The Only Question

In this sermon, Rabbi Andrea Kulikovsky explores the question of what keeps us enslaved, using the story of the Israelites' journey to freedom. She argues that it's not the external obstacles that hold us back, but our own fears and the stories we tell ourselves. Rabbi Kulikovsky shares a personal story and insights from Jewish tradition to help listeners confront their own fears and take steps towards freedom.

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What is Kolot: Voices from The Ark Synagogue?

Welcome to Kolot, the podcast of The Ark Synagogue, a bold, experiential and caring Progressive Jewish community in Northwood, London.

Through sermons, reflections and conversations from across our community, Kolot explores Jewish life, learning and values in the world we live in today. Rooted in tradition and open to new perspectives, these episodes bring together voices that inspire thought, connection and belonging.

Whether you are Jewish, exploring Judaism, or simply looking for meaningful reflection, you are warmly welcome.

To learn more about The Ark Synagogue, visit arksynagogue.org.

Four cups of wine, four children, four questions. That is what we are taught the seder is about.

The festival of freedom centres on telling a story: how a family became a people, how an enslaved people became free, how they began a journey through the wilderness towards becoming a nation.

And yet, beneath all of this, there is really only one question: what keeps you enslaved?

We might phrase it differently—what holds you back? what traps you? what sets you free? But at its core, it is the same question.

Tomorrow we read the Song of the Sea.

The people arrive at the water. Behind them, the Egyptians are closing in. In front of them, the sea. And they stop. They panic. They despair.

“Was it for this that we left Egypt? To die here?”

And Moses says to them: “Have no fear.” (Exodus 14:13)

But God responds differently. God tells Moses: stop speaking—tell the people to move forward. And then the sea splits.

The Torah tells it with drama and movement: the waters part, the people cross, the Egyptians follow, the sea closes—and then comes song: Az yashir Moshe u’vnei Yisrael…

But there is a moment just before all of that. A moment of stillness. A moment of fear.

And the question is: what stops them? What keeps them enslaved, even now, after leaving Egypt?

The answer is simple: fear.

There is a well-known midrash in the Talmud.

The people stand at the edge of the sea, arguing. No one wants to go first.

Until Nachshon ben Amminadav steps forward—walking into the water, deeper and deeper, until it reaches his neck. Only then does the sea split.

Faith, the rabbis tell us, is what makes liberation possible.

And in more recent generations, another voice has been added.

In contemporary feminist midrash, Miriam is reimagined not only as the one who leads the song, but as embodying the courage that makes the crossing possible—sometimes imagined as the one who steps forward first.

Not because the classical texts say so, but because the tradition continues to grow, to ask: whose courage made redemption possible?

But whether it is Nachshon or Miriam, the question is the same: what allows someone to take that first step? And what prevents everyone else?

I was thinking about this, and I remembered a story from my family.

My cousin, when he was little, loved a Brazilian children’s book called Chapeuzinho Amarelo—“Little Yellow Riding Hood”, a playful twist on the familiar Little Red Riding Hood. But he was terrified of the wolf.

Every time the story reached the moment when the wolf was about to appear, he would stop my aunt and say: “No more.”

Until one day, he said something remarkable.

He said: “The worst thing is the fear that fear brings.” O pior é o medo que o medo dá.

And from that moment on, he could hear the whole story.

That is exactly what happens at the sea. It is not the water that stops them. It is not even the Egyptians. It is the fear of what might happen. The fear of the fear.

So what keeps us enslaved? Not always the reality of our situation—but the stories we tell ourselves about what might happen if we move.

As Pesach comes to its conclusion on this seventh day, we are invited to ask ourselves: What is the fear that holds me back? What prevents me from moving forward?

And if I am honest, I know what my own fear is.

It is the fear of not being enough. Not enough as a mother, not enough as a wife, not enough as a rabbi, not wise enough.

And so I try to control things—through planning, through preparation, through study. Sometimes that gives me freedom. And sometimes it creates its own kind of enslavement.

Because in the end, the question of Pesach is not only about Egypt. It is about us.

What is the fear that keeps you enslaved?

And more importantly: what would it take to take one step forward?

When we can answer that, we begin to see the miracles. Not only the splitting of seas—but the quiet, internal transformations that allow us to move.

May we have the courage to face our fears. May we learn, like my cousin, that the fear itself is not the end of the story. And may we each find our own path towards freedom.

Chag sameach.