The Life Force of Liberation

by Adina Allen

Each spring, Passover arrives in a world that is blossoming — soft buds appearing on branches, the scent of spring carried on the breeze, the sun growing ever brighter, coaxing life from the soil. It is a time when the world seems to open itself up again, bursting forth with fresh life. And yet, we find ourselves this year in the midst of a great dissonance. The fear and intensity of these times weigh upon us. Uncertainty, disillusionment and distrust hang heavy in the air. How do we reconcile the tender invitation of spring and the promise of redemption with the overwhelming challenges we face as a nation and as a people? How do we embrace the warmth of this season when the world feels held in the grip of a persistent chill? 

The Passover holiday is replete with stories that can inform us as to how to turn our attention toward life when all seems cast towards death. At the very start of the book of Exodus, the midwives, Shifra and Puah, defied Pharaoh’s orders to kill all male Hebrew infants. The Torah tells us they “feared God,” and that instead of following the decree, they allowed life to flourish. The significance of this was not primarily in defying the authorities. They did not take to the battlefield or stage a protest or petition others to join their cause. Instead, they did the quiet, essential work of nurturing new life as it emerged, ultimately helping to bring about the redemption of the entire people.

In responding to Pharaoh’s question as to why they were not following his orders, the midwives reply simply: Ki chayot hena. The Israelite women are vigorous, and before we can get to them, they have already given birth. The word used to describe this strength in childbirth comes from the root chayah, meaning life force or vitality. This vitality is not just physical or biological; it is spiritual. In refusing to cooperate with Pharaoh’s command, the midwives refused to surrender to the forces of death, oppression and despair. They chose to nurture vitality — to protect, support and tend to the life force energy they saw emerging. This act of nurturing life was a quiet form of resistance, but it was not a passive one. It was a creative, dynamic expression of life that directly confronted the oppression at hand. And it was not the only one. 

Rabbinic tradition (Sotah 11b, Rashi on Exodus 38:8) features powerful stories from the depths of Israelite enslavement similar in spirit to the acts of the midwives. These narratives recount the ways in which the Israelite women, using mirrors to reflect their beauty and performing acts of seduction under apple trees in the fields, drew their husbands into moments of intimacy amidst their struggles. Knowing that survival depended on bringing new life into the world, these women were not simply pursuing physical pleasure — they were engaging in acts of creation. There were life-affirming acts that defied the forces of destruction and laid the groundwork for the liberation to come. Their desire was a form of life force energy — a creative, passionate power that sustains the future, even in the most oppressive of circumstances. 

These stories make vivid something that we often forget: tending to life force is not a luxury. It is a radical act of resistance. Each act of creativity, connection and vitality, no matter how small, is a direct challenge to the forces of death and despair. Taken together, the acts of these women beckon each of us to reflect on how we can best meet the world’s struggles. What opportunities are there for us to breathe life into the spaces we inhabit? How can each of us tend to that which keeps us tethered to pleasure, joy and vitality, even as the weight of sorrow and grief presses in on us from all sides? In moments of crisis, the simple yet profound act of noticing and nurturing life force energy is not just an act of survival, but the very heartbeat of liberation.

Every year around the seder table we retell the Passover story, and each year it is up to us to decide which elements of the narrative to emphasize, which features to draw out, which acts to hold up as key to the Exodus. There are so many more parts to the story that exist in and around the account we are given in the Haggadah. 

This year, as winter’s chill recedes and the buds appear on the trees, may we be reminded of the power of our own life force energy and the strength we have, even in the face of seemingly unbearable heartache and distress, to nurture creativity and vitality in others and in ourselves. May we remember that liberation did not come from one dramatic act of divine intervention. It was a process — one that involved many small acts of nurturing life even amid plagues and death. May the way we tell story this year help us to turn away from the forces that threaten to diminish us and instead — like the midwives, like the women with their mirror and beneath the apple trees — be inspired to create new possibilities, nurture new life and make the liberation we seek imminent, irresistible and inevitable.

From My Jewish Learning