And What If It Really Will Be Good?- A Passover Sermon on Faith, Bread, and the Future

Rabbi Adi Romem

This Passover, don’t settle for retelling the story of the Exodus from slavery to freedom. Start writing the story of entering a new Promised Land.

Passover is a holiday of metaphors. Actually, Judaism in general is a tradition that speaks in symbols and parables. But Passover? Passover is the World Cup of metaphors. Everything about this holiday is designed to remind us of something. Every action, every symbol, every flavor—serves the ultimate commandment: “And you shall tell your son.” And I like to add: your daughter, and yourself too.

So today, just before we say goodbye to bread for a week, I want to give it some thought. Not out of longing for a croissant, but to ask: What is bread here to teach us?

Bread — Not Just Food, but a Test A Test of Faith

Let’s rewind for a moment to our first biblical encounter with bread. The Israelites have just come out of Egypt. They’re exhausted. They’re complaining and crying because they’re hungry. And God gives them manna.

But what’s written about this manna? It doesn't say: “I’m giving you food so you’ll feel full.” It doesn’t say: “So you’ll stop whining.” What is written?

“I will rain down bread from heaven for you, in order to test whether they will walk in My ways or not.” (Exodus 16:4)

Bread was never just food. It was a test of faith. And because it’s a test—it comes with clear instructions: Take only what you need for today. Do not store for tomorrow.

God wants to see if we trust Him. If we believe there will be a tomorrow. That we’ll be provided for.

But the Israelites—like us—think differently. They take more.

Why? Because they’re afraid. Because they don’t believe tomorrow will come.

Sound familiar?

I feel it every time I pack a suitcase. One more outfit “just in case.” Another jar of coffee in the pantry—because “what if it runs out?”

We all carry that quiet fear that there won’t be enough. That it won’t be safe. That we’ll be left with nothing.

And remember: at the beginning of COVID, people fought over toilet paper. At the beginning of the war, we rushed to buy bottled water and generators. Because fear ferments.

But everything taken out of fear? Leavens. It spoils. It just doesn’t work.

Passover: Time to Clean Out the Fear

Chametz isn’t just about food. It’s about the inner condition.

Chametz ferments, swells, inflates. It symbolizes hollow pride.

The yeast is like our inner tension — a little can be helpful. It motivates. It activates. But too much? It turns sour.

And it happens in the heart. Restlessness. Fear. Lack of trust. These are the ingredients that spoil our wine, our bread, our clarity.

Halachically, we’re instructed to check our pockets for chametz. Why? Because most transgressions are committed with money.

But let’s take it deeper. Let’s check for fear and fermentation not just in our homes, but in our minds. Let’s clean out the obsessive group chats, the toxic conversations, the inner addictions.

And Now? What About Faith?

Since October 7, it's hard to believe things will get better.

We’ve seen destruction. Death. A great fracture in our nation. People are leaving the country. People are leaving faith.

And I get it.

Because if someone had told us beforehand what was coming—we wouldn’t have believed them.(And let’s be honest—some did tell us, and they weren’t believed.)

So now, when someone talks about a hopeful future—we shrug. We scoff.

Because it’s easier to believe in the bad.

There’s a well-known experiment: Show kids a white sheet of paper with one black dot. What do they notice? The dot—not the page.

We focus on the fear. The fracture. The loss. That’s what chametz does—it inflates fear and puffs up despair.

But if October 7th happened—why can’t Isaiah’s prophecy happen too?

Why not believe that unexpected good is still possible?

We have a psychological bias toward believing the bad. But Passover invites us to reverse that.

Not blind faith. Brave faith.

So what do we do?

We check for chametz in the heart.

We let go of hopelessness. We remember that bread is a test—and matzah is our response. We remind ourselves: Despair is not a strategy.

We stop preparing for the worst. And we start acting toward the best.

Instead of waiting for a prophecy of doom—maybe we choose to fulfill a prophecy of comfort.

Because people of faith? Act.

They volunteer. They give. They create. They build.

So this Passover, don’t settle for retelling the story of leaving slavery.

Start writing the story of entering a new Promised Land.

And what if—truly—things will be good?

And if it depends on us—Maybe it really will.