult but brave conversation at a STAND convening. Every act of care, every moment of solidarity, every choice to keep showing up — that’s redemption in motion.

So I invite you this Passover to ask:
What is a crack of hope that you are holding this season? What light is trying to get in through the broken places?

As we break the matzah together, may we remember that our wholeness is not the absence of brokenness, but the holiness we find in the midst of it. May this season bring us closer…to each other, to justice, and to the sacred within and around us.

Chag Pesach Sameach…may your Passover be filled with meaning, tenderness, and just enough light to take the next step forward towards hope…

Kolby Morris-Dahary is the rabbi at Har Mishpacha in Steamboat Springs.