The Passover Haggadah is one of Judaism’s most engaging and captivating
texts. It is also the guidebook for one of the most well-known and widely
observed rituals among Jewish communities throughout the world. For almost one
thousand years, the Haggadah has been reproduced in countless illustrated editions, bringing the story and rituals of the Seder to life. In modern times, hundreds
of creative interpretations of the Haggadah have been composed, as Jews have
sought to make the text speak to their particular time and circumstances.
Projecting Freedom: Cinematic Interpretations of
the Haggadah continues this contemporary endeavor
by using the medium of video to bring new meaning
to an ancient script. The initiative, spearheaded by the
Skirball Center for Adult Jewish Learning at Temple
Emanu-El in New York, brought together a group of
video artists and filmmakers who spent ten months
studying the Haggadah together. Reflecting their own
encounters with the text, the artists interpreted its
various parts and gave them expression through a
twenty-first-century art form.
The Passover Haggadah is traditionally divided into
fourteen or fifteen steps (depending one whether one
considers Motzi Matzah as one step or two). Each
step acts as a signpost for the different rituals and
stories that the text reveals. The steps also represent
the fifteen steps that led up to the Holy of Holies in
the Temple in Jerusalem. With each ascending step,
the Haggadah’s journey brings us to a higher spiritual plane. This journey towards freedom and redemption is one that we recreate year after year when we
learn and bring new meaning to the text.
For Educators or Study Group Leaders: How to
Use This Study Guide
To bring new meaning to the Haggadah, Projecting Freedom asks: What does it mean to interpret
text through art? How can video make the text come
alive and inspire us to find new meaning within? The
answers lie in our engagement with the videos and
their accompanying study materials.
These materials are designed to help you look at the
Haggadah text and the video shorts with different
lenses, to ask questions of them, and ultimately to
create your own interpretations. They are divided
into fourteen sections (for fourteen videos; here the
steps of Motzi and Matzah are combined), each explaining the “what” and “why” of the step, introducing a medley of ancient and modern commentaries
on it, and asking questions on the video. They are
written in a way to help you facilitate a discussion
and study program with your community of learners. If you are just going to be looking at the videos,
you may want to use the “In Light of the Video...”
questions for discussion. If you want to create a
learning session, you may want to pick and choose
one or several of the accompanying texts (whether
ancient, modern, mystical, or cross-cultural) in each
of the sections. You may also want to use just one
or a couple of videos/sections. Each study section
stands on its own, and they all fit together as well.
Whichever way you choose to use the materials, we
hope that they will enrich your and your students’
learning experiences.
Tze u’lemad... (“Now, go and learn...”)
—The Haggadah
Page [1]
Page [2]
Projecting Freedom: Cinematic Interpretations of the Haggadah is a project of the Skirball Center for
Adult Jewish Learning at Temple Emanu-El. The project was conceived and curated by Rabbi Leon A.
Morris (founding director, Skirball Center) and Saul Robbins. The project was made possible by generous
funding from The Covenant Foundation. The study guide was edited by Joe Septimus, with the assistance
of Rabbis David Ingber, Yael Shmilovitz and Jennifer Tobenstein. Layout and design of this study guide
and the accompanying website is by Adam Shaw-Vardi. Our thanks to Dr. Alfredo Borodowski, executive
director of the Skirball Center.
Be sure to visit our website: www.projectingfreedom.org.
Page [3]
Kadesh
What
Kadesh refers to the recitation of kiddush. Holding a glass of wine, we begin the formal Seder by reciting
three blessings: on wine (borai pri ha’gafen), on the holiness of the people of Israel and time (m’kadesh
Yisrael v’hazmanim), and on life (she’hecheyanu).
Why
It is the mission and function of Jews to recognize and increase the world’s kedushah, its holiness or
sacredness (“holy” and “sacred” are synonyms — holy, of German origin; sacred, of Latin origin). This
is done through words and deeds. Reciting kiddush at liminal moments, such as on Shabbat and biblical
holidays, connects us to the kedushah of time.
The text of the Kiddush is as follows:
:‫בּוֹרא ְּפ ִרי ַה ָּג ֶפן‬
ֵ ,‫עוֹלם‬
ָ ‫ ָה‬‫הינוּ ֶמ ֶל‬
ֵ ‫ ֱא‬,‘‫אַתה ה‬
ָּ ‫ָּברוּ‬
‘‫לנוּ ה‬-‫ן‬
ָ ‫ וַ ִּת ֶּת‬,‫וֹתיו‬
ָ ‫ וְ ִק ְּד ׁ ָשנוּ ְּב ִמ ְצ‬,‫לשׁוֹן‬-‫ל‬
ָ ‫רוֹמ ָמנוּ ִמ ָּכ‬
ְ ְ‫ ו‬,‫עם‬-‫ל‬
ָ ‫ ֲא ׁ ֶשר ָּב ַחר ָּבנוּ ִמ ָּכ‬,‫עוֹלם‬
ָ ‫ ָה‬‫הינוּ ֶמ ֶל‬
ֵ ‫ ֱא‬,‘‫אַתה ה‬
ָּ ‫ָּברוּ‬
‫יוֹם( ַחג ַה ַּמצוֹת‬-‫)ה ׁ ַּש ָּבת ַהזֶ ה וְ ֶאת‬
ַ ‫יוֹם‬-‫ ַח ִּגים וּזְ ַמ ִּנים ְל ָשׂשׂוֹן ֶאת‬,‫וּ(מוֹע ִדים ְל ִש ְׂמ ָחה‬
ֲ
‫נוּחה‬
ָ ‫)ש ָּבתוֹת ִל ְמ‬
ַ ׁ ‫אַה ָבה‬
ֲ ‫הינוּ ְּב‬
ֵ ‫ֱא‬
‫וּמוֹע ֵדי‬
ֲ
(‫ )וְ ׁ ַש ָּבת‬.‫ה ַע ִמים‬-‫ל‬
ָ ‫אוֹתנוּ ִק ַּד ׁ ְש ָּת ִמ ָּכ‬
ָ ְ‫ ִּכי ָבנוּ ָב ַח ְר ָּת ו‬.‫יציאַת ִמ ְצ ָריִ ם‬
ִ ‫ זֵ ֶכר ִל‬,‫( ִמ ְק ָרא ק ֶֹדשׁ‬,‫אַה ָבה‬
ֲ ‫)ב‬
ְּ ,‫רוּתנוּ‬
ֵ ‫ זְ ַמן ֵח‬.‫ַה ֶּזה‬
:‫)ה ׁ ַש ָּבת וְ (יִ ְש ָׂר ֵאל וְ ַהזְ ַמ ִּנים‬
ַ ‫ ְמ ַק ֵּדשׁ‬,‘‫אַתה ה‬
ָּ ‫ ָּברוּ‬:‫וּב ָשׂשׂוֹן ִהנְ ַח ְל ָּתנוּ‬
ְ ‫וּב ָרצוֹן( ְּב ִש ְׂמ ָחה‬
ְ ‫אַה ָבה‬
ֲ ‫ )לשבת ְּב‬‫ָק ְד ׁ ֶש‬
:‫יענוּ ַל ְּז ַמן ַה ֶּזה‬
ָ ‫ ׁ ֶש ֶה ֱחיָ נוּ וְ ִק ְּי ָמנוּ וְ ִה ִּג‬,‫עוֹלם‬
ָ ‫ ָה‬‫הינוּ ֶמ ֶל‬
ֵ ‫ ֱא‬,‘‫אַתה ה‬
ָּ ‫ָּברוּ‬
Page [4]
Kadesh
Understanding Kedushah
Four Cups of Wine
For Jews, reality can be seen in three interconnected
domains: time, objects in space, and people. Kedushah,
the dimension of the sacred, is present in all three
domains. Kedushah is that which is of God, devoted
to a higher purpose, separated from the ordinary, and
designated as unique and special. Significantly, the first
moment of the Seder is devoted to making kiddush:
making holy that special time, space, and the people
present.
Kadesh is not only its own commandment, but is also
the first of four cups of wine that serve as a structure for
the Seder. The Mishnah in Tractate Pesachim describes
the structure as follows:
Creating Holy Time
Judaism views sacred time as falling into two categories:
the already holy and the not-yet holy. The classic
example of already holy time is Shabbat. Shabbat is
sacred because God made it so, as the Torah tells us:
“God blessed the seventh day and made it kadosh
[holy]” (Genesis 2:3). To think that this holiness is of
God, and that time is (or is potentially) kadosh, places
us in God’s presence continuously. Psalm 16:8 furthers
this idea when it teaches: “I have set [shviti] God before
me always” (this is the source for the Sephardic amulet
called a shviti). The psalm reflects the idea that all time
is potentially kadosh and that it is up to the individual
to make it so.
The biblical holidays and Rosh Chodesh are examples
of not-yet, or rather, potentially holy time. How is this
determined? Our ancestors’ first movement towards
redemption was in controlling time. As slaves, they
possessed no time of their own. Because of this, the first
commandment given to the community of Israel while
still in Egypt was to bless the new moon, symbolizing
the new Jewish month, the movement and newness of
time, and consequently, when the holidays would fall.
This commandment continues today when we bless the
new month on the Shabbat that precedes it.
First cup: Kiddush
Second cup: Narrative (Maggid)
Third cup: Blessing after the Meal (birkat ha’mazon)
Fourth cup: Hallel
The number four also appears in the Passover Seder
with the four questions and the four children. In Jewish
lore, multiples of four denote completeness: four
corners of the earth (as a metaphor for everywhere),
forty days of the flood, forty days of Moses on Mount
Sinai, forty years of wandering in the desert, four
hundred years in exile (from Isaac to the Passover
Exodus). What aspects of completeness are included in
each of these?
In Light of the Video...
1.
What do you think the video is trying to tell us
about holy time?
2.
In the video, how do you relate to the family’s
imagined biblical Seder? How does your own
experience of the Seder connect you to your and
your people’s history?
3.
In your life, what words, rituals, and acts foster a
sense of holy time? How can you begin to create
holy time?
4.
Why do you think kiddush is of such importance
that all Seders for the past two thousand years have
begun with it?
In Temple times the declaration of the new month was
even more dependent on human agency. Witnesses of
the new moon and a court were needed to declare its
beginning, and without the witnessing, no declaration
could take place. This empowerment was — and
continues to be — an invitation to humanity to sanctify
time. Simply put, people participate in making the notyet holy, holy.
We transform the not-yet and potentially holy to holy
in how we mark time, how we speak about time, how
we live within time, how we value our time and respect
the time of others, and how we imbue our time with
kavannah (intentionality and thoughtfulness). These
movements are fundamental in our journey towards
being free, redeemed human beings.
Page [5]
Urchatz
What
Following kiddush and preceding Karpas, we wash our hands by pouring water into a cup, and from the cup
over each hand. Urchatz means “wash.”
Why
The Talmud introduces karpas as the dipping of a raw vegetable appetizer into a liquid (Tractate Pesachim
114a). The text goes on to teach that “all dipping [of food] into liquid requires hand washing” (ibid. 115A).
In Talmudic times, people would eat most foods, including dipped appetizers, with their hands. The liquid
would conduct impurity from their hands to the food. This washing requirement was therefore for ritual
purity purposes, and not cleanliness.
The requirement to wash hands prior to eating “wet food” was rabbinic in origin. In the early centuries of
the common era, a variety of circumstances converged to develop this custom. They included:
•
an extension of the biblical requirement that when eating consecrated food, a priest must have a ritually
pure body (here, limited to hands) so as not to defile the food
•
the law that liquids can transmit tum’ah, ritual impurity
•
an attempt by the Rabbis to blend Temple ritual into Jewish daily life so that we will remember Temple
practices and values, and
•
a reminder of our mission as a “Kingdom of Priests” (Exodus 19:6).
The custom of washing hands before dipping vegetables has, for the most part, become obsolete — except
at the Passover Seder. It is probably preserved here since it is part of the formal Seder procedure described
in the Mishnah and Talmud. Because of this, most communities no longer recite a blessing following this
washing at the Seder. However, some Sephardic communities, particularly Yemenites, still do recite the
blessing.
We perform similar hand washing rituals when waking up in the morning and preceding the eating of bread
(or matzah, discussed later in the Rachtzah section of this guide). For these hand washings the following
blessing is recited: “Baruch ata Adonai . . . asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav vi’tzivanu al nitilat yadayim. Blessed
are you Adonai . . . Who has sanctified us with commandments, and commanded us regarding hand
washing” (literally, “elevating our hands”). In contrast, the custom to wash hands prior to praying and
saying birkat ha’mazon is primarily for cleanliness and carries no blessing.
Page [6]
Urchatz
Washing Hands and Maintaining Values
Hands as an agent for the Body
The Second Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed by
the Romans in about the year 70 CE. Consequently,
all ritual purity requirements attached to the Temple
became academic. Why, then, did the Rabbis preserve
certain purity rituals, and particularly hand washing (as
a signifier of ritual purity), since it is several steps away
from the biblical laws on the subject? In a nutshell,
impurity derives from contact with death, and it
generally involves the whole body. This means that the
whole person would become impure, and not just one
body part such as the hands. The process of becoming
pure again takes days and culminates with immersing
one’s whole body in a mikvah (ritual bath), not just
rinsing one’s hands with a few cups of water.
Why did the Rabbis choose hand washing as the
vestige of the ritual to attain bodily purity? The
Talmud explains this choice in that “hands are busily
engaged” and are prone to “contamination” by virtue of
engagement.
Why did the Rabbis institute an abridged version of
ritual purification? Upon the Temple’s destruction:
•
Jewish social and religious order, as well as the
Temple rites, ended. The religious (or priestly)
caste structure of Kohen, Levi, and Yisrael became,
to a great extent, functionally irrelevant, as
there was no place within which to practice the
differences.
•
The people’s central religious values, practices, and
themes — such as the awareness of ritual purity
when engaged in Temple rites and readying one’s
body to engage in sacred practice — would no
longer have import.
•
Temple-based religious practice, which functioned
for five hundred years, became totally absent
— in fact, forbidden (both by Jewish law, which
forbids sacrificial rites outside the Temple, and by
Roman decree) — leaving a potentially devastating
vacuum.
Think about hands as the body’s agent to the world.
They reach, touch, and feel; they work, fashion, create,
and destroy; they hold tools and musical instruments,
as well as weapons; they open to give and close to
withhold; they hold and allow to slip away; they express
approval, joy, and humility; they ask why; they heal and
hurt; they plead and direct and speak; and they allow
us to care for ourselves and to reach beyond ourselves.
Being conscious of where our hands are and what they
are doing often reflects our whole situation.
In Light of the Video...
1.
The video alternates between images and sounds
of rushing waters, breaking ice, and the process of
kashering utensils and appliances. What message
do you think this juxtaposition relates?
2.
What are the functions of water and fire in the
video? How do these elements resonate with you?
3.
Have you ever created a ritual (religious or
otherwise) to retain values that are important to
you? How did it make you feel?
4.
How do your hands reflect your entire body? How
do they help you relate to the world?
The Rabbis stepped in to fill the vacuum and maintain
our society, memory, and values by extending Templebased practices to everyday life. The idea was to
imagine, re-evaluate (meaning “to retain value in
another context”), internalize, and shape daily habits
that remind us of our sacred mission and form our
practice. Hand washing is one such practice. Other
examples are structured prayer, the Priestly Blessing,
hoshanot on Sukkot, challahs on Shabbat, and the
interior architecture of synagogues, including the ark,
table, and menorah. These are all rabbinically designed
and allow us to retain the memory and certain values of
the Temple.
Despite the fact that many Temple rites have become
socially obsolete, Judaism, as a redemptive religion,
still acknowledges a return to a better time and more
idealized state. Symbolically, this is a return to a “rebuilt”
Jerusalem (with a Temple, etc.). As a verse in the amidah
states, “Our eyes anticipate Your return to Zion.”
Page [7]
Karpas
What
We dip a small piece of the vegetable that is on the the Seder plate — parsley, radish, potato, or lettuce —
into salt water and recite the blessing:
:‫בּוֹרא ְפּ ִרי ָה ֲא ָד ָמה‬
ֵ ,‫עוֹלם‬
ָ ‫ ָה‬‫הינוּ ֶמ ֶל‬
ֵ ‫ ֱא‬,’‫אַתּה ה‬
ָ ‫ָבּרוּ‬
Baruch ata Adonai eloheinu melekh ha’olam, borei pri ha’adamah. Blessed are You, Adonai our God,
Sovereign of the Universe, Who creates the fruit of the earth.
We eat the dipped vegetable while reclining on our left side. Karpas is Hebrew for a green vegetable.
Why
Karpas, as a pre-meal ritual, has gone through a number of iterations. Reflecting the Greco-Roman custom
of eating dipped appetizers before the meal, the Mishnah (Pesachim 10:3) relates, “They bring before them
[the tables] and they dip lettuce [hors d’œuvres] . . . . ” In the centuries that followed, the Jerusalem and
Babylonian Talmuds and later commentaries described various reasons for the dipping ritual of karpas.
These reasons were cultural, gastronomical, seasonal, celebratory, and educational. They included the
following:
•
It was a Greco-Roman custom to eat vegetables with dips prior to dinner
•
Eating vegetables acknowledged the spring harvest season
•
The ritual will inspire children to ask about the anomaly of dipping the pre-meal appetizer (in places
where the custom of pre-dinner dipping was no longer, or never, a norm)
•
It recalls the abusive labor that our ancestors endured as slaves, since Karpas dipped in salt water
remembered the people’s tears.
Page [8]
Karpas
Ritual of Ritual
It is interesting to note that the dipped appetizer goes
from cultural norm to vestige. Because of this, the third
of the four Ma Nishtana questions asks why we dip at
all. The answer reflects a philosophy that is based in
common practice. We are who we are because we do
what we do. Performing the ritual is important not
because it is intrinsically rich with meaning; rather,
the ritual is rich with meaning because it is what we
do. The ritual identifies us vertically through time and
horizontally across cultures. As we travel through time,
we carry our tradition’s wisdom and historical memory
and layer upon it, bestowing it with contemporary
wisdom. This is what keeps it relevant and vibrant.
Commitment to a continuity of ritual practice demands
that on an ongoing basis, we pursue and bestow new
meaning in our own context. Every generation needs
to read itself into the narrative that it has inherited. The
Haggadah clearly states, “Bchol dor va’dor . . . . In every
generation a person is obligated to envision himself as if
he left Egypt.” The obligation is for us to view ourselves
within our own situation, with all its past and present
nuances. One of the highest compliments we can offer
our tradition is to continue to wrestle with it, to find
new meaning and relevancy within.
— in a word: hope. The hope of Karpas is springtime’s
rebirth after the dead of winter. It inspires us to move
through the suffering and slavery to the promise of our
own — and our people’s — renewal.
The Rose
by Amanda McBroom
Some say love, it is a river
That drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
An endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
And you its only seed. . . .
When the night has been too lonely,
And the road has been too long,
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong,
Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snow,
Lies the seed, that with the sun’s love,
In the spring becomes the rose.
In Light of the Video...
1.
In the video, images of green vegetables and
rushing waters are juxtaposed with those of slavery
and suffering.
2.
What do you think this juxtaposition means in
terms of the Karpas ritual?
3.
What does it mean in relationship to your
understanding of history?
4.
How do you balance moments of suffering and
renewal in your life?
5.
How might you understand the ritual of Karpas
differently this year?
Celebrating the Spring Harvest Season
Passover celebrates the spring harvest season, and
therefore it resonates in both particular and universal
ways. The Jewish celebration of redemption and
freedom corresponds to seasonal rebirth in the Western
hemisphere. We are, after all, citizens of the world, and
we see, celebrate, and are thankful for God’s hand in
both human and nature’s development.
Karpas Preceding Yachatz
One way to imagine the order of the Seder is that each
of the steps builds upon the preceding step, revealing a
sequence that leads to redemption. Seen in this way, the
placement of each step is significant. Karpas precedes
the moment of Yachatz, the breaking of the matzah.
As we will discuss in the next section, Yachatz
symbolically represents breaking the wholeness of our
façade, exposing our darkness and hidden sensitivities.
It is a difficult first step required in the redemptive
process. However, Yachatz alone would be a distortion.
Without the balance of Karpas, the truth of human
brokenness can breed cynicism.
How does Karpas (the vegetable) prepare us for
Yachatz? Like a seed planted in moist soil, karpas rots,
cracks, and then sprouts new life. Planting a seed, say
the Rabbis, is an act of extreme faith. Every carrot,
every stalk of celery, is testimony to the promise of
rebirth, the victory of the possible over the inevitable
Page [9]
Yachatz
What
We break the middle of the three matzot (plural for matzah) in half, place one half of the broken matzah
between the other two whole ones, and “hide” the other half to be retrieved later in the Seder for the
afikoman.
Why
Understanding Yachatz involves a closer look at its two parts: breaking and hiding.
Breaking the middle matzah enables the two subsequent steps of the Seder: (1) Maggid, the narrative telling
of the Passover story, and (2) Motzi Matzah, blessing and eating the matzah, which takes place intentionally
with a broken piece. A passage in Deuteronomy (16:3) refers to matzah as lechem oni, which can be
translated as “poor bread,” “bread of the poor,” or “bread of affliction.” With this term in mind, the Talmud
teaches that, “Just like a poor person will only have a piece [i.e., not a whole], so too here [during the
recitation of the Maggid and for Motzi Matzah] we should use but a piece” (Tractate Pesachim 115b-116a).
Thus, breaking the matzah creates for us a state of incompleteness, of uncertainty, of oni. It is a re-enactment
of our time of slavery, which was a necessary precursor to redemption.
Hiding the other half matzah is not quite as important from a ritual perspective — it was often just put
under the tablecloth. Over time, the process of hiding the broken matzah and then finding it became a
means to maintain children’s interest in the goings-on of the Seder.
Page [10]
Yachatz
Breaking and the Broken
Hiding and the Hidden
Breaking is a complex concept. It separates, it destroys,
and it also enables rebuilding. Whether because of
structural limits or deficiencies, the inability to retain
external or internal pressure, the act of moving away
from the status quo, or the act of clearing space for
redevelopment, breaking can be transformative. Above
all, breaking is natural.
In Yachatz two pieces are hidden. One piece is hidden
between the two whole matzot and one is hidden more
deeply, exiled to another space. One gets revealed at the
end of our narrative and is incorporated into the Motzi
Matzah; the other remains hidden in the subconscious.
It is not revealed for some time, as we carry on with
our narrative, rituals, and meal. Ultimately, the deeply
hidden is looked for and found by the child (in us)
who remembers that there was something missing.
Revealing and re-integrating that hidden piece is the
culmination of the work of redemption.
In Jewish mystical tradition, the world itself was created
from a primordial breaking. The Kabbalah maintains
that God’s energy in creating the world could not be
contained in vessels. The vessels therefore shattered
and released the energy of creative light into the world.
Breaking releases energy trapped in form. In what is
referred to as shvirat ha’kailim, “breaking of the vessels,”
creative energy overwhelms form, breaks free, and
invigorates its surroundings.
Breaking as the genesis of creating is not limited to
a one-time occurrence. Rather, it is a vital pattern
embedded in all levels of life. It is said in the name of
Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav (1772–1810, Chassidic
rebbe born in Uman, Ukraine) that at every stage of
personal development, there is a shvirat ha’kailim, a
breaking of our current form and release of energy,
enabling a re-creation of the self.
Breaking Precedes Healing
“The breaking from wholeness is a step in ego
development. There is no coming to consciousness
without pain.”
—Carl Jung (twentiethcentury Swiss psychiatrist)
“There is a crack, a crack in everything; that’s how the
light gets in.”
—Leonard Cohen
(Canadian singer-songwriter)
It is significant that Yachatz precedes the central part
of the Seder, Maggid, the telling of the narrative. There
can be no redemption — personal, national, or spiritual
— if we are unable to first acknowledge that there is
brokenness in need of repair. The Buddha famously
taught that life is suffering and that there is a way to
alleviate it. As the amazing journey of the Jewish people
began with being broken as slaves, we all begin our
journey to freedom with a similar gesture. For in every
event of destruction there is hope and opportunity,
the seeds of renewal. After all, tikkun olam, fixing the
brokenness in the world, is our Jewish mission.
To personalize this experience of redemption, think
about what is psychologically concealed within you,
what it would mean to seek out the concealed and
then re-join the concealed with the revealed (i.e., the
afikoman). Consider what it feels like to know that there
is a piece of you hidden somewhere and you don’t yet
have access to it, you may not have defined it, and you
might not even remember that it’s missing. Describe the
feeling when your parts reveal themselves and you unite
them and utilize them. That is personal redemption.
“Veiling is therefore a constant, necessary feature of
our limited and imperfect social and psychological
condition. It is no wonder that in the history of
esoterically minded ideologies, redemption is conceived
to be the achievement of transparency, both within
the mystical tradition, but also within psychoanalytic
conceptions of health and harmony. (It is worth
noting that the word ‘apocalypse’ means unveiled or
revelation.) . . . announcing the existence of the esoteric
is the beginning of its disclosure.”
—Moshe Harbertal (Concealment and Revelation)
In Light of the Video...
1.
The video describes the process of Yachatz through
the lenses of the Seder’s four children (wise,
wicked, simple, doesn’t know how to ask). What
message do you think the narrator is trying to
convey?
2.
Think about a time or circumstance when you
were in the middle. How did your experience of
being in the middle change your perspective on
life?
3.
This year at the Seder, how might you relate
differently to the experience of breaking the
middle matzah?
4.
In what way or ways has something broken in your
life paved the way to something redemptive?
Page [11]
Maggid
What
Maggid is to tell and retell stories — both the story and our story. These may be stories of the Exodus
itself, of slavery and freedom, of loss and redemption, of failure and success, of continuity, faith, family,
community, and miracles. Maggid is to tell the stories that define our histories — personal, familial, and
national — and make us who we are.
Why
The Torah teaches, “Remember [zachor] this day when you went forth from Egypt, the house of bondage. .
. . You shall tell your child on that day: it is for this [i.e., to commemorate] that God did for me, when I left
Egypt . . . and you shall keep this requirement in its season, annually” (Exodus 13:3-10). Telling, retelling,
and sharing our stories is a process to further meaningfulness and the values of awareness, continuity, and
gratitude.
How
The Talmud provides a structure for telling our story that guides the text of the Haggadah:
•
Through questions and answers
•
“Begin with degradation and end with glory”
•
By elaborating so that we will be engaged in a personal redemptive experience
Questions and answers
Telling the story through questions and answers has procedural benefits. Functionally, questions create an
intellectual void or vacuum, a pocket whose energy demands to be filled. Emotionally, questions place us in
a state of vulnerability and help us develop the humility to receive.
To start this process, we use the image of a child asking four questions, which begin with: “Ma nishtanah?
Why is this night different?” We continue with a dialogue of four children who ask observational questions
about the Seder. Questions at the Seder should also be authentic, spontaneous, and probing. Consider what
questions challenge you this year. They may include:
•
How do you feel about the Egyptians being plagued and killed?
•
How do you feel about the chariot men and horses drowning in Sea of Reeds — in full view of the
Israelites?
•
What do you feel about the Israelites choosing that moment in time to sing?
Page [12]
Maggid
“Begin with Degradation and end with
glory”
The Talmud teaches that the Maggid narrative should
“begin with degradation and end with glory. Matchil
b’gnut um’sayem b’shvach” (Tractate Pesachim 116a).
This suggests that the objective of the Maggid is not
necessarily to recite the story’s facts, but rather to
highlight the redemptive journey. To what specific
degradation and glory is the Talmud referring?
a narrative meaningfully, we must make space for
interpretive freedom. In so doing we relinquish our
need to tell what objectively happened, and fill in
missing pieces of the story with new perspectives,
meanings, and values. When we have the freedom
to interpret the stories of the past, we also have
the freedom to live beyond their facts — and this
interpretive process liberates both the story and us.
Narrative Therapy
The Rabbis discussed two opinions:
1.
The initial degradation was polytheism, and the
eventual glory; service of the one God.
2.
The initial degradation was that our ancestors were
slaves, and the eventual glory, that they became a
free people.
The Haggadah includes aspects of each opinion. What
values are reflected in each of these alternatives? What
is accomplished for us and our families when framing
the Seder in terms of each journey? Which journey best
describes your own?
elaboration
“Whoever elaborates upon the telling of the Exodus
from Egypt is praiseworthy. V’chol ha’marbeh l’saper
b’yetziat Mitrayim, haray zeh meshubach.”
—The Haggadah
The process of elaboration is expressed in and through
the Haggadah: to find new interpretations of ancient
stories. Read more playfully by one Chassidic master,
the Hebrew word for “story” or “telling” is from the root
s.p.r. (as in l’saper), and it is connected to the Hebrew
noun sappir, meaning “sapphire.” The process of
examining a story or a text is like examining a precious
stone. We look at it from many angles and perspectives,
turning it to the light to capture nuances of each side.
We also see the story sparkle as whole, illuminating and
bejeweling our narratives.
A narrative is a meaningful sequence of stories,
organizing episodes, and actions that brings together
mundane facts and fantastic creations. We bestow our
narratives with meaning based on our interpretation
of events and experiences. When constructing our life
story, how we interpret events is influenced and shaped
by a whole host of factors, such as the views of others
whom we care about (family, friends, and community)
and our perception of social norms.
Through retelling a story (in therapy) we can find
alternative ways of expressing it, such as taking a
different angle, focusing on different events and
experiences, or changing the motives of the actors. The
alternative narratives that emerge help us break free
from the influence of problematic stories and identify
ourselves as the person we would like to be. In so doing,
we reshape our narrative and redeem ourselves.
In Light of the Video...
1.
The narrator of the video begins by asking, “Why
am I doing this?” We similarly begin the Maggid
section of the Haggadah with questions. What does
it mean to you to begin a narrative with a question?
2.
Why do you think we retell the Exodus story year
after year? How have you personalized, or might
you personalize, the narrative?
3.
What does the experience of sharing your voice
and hearing the voices of others at the Seder table
mean to you?
The result is a deeper, more rigorous relationship with
the classic Haggadah text. The development of our
interpretive abilities is an important task of the Seder.
Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik (renowned American rabbi,
1903–1993) taught that one of the core features of
slavery is the silencing of one’s inner life. Quoting the
Zohar, he writes that slavery forces human beings —
uniquely endowed by God with the power of speech
— to live a muted existence. To reclaim one’s voice
and, thereby a coherent narrative, is part of the journey
towards personal redemption.
Haggadah, another Hebrew word for “story,” is
connected to the word gad, which means “vein” or
“sinew.” Stories act as connective tissue for our souls,
grounding us in the narrative of our lives. To interpret
Page [13]
Rachtzah
What
Rachtzah means to wash (using the same Hebrew root as Urchatz [R/CH/TZ]). Following Maggid and
preceding our blessings and eating the matzah, we wash our hands by pouring water into a cup, and from
the cup over each hand. This washing is not particular to the Seder, but would precede any time that bread
or matzah is eaten. Following the washing, we recite the blessing:
:‫ילת יָ ָדיִ ם‬
ַ ‫ וְ ִצוָּ נוּ ַעל נְ ִט‬,‫וֹתיו‬
ָ ‫ ֲא ֶשׁר ִק ְדּ ָשׁנוּ ְבּ ִמ ְצ‬,‫עוֹלם‬
ָ ‫ ָה‬‫הינוּ ֶמ ֶל‬
ֵ ‫אַתּה ה’ ֱא‬
ָ ‫ָבּרוּ‬
Baruch ata Adonai eloheinu melekh ha’olam, asher kideshanu be’mitzvotav ve’tzivanu al netillat yada’im.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the Universe, Who has blessed us with Your
commandments, and commanded us regarding hand washing (or, elevating our hands).
Some precede the washing or the blessings with the following kavannah (articulation of intent):
‘‫וּב ֲרכוּ ֶאת־ה‬
ָ ‫ְשׂאוּ־יְ ֵד ֶכם ק ֶֹדשׁ‬
“Uplift your hands to the holy and bless God” (Psalm 134:2).
Why
This washing is for ritual purity, not cleanliness. It is meant to commemorate the priests’ ritual washing
prior to eating trumah during Temple times. Trumah was the food prepared from grains and vegetables that
the Israelites and Levites gifted to the priests. The food had a holy status and could only be prepared and
eaten by people who were ritually pure. A washing process (mikvah) preceded becoming ritually pure (also
see the Urchatz section of this guide).
The washing and purification process and the blessings that accompany it help us focus on our service to
God. In Judaism, it is not only “holy work” that is holy, but potentially all of one’s handiwork. Even eating
can be a holy encounter if we turn our hearts and actions to God.
Page [14]
Rachtzah
Reaching Beyond Ourselves
“Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s
a heaven for?”
—Robert Browning (nineteenth-century English poet)
Jewish philosophy speaks of two worlds: the World of
Action, Olam ha’Asiyah, and the World of Being, Olam
ha’Havaya. In Urchatz we discussed that our hands
are our body’s agents to encountering the world. That
describes our relationship to the World of Action,
Olam ha’Asiyah. But aside from their actions in Olam
ha’Asiyah, hands are also a conduit to the World of
Being, Olam ha’Havaya. Our physical height is more
than just our measurements from head to toe. It is also
from our toes to the fingertips of our hands reaching
up to Heaven. Netilat yadayim, the uplifting (washing)
of our hands, accomplishes both sanctifying our touch
in Olam ha’Asiyah and penetrating our reach into Olam
ha’Havaya. Our hands extend to places that the rest of
our mortal body cannot go.
meal (Rachtzah before Shulchan Orech). Each of these
rituals — Maggid, developing and attaining liberation,
and Shulchan Orech, consuming food — can give rise
to the hubris of “. . . my own power and the might of
my hand have won this wealth for me.” With netilat
yadayim, we bring in our partners — holiness and
Godliness — and liberate ourselves from the bondage of
human self-centeredness.
In Light of the Video...
1.
The video weaves a couple’s journey through
fertility challenges with different images of water.
What do you think the connections are between
the two?
2.
A person ritually washing his hands, a doctor
washing before going into the operating room,
running bathwaters, washing a baby — all
these present different images of purification ,
preparation, and cleansing. Which image resonated
most for you? Why?
The Integration of Doing and Being
3.
“And you may say to yourselves ‘my own power and
the might of my hand have won this wealth for me.’
Remember that it is the Lord your God who gives you
the power to get wealth....”
The couple described how much they wanted to
conceive a child and the considerable efforts they
took towards achieving this. What do you think
this means in terms of reaching beyond ourselves?
4.
Consider a difficult challenge you’ve had in life.
How have you (or might you have otherwise)
dealt with the challenge by using your God-given
powers to overcome it?
—Deuteronomy 8:17-18
We commonly think of two hand postures: thrusting
forth our hands with clenched fists as we assert our
own power, and extending our open hands upward,
acknowledging our powerlessness. The first disregards
the World of Being by virtue of our hubris. The second
is a shrinking of our World of Action overwhelmed by
the greater forces that be.
There is a third posture that integrates the two worlds
by recognizing the flow and partnership between the
two. Jewish life attempts to integrate action and being
by making us conscious of the simultaneous presence of
both — and emphasizing the flow of holiness from one
realm to the other. Integration requires acknowledging
and using one’s powers to the fullest, and having them
serve a higher power. It is a letting go of “my own
power and the might of my hand.”
“Remember that it is the Lord your God who gives you
the power to get wealth. . . .” It is interesting that the
verse does not say “God, who gives you wealth,” but
rather, “God, who gives you the power to get wealth.”
Each individual must use his or her God-given powers,
acknowledge God’s role in our accomplishments, and
recognize the partnership between humanity and God.
Consider this meditation when washing our hands:
We elevate our hands before we tell the liberation
narrative (Urchatz before Maggid) and before we eat our
Page [15]
Motzi Matzah
What
To eat matzah on the first (and second) night of Passover is the primary Biblical commandment of the
night. We eat matzah at three points during the Seder: (1) Motzi Matzah following the second cup of wine,
(2) Korech (the “Hillel sandwich”) following Marror, and (3) Tzafun (the afikoman) following the meal. At
the beginning of the Seder we set three matzot on the table, one for each step. Additional matzah should be
added for consumption as needed.
Why
Three reasons are discussed for why we eat matzah:
1.
The Haggadah tells us that when God redeemed our enslaved ancestors, they left Egypt in a hurry. The
dough they prepared for bread was baked immediately. There was no time for it to leaven and rise, and
the result was “ugot matzot ki lo chametz; unleavened matzah wafers” (Exodus 12:39).
In this regard, matzah represents redemption and freedom.
2.
Matzah is also referred to in Torah as lechem oni, “poor bread” (from the Hebrew word ani) or “bread
of affliction”/ “bread of the afflicted” (from the Hebrew word oni). This is because:
• it possesses the barest of ingredients (only flour and water) and the most minimal baking time (less
than 18 minutes from mixing the flour and water to it being fully baked), and
• as the Talmud suggests, it is digested slowly, keeping people satisfied for long periods. This was the
way it was eaten by the enslaved Israelites — poor people’s bread. In this regard, matzah represents
slavery.
3.
Matzah was eaten in family gatherings on the eve of the Exodus together with the Pascal lamb and
marror. In this regard, matzah represents a moment of hopeful transition.
How
We raise three matzot (actually, two and a half, since we previously broke and hid a half for the afikoman)
and say the usual blessing over bread:
:‫אָרץ‬
ֶ ‫מּוֹציא ֶל ֶחם ִמן ָה‬
ִ ‫ ַה‬,‫עוֹלם‬
ָ ‫ ָה‬‫הינוּ ֶמ ֶל‬
ֵ ‫ ֱא‬,‘‫אַתה ה‬
ָּ ‫ְָּברוּ‬
Baruch ata Adonai eloheinu melekh ha’olam, ha’motzi lechem min ha’aretz.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the Universe, Who brings forth bread from the earth.
We recite a second blessing acknowledging the commandment to eat matzah on the first (and second) night
of Passover:
:‫ילת ַמ ָּצה‬
ַ ‫וֹתיו וְ ִצ ָּונוּ ַעל ֲא ִכ‬
ַָ ‫ ֲא ׁ ֶשר ִק ְּד ׁ ָשנוּ ְּב ִמ ְצ‬,‫עוֹלם‬
ָ ‫ ָה‬‫הינוּ ֶמ ֶל‬
ֵ ‫ ֱא‬,‘‫אַתה ה‬
ָּ ‫ָּברוּ‬
Baruch ata Adonai eloheinu melekh ha’olam, asher kideshanu be’mitzvotav ve’tzivanu al achilat matzah.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the Universe, Who has blessed us with Your
commandments and commanded us to eat matzah.
Eat from the top and middle matzah, reclining to the left side.
Page [16]
Motzi Matzah
Lechem Oni — Bread of affliction or
Redemption?
In Light of the Video...
1.
The soundtrack and half the images in the video
denote breaking. How do you think this sensory
experience of breaking connects to matzah as a
lechem oni, a bread of affliction?
2.
The other half of the video’s images are of a man
and woman walking towards each other, looking
intensely at one another, and then embracing. How
might this other aspect of the matzah experience
represent lechem oni as a bread of answers, a
symbol of redemption?
The S’fat Emet (Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter, the Gerer
Rebbe, 1847–1905, Poland) taught the following on the
idea of lechem oni:
“Bread of Oni — The commentators dispute whether
matzah is a symbol for exile and affliction [oni from the
Hebrew e’nuy, meaning affliction] or for the redemption
[oni from oneh, meaning answer or to be answered].
Rashi [eleventh-century France] and Ramban [twelfthcentury Spain] teach that it symbolizes affliction. The
Maharal [sixteenth-century Prague] is not satisfied
with their conclusion. The truth appears to be that it is
by virtue of both — the descending to exile, as well as
the redemption. For it is certainly incumbent upon us
to offer praise for the exile as well. If not so, why praise
the redemption if we could have become close to God
without it [i.e. exile]. . . .
Simply put, one can say that all this [suffering] was for
us to become humble and subservient toward God. For
without this [suffering], we could never have escaped
haughtiness. As we have often seen, God orchestrates
the giving of goodness to a person in a way to not have
him overtaken by haughtiness.”
The S’fat Emet connects slavery and freedom, affliction
and redemption, in a kind of yin-yang relationship
exemplified in matzah. He also embraces suffering as
an experience needed to develop humility. The self that
emerges, the self that can be subservient to God, is not
downtrodden, but rather redeemed. How might we
understand the balance of these concepts?
“For every action there is an equal and opposite
reaction.”
—Isaac Newton (the third law of motion)
Consider Newton’s third law of motion in relation to
the S’fat Emet’s idea that to ascend (to become Israel, to
receive Torah, to arrive) one needs first to descend (to
struggle, to suffer, to journey), and that it cannot occur
any other way. Consider how this idea may play out in
life.
Matzah’s Simplicity
“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”
—Leonardo da Vinci
Matzah, by virtue of its inherent simplicity, becomes
a medium to accompany us in a complex transition
whereby we try to integrate polar opposites — the
experience of being enslaved (or constrained in our
lives) and that of being redeemed (emerging from our
constraints). Reflect on the challenges of achieving
simplicity, and the benefits that come with attaining it.
Page [17]
Marror
What
Bitter herbs, raw horseradish, or bitter lettuce are showcased on the Seder plate and eaten during the Seder.
Why
We remind ourselves through the sensory experience of eating marror of the bitter lives our ancestors
endured at the hands of their Egyptian masters. As we read in the Torah, “They embittered [va’yemareru]
their lives with hard labor, with mortar and bricks, and with all sorts of field labor. Whatever the task, they
worked them ruthlessly” (Exodus 1:14).
Marror is eaten together with a bit of charoset, a confection usually consisting of nuts, apples, dates, sweet
wine, and cinnamon (recipes vary). It looks like mortar to invoke the historical memory of laying bricks,
but it also offers a sweet taste to temper the bitterness of that memory.
How
Marror is eaten immediately after the matzah. We take a small amount of marror, dip it in the charoset, and
before eating recite the blessing over marror:
:‫ילת ָמרוֹר‬
ַ ‫וֹתיו וְ ִצוָּ נוּ ַעל ֲא ִכ‬
ָ ‫ ֲא ֶשׁר ִק ְדּ ָשׁנוּ ְבּ ִמ ְצ‬,‫עוֹלם‬
ָ ‫ ָה‬‫הינוּ ֶמ ֶל‬
ֵ ‫אַתּה ה’ ֱא‬
ָ ‫ָבּרוּ‬
Baruch ata Adonai eloheinu melekh ha’olam, asher kideshanu be’mitzvotav ve’tzivanu al achilat marror.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the Universe, Who has hallowed us with Your
commandments and commanded us to eat marror.
Eat the marror without reclining since it is symbolic of slavery, not freedom.
Page [18]
Marror
Text 1
‫ לומר לך מה מרור זה תחלתו רכה וסופו‬,‫למה נמשלו מצרים למרור‬
‫ בתחילה כתיב כי טוב כל‬,‫ אף מצרים תחילתן רכה וסופן קשה‬,‫קשה‬
‫ ולבסוף וימררו את חייהם‬,(‫ארץ מצרים לכם היא )בראשית מה כ‬
[‫בעבודה קשה וגו’ ]שמות א יד‬
“Why were the Egyptians compared to marror? To teach you that
like marror, its beginning is soft, but its end is hard (for example,
lettuce has soft leaves which are not necessarily bitter, and a
hard stem, which is bitter). So too were the Egyptians. In the
beginning it was written, ‘...for the good things of all the land of
Egypt are yours.’ (Genesis 45:20), and in the end it was written, ‘...
and they made their lives bitter with hard work’” (Exodus 1:14).
—Shlomo Buber, Midrash Sechel Tov on Exodus, chapter 12
(nineteenth-century Poland)
1.
Since we generally gain perspective retrospectively, what
does the Midrash want us to learn?
2.
If you knew this lesson in good times, what would you do to
avoid having your circumstances turn bitter?
Text 2
‫ שנאמר‬,‫חיב אדם לברך על הרעה כשם שהוא מברך על הטובה‬
.‫)דברים ו( ואהבת את ה’ אלהיך בכל לבבך ובכל נפשך ובכל מאדך‬
“A person is obligated to bless [God] for the evil just as they bless
[God] for the good, for it is written, ‘you shall love the Lord your
God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your
might.’ (Deuteronomy 6:5)”—Mishnah, Tractate Brachot 9:5
1.
Consider the blessing over marror: “. . . Who has hallowed
us with Your commandments and commanded us to eat
marror.” Marror represents the bitterness of Egyptian
slavery; saying a blessing over a bitter or hurtful experience
can be one of the most difficult things to do. How might
we begin to see disaster as a cause and moment to recite a
blessing?
2.
The Mishnah suggests that loving God involves bringing in
the painful, broken part of ourselves, and that sometimes
even loving God can be painful. Have you ever experienced
this kind of love for God or another person?
3.
The Kotzker Rebbe (nineteenth-century Poland) once
mused: “There is nothing so whole as a broken heart.” How
do you interpret this statement?
one’s obligation is not filled.”—Babylonian Talmud, Tractate
Pesachim 115b
1.
The Talmud makes it clear that experiencing bitterness at
the Seder (through taste) is essential. How might the ritual
demanding that we taste the bitterness enable us to confront
our own memories of bitterness so that we may heal and
move on?
2.
Interestingly, ta’am, the Hebrew word for “taste,” also
means “reason” or “purpose.” How does understanding the
reason or purpose of something give flavor to our actions?
Without taste or reason, how are rituals prone to becoming
irrelevant?
Marror as a Way of Life
“I oppose the lachrymose [tearful, mournful] conception of
Jewish history that treats Judaism as a sheer succession of
miseries and persecutions.”—Salo Baron (twentieth-century
Jewish historian)
Marror is dipped in the sweet charoset to teach us that dwelling
solely in negative memory should be avoided. Even the ritual that
specifically invokes bitterness is tempered.
1.
What might this be telling us about how we relate to the
Jewish narrative?
2.
While it is important to remember the past — persecution,
suffering, etc. — how might we also balance these
memories?
In Light of the Video...
1.
In this animated video, a father tells his son about the
symbolism and nutritional merits of marror. The father
asserts that marror is the “most important part” of the Seder.
What do you think about this statement? Does his reasoning
affirm or change your own opinion?
2.
One idea that the father emphasizes is the importance of
choice. Marror, he says, represents the choices we all have
— both bitter and sweet. Otherwise put (by the father), “You
can’t have the Garden of Eden without the snake.” How do
you understand the power of choice in your life? How does
bitterness factor into it?
3.
The father explains the difference between bitterness — an
ever-present part of life — and bitter people — people
consumed by bitterness. How have you dealt with bitter
experiences in your life? How have you separated them from
or equated them with the bitter people involved?
4.
The father teaches that if life serves you bitterness and you
choose to believe anyway, that is an ultimate demonstration
of faith. Do you agree with this definition of faith? Why? If
not, how do you otherwise characterize ultimate faith?
Text 3
‫ואמר רב פפא לא נישהי איניש מרור בחרוסת דילמא אגב חלייה‬
‫דתבלין מבטיל ליה למרוריה ובעינן טעם מרור וליכא…אמר רבא בלע‬
.‫מצה יצא בלע מרור לא יצא‬
“Rav Papa said: a person should not prolong the dipping of
marror in charoset lest the sweetness of its [the charoset’s]
ingredients neutralize its [the marror’s] bitterness. The taste of
bitterness is essential, but would then be absent.
Rava said: If one swallows matzah [without chewing], one’s
obligation is filled. If one swallows marror [without chewing],
Page [19]
Korech
What
A sandwich consisting of matzah and marror is eaten. Although the commandments of eating matzah and
marror have just been fulfilled, we now sandwich them together and eat them to remember the Paschal
lamb in Temple times. Korech means “to bind” or “to sandwich.”
Why
Preceding our eating the sandwich, the Haggadah offers us the following passage to read, which also
explains its origin and purpose:
‫ לקים מה‬,‫ היה כורך פסח מצה ומרור ואוכל ביחד‬:‫ כן עשה הלל בזמן שבית המקדש היה קים‬.‫זכר למקדש כהלל‬
(‫ “על מצות ומרורים יאכלהו” )במדבר ט יא‬:‫שנאמר‬
“In remembrance of the holy Temple, we do as Hillel [first-century sage] did in Temple times. He would
sandwich the Paschal lamb with matzah and marror and eat them together in order to observe the verse
from Torah, ‘With matzah and marror it [i.e., the Paschal lamb] shall be eaten.’ (Exodus 12:8)”
Animal sacrifices, including the Paschal lamb, were dependent on the presence of the Temple. Following the
Temple’s destruction (the second Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed in 70 CE), sacrifices ceased. Korech is a
custom that invokes memory.
How
Take the bottom of the three matzot, some marror, and make a sandwich of them, dipping it in charoset.
Recite the phrase from the Haggadah above (“In remembrance....”). Eat while reclining to the left side.
Biblical Source
‫שמות פרק יב‬
‫ )ד( וְ ִאם יִ ְמ ַעט ַה ַּביִ ת‬:‫)ג( ַּד ְּברוּ ֶאל ָּכל ֲע ַדת יִ ְש ָׂר ֵאל ֵלאמרֹ ֶּב ָעשׂרֹ ַלח ֶדֹשׁ ַה ֶּזה וְ יִ ְקחוּ ָל ֶהם ִאישׁ ֶשׂה ְל ֵבית אָבתֹ ֶשׂה ַל ָּביִ ת‬
‫ )ה( ֶשׂה ָת ִמים זָ ָכר ֶבּן ָשׁנָ ה‬:‫אָכלוֹ ָּתכ ּסֹוּ ַעל ַה ֶּשׂה‬
ְ ‫וּשׁ ֵכנוֹ ַה ָּקרבֹ ֶאל ֵּביתוֹ ְּב ִמ ְכ ַסת נְ ָפשׁתֹ ִאישׁ ְל ִפי‬
ְ ‫ִמ ְהיתֹ ִמ ֶּשׂה וְ ָל ַקח הוּא‬
‫ ְק ַהל‬‫אַר ָּב ָעה ָע ָשׂר יוֹם ַלח ֶדֹשׁ ַהזֶּ ה וְ ָשׁ ֲחטוּ אתֹוֹ כּ‬
ְ ‫ )ו( וְ ָהיָ ה ָל ֶכם ְל ִמ ְשׁ ֶמ ֶרת ַעד‬:‫וּמן ָה ִע ִּזים ִּת ָּקחוּ‬
ִ ‫יִ ְהיֶ ה ָל ֶכם ִמן ַה ְּכ ָב ִשׂים‬
(‫ )ח‬:‫ )ז( וְ ָל ְקחוּ ִמן ַה ָּדם וְ נָ ְתנוּ ַעל ְשׁ ֵתּי ַה ְּמזוּזתֹ וְ ַעל ַה ַמּ ְשׁקוֹף ַעל ַה ָבּ ִּתים ֲא ֶשׁר יא ְֹכלוּ אתֹוֹ ָּב ֶהם‬:‫ֲע ַדת יִ ְש ָׂר ֵאל ֵּבין ָה ַע ְר ָּביִ ם‬
:‫וּמצּוֹת ַעל ְמר ִרֹים יא ְֹכ ֻלהוּ‬
ַ ‫אָכלוּ ֶאת ַה ָבּ ָשׂר ַּב ַלּיְ ָלה ַה ֶּזה ְצ ִלי ֵאשׁ‬
ְ ְ‫ו‬
Exodus 12:3-8
3 Speak to all the congregation of Israel, saying: On the tenth day of this month they shall take to them
every person a lamb, according to their fathers’ house, a lamb for a household; 4 and if the household be
too few for a lamb, then shall he and his neighbor next to his house take one according to the number of
the souls; according to every person’s eating you shall make your count for the lamb. 5 Your lamb shall be
without blemish, a male of the first year; you shall take it from sheep or from goats; 6 and you shall keep
it until the fifteenth day of the same month; and the entire community of the congregation of Israel shall
slaughter it at evening. 7 And they shall take of the blood, and put it on the two side door posts and on the
lintel of the houses wherein they shall eat it. 8 And they shall eat the meat on that night, roasted on the fire,
with matzot and marror it shall be eaten.
1.
What details are included in the Torah’s telling of the Passover ritual? What aspects of this telling
characterize it as a prelude to redemption?
2.
The Paschal lamb (Pesach) ritual in Egypt was sandwiched in time between hundreds of years of
slavery, and the following day’s Exodus. What is the significance of observing the ritual at that
transitional time?
3.
How do the food objects used in the Paschal lamb ritual — the Paschal lamb sacrifice (a gesture of
being in God’s service), matzah (a symbol of freedom), and marror (a symbol of slavery) — portray the
complexity of the ritual?
Sandwiching blurs individual identity, acknowledging a preference for confluence and composition. Korech
creates a new kind of experience: a composite experience where the sum is greater than the parts. Korech
Page [20]
Korech
acknowledges the reality that no experience arises in a
vacuum; no experience is pure. To become redeemed,
both individually and nationally, a person needs to have
been enslaved. Reality is sharpened by appreciating
the polar opposites that shape it. It is through this lens
that Hillel interpreted the Torah’s commandment, “...
with matzot and marror it shall be eaten,” as eating
all ingredients as one — and not individually or
sequentially.
The Presence of absence
The Paschal lamb ritual continued for Jewish pilgrims
who journeyed to the Temple in Jerusalem for
Passover (one of the three pilgrimage festivals) until
its destruction by the Romans in 70 CE. After the
destruction, the Rabbis of the Talmud included Hillel’s
Korech in the Haggadah and the Seder ritual to create
memory. As a result, Korech represented that which was
absent and might otherwise have become extinct.
Consider the following biblical passages:
‫ יְ ֵמי ַחיֶּ י‬‫ כּ‬,‫ ֵמ ֶא ֶרץ ִמ ְצ ַריִ ם‬‫את‬
ְ ‫יוֹם ֵצ‬-‫למ ַען ִּתזְ כּרֹ ֶאת‬.
ְַ
“. . . that you may remember the day you came forth out
of the land of Egypt all the days of your life.”
—Deuteronomy 16:3
‫ה ְּד ָב ִרים‬-‫ת‬
ַ ‫ת ׁ ְש ַּכח ֶא‬-‫ן‬
ִּ ‫ ֶּפ‬,ֹ‫ ְמאד‬‫וּשמרֹ נַ ְפ ׁ ְש‬
ְ ׁ ‫ַרק ִה ׁ ָּש ֶמר ְל‬
‫הוֹד ְע ָתּם‬
ַ ְ‫; ו‬‫ יְ ֵמי ַחיֶּ י‬,‫ כּ‬,‫יָ סוּרוּ ִמ ְּל ָב ְב‬-‫וּפן‬
ֶ ‫ראוּ ֵעינֶ י‬-‫ר‬
ָ ‫ֲא ׁ ֶש‬
‫ ְּבח ֵרֹב‬‫הי‬
ֶ ‫ ֲא ׁ ֶשר ָע ַמ ְד ָּת ִל ְפנֵ י יְ הוָ ה ֱא‬,‫ יוֹם‬‫ וְ ִל ְבנֵ י ָבנֶ י‬,‫ְל ָבנֶ י‬
“Only take heed and keep your soul diligently, lest you
forget the things which your eyes saw, and lest they
depart from your heart all the days of your life; and
make them known to your children and your children’s
children; the day that you stood before the Lord your
God in Horeb [Sinai].”
—Deuteronomy
4:9-10
Integrations
Integrating ingredients in the Hillel sandwich:
“He would sandwich the Paschal lamb with matzah and
marror together and eat them together.”
—The
Haggadah
Integrating healing and suffering:
“Healing does not mean the absence of suffering. It
means learning to live in a different relationship with
the suffering.”
—Claude Anshin Thomas
(Zen priest, 2009)
Integrating good and evil inclinations:
“One shall bind the yetzer hara [evil inclination] with
the yetzer hatov [good inclination] to do God’s work, as
it was written ‘with all your heart,’ meaning with both
your inclinations.” —Maharam Elsheich commentary
on Korech (sixteenth-century Safed, Israel)
1.
What are ways in which we integrate different
aspects of our lives?
2.
Through this integration, do the original
ingredients maintain their uniqueness? Or are they
turned into some new?
In Light of the Video...
1.
Korech symbolizes something that is no longer: the
Paschal lamb and the whole sacrificial system in
Israel. How does the sandwich we substitute in its
place distract from or concretize the missing meat?
2.
What does the missing Paschal lamb say about the
presence of absence?
3.
One of the phrases displayed in the video reads:
“We cannot know everything, but we do need
to know how to search.” What do you think this
searching means in terms of memory and presentday reality?
.‫את ֶכם ִמ ִּמ ְצ ָריִ ם‬
ְ ‫ ְּב ֵצ‬,‫ ַּב ֶּד ֶר‬,‫ ֲע ָמ ֵלק‬‫ע ָשׂה ְל‬-‫ר‬
ָ ‫ ֵאת ֲא ׁ ֶש‬,‫זָ כוֹר‬
“Remember what Amalek did to you by the way as you
came forth out of Egypt.”
—Deuteronomy
25:1
‫ ְל ַק ְּדשׁוֹ‬,‫יוֹם ַה ׁ ַּש ָּבת‬-‫זָ כוֹר ֶאת‬.
“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.”
—Exodus 20:7
1.
What commonalities can you find between
invoking the memories of the no-longer-existent
Paschal lamb in Korech and of other significant
events which we are instructed to remember?
2.
What value does each memory highlight? What
values do you think the Torah wants us to learn
from the above memories?
Page [21]
Shulchan Orech
What
This is the meal portion of the Seder. The Hebrew words shulchan orech literally mean “set table” and invoke
images of a formal dining experience.
Why
While eating is not unique to the Seder, it is an important part of the night’s ritual. Eating formal meals is
one of the ingredients of every Jewish holiday, to make it special and joyous. Eating a prepared, formal meal
as part of the Seder is a symbol of freedom, in contrast to the many of the symbols of slavery and rushed
Exodus that the Haggadah describes.
For a Jew, most mundane events have a prayer or blessing that can be attached to them. This is not merely
an attempt to impose God into the behavioral details of daily life. Rather, it is an earnest conviction that all
of God’s creations possess kedushah (holiness) and we each have the ability to engage that kedushah in every
one of our encounters. Look around the Seder table during Shulchan Orech. The food we have is a blessing;
our body that the food fortifies with energy is a blessing; the joy we get from its touch, taste, and smell is
a blessing; being the beneficiary of the efforts of many people in the food chain is a blessing; our loving
relationships with family and friends around the table is a blessing; our ability to observe, reflect, and grow
is a blessing; our time is a blessing. Shulchan Orech is bracketed between Rachtzah, preparing our hands
for the holy act of eating, and birkat ha’mazon, thanking God for our gift of satisfying food (also called the
Blessing after the Meal). After all, eating is never just eating. Judaism sees the integral bond between the
spiritual and the physical, and engages us in making the physical holy.
Page [22]
Shulchan Orech
Respect, Joy, and Happiness
Whom Would You Invite to the Seder?
The Talmud teaches (Tractate Shabbat 113a–119a)
that the biblical holidays (Passover, Shavuot, Sukkot,
Rosh HaShanah, and Yom Kippur) are comparable
to Shabbat in our responsibility to imbue them with
kavod (respect), oneg (joy), and simchah (happiness).
The Talmud then offers examples of kavod, oneg, and
simchah: Kavod would include preparing food for a
festive meal, preparing special clothing, or reciting the
kiddush to initiate the special day. Oneg may be eating
festive meals and engaging in marital relations. To
create simchah, one might drink wine and eat delicacies
(historically, meat) as part of a meal, or give gifts to a
child and spouse as a loving gesture. The Vilna Gaon
(Rabbi Eliyahu ben Sholomo Zalman, 1720–1797,
Vilna, Lithuania) describes kavod as things we do in
preparation for Shabbat or a holiday, and oneg and
simchah as the experiential joys on the day itself.
The Dinner Party, by Judy Chicago, is an important
icon of 1970s feminist art and a milestone in twentiethcentury art. The Dinner Party portrays a large
ceremonial banquet arranged on a triangular table
with a total of thirty-nine place settings (three times
the thirteen men at the Last Supper). Each person in
attendance is an important woman from history or
mythology. The table settings consist of embroidered
runners, gold chalices, utensils, and china-painted
porcelain plates with raised central motifs that are
tailored to each of the women present.
1.
In what areas of your family, work, or social
routine do you employ the principles of kavod,
oneg, and simchah?
2.
Does the preparation for and attentiveness to these
principles help in getting the function done, in
making it special, or both?
3.
Preparing requires trusting in the likelihood
and value of the outcome. Is the time you give
to preparation proportional to the value of the
expected outcome? What is that value?
View the web pictures of The Dinner Party at http://
www.brooklynmuseum.org/exhibitions/dinner_party/.
Imagine sitting down at a meal with people from
throughout history or myth. Whom would you invite
to the meal/Seder? What would you like to accomplish
during your time together?
In Light of the Video...
1.
In the video, there are multiple sets of hands
preparing food in the shape of the Hebrew
words Shulchan Orech. What do you think
this preparation represents (beyond the words
themselves)?
2.
Why do you think this step in the Seder is referred
to as “the set table” and not “eating dinner”? How
does this word choice emphasize the value of
preparing: the food, the table, and the guest list?
How is this different from the act of eating?
Shulchan Orech is the opposite of the haste with which
the Israelites left Egypt. It is dignified, intentional,
and prepared for, with food, a set table, invited guests.
It also lies in contrast to the lechem oni, the bread of
affliction of Egypt.
Page [23]
Tzafun
What
After Shulchan Orech and before birkat ha’mazon we eat a piece of matzah that was “hidden” at the time of
Yachatz. This is the half of the middle matzah that was not put back with the other two whole ones. It can be
combined with more matzah if there is not enough hidden matzah to go around. We refer to this matzah as
the afikoman. Tzafun means “hidden.”
Why
We eat the afikoman as a reminder of the Pascal lamb that was eaten as the final food of the night, when
guests were no longer hungry. Over time, the afikoman has come to be equated with dessert, following
which nothing else is eaten.
Page [24]
Tzafun
Understanding Afikoman
The Mishnah teaches, “We do not conclude after the
Pascal lamb, with afikoman” (Pesachim 10:8). The
Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds list various ideas
as to what the Mishnah meant for us to avoid with the
afikoman:
•
Not to meander from one group to another (i.e.,
each Pascal lamb was prepared for a predetermined
eating group)
•
Not to eat mushrooms and pigeons after the Pascal
lamb
•
Not to eat dates, parched corn, and nuts
•
To refrain from certain types of singing
The Tosefta, a rabbinic text contemporaneous with the
Mishnah, adds the following: “A person is obligated
to engage in [studying] the laws of Passover all night,
whether alone, with his child, or his students.” This
obligation to learn with the people likely to be at your
Seder would have precluded meandering with them
“from one group to another.”
Misnomer
The Mishnah instructs us not to engage in afikoman. By
calling our final matzah of the Seder afikoman, we, in
essence, misuse the term to mean that which we do end
with (rather than the Mishnah’s directive of that which
we should not end with).
afikoman’s Historical Roots
The prohibition of engaging in afikoman seems to have
historical origins.
“The Sages [Rabbis of the Mishnah, Tosefta, and
Talmud] feared that the Seder night, similar in many
ways to the Greek symposium [banquet], would
degenerate into the kind of lewd behavior which was
common at a symposium. When the partying would
reach its peak, they used to burst into other houses
and cajole the occupants to join them, and continue
the celebration there. This was called epikomazein
[in Greek]. The Mishnah warned that the rite of the
Passover sacrifice should not be concluded with an
epikomon, i.e., afikoman.”
—Joseph Tabory,
The Passover Ritual Throughout the Generations
(attributed to Saul Lieberman)
Historically, afikoman provides a glimpse into how
Judaism incorporates structures of its surrounding
cultures, but establishes key religious differences.
Similar to the Seder, at a Greek symposium participants
might drink wine, lean to one side while eating and
drinking, and engage in a question-and-answer
discourse preceding dinner. The Rabbis incorporated
some of these Greek customs, but provided both
preventative measures and active substitutions to put a
Jewish imprimatur on the evening.
Tzafun: Return of the Hidden
Much of who we are and who we can be remains
hidden from view, even to ourselves. Carl Jung called
this “the shadow.” The Tzafun ritual welcomes the
hidden matzah back to the meal, back into the flow of
the Seder. The revelation of that hidden piece and its
return to the table is critical in the culmination of the
redemption ritual.
Tzafun, the hidden piece, is looked for and ultimately
found by the child (in us) who remembers that there
was something lost, that there is something missing.
The revelation of that hidden piece and its return are
critical in concluding the redemption ritual. Tzafun,
therefore, becomes the process of assimilating those
hidden parts of us found by the child back into our
lives. The beauty of Tzafun is the promise that all of us
(as children) can discover the hidden depths of who we
are and who we can become.
The child is under the table or in dark rooms searching,
as the adults speak at the table. Adults talk and heal;
the child searches for the hidden and is redeemed. Both
are necessary elements in uncovering what lies in “the
shadow.”
In Light of the Video...
1.
Think about the missing pieces in your life. Have
and/or how have you searched for them?
2.
In the video, the narrator uses the double
metaphor of a word puzzle and the afikoman to
discuss his lifelong search for certain answers.
What symbols and metaphors have resonated for
you in your search for answers?
3.
In the narrator’s search, he has only uncovered
crumbs and fragments. When we find and
reveal the afikoman at the Seder, it too is only a
fragment of a whole matzah — and that piece is
then subdivided to share with others. What do
you think this implies about the possibilities — or
limits — of our searching? Are we only ever able to
find fragments? Can these fragments be enough to
satiate?
For the Talmud, to avoid afikoman means avoiding
an undesired outcome: eating dried, salted dessert
foods, subsequent wine drinking, followed by public
rowdiness, meandering, and undignified singing. The
Passover Seder redirects us to plain dessert (matzah),
a limit of four cups of wine, and ritual, family singing:
birkat ha’mazon, Hallel, and Nirtzah.
Page [25]
Barech
What
Following Shulchan Orech and after eating the afikoman, we recite birkat ha’mazon, the Blessing after the
Meal. Barech mean “bless. “
Why
Reciting birkat ha’mazon is not unique to the Seder, as it is traditionally recited at the conclusion of every
meal where bread is eaten. It is a gesture of gratitude in which we recognize the source of our sustenance,
thanking God for the earth and its food. This blessing is the only blessing explicitly commanded in the
Torah, thus having biblical rather than rabbinic status. The Torah states, “Ve’achalta ve’savata u’berachta et
Adonai Elohecha; And you shall eat and be satisfied and bless God for the good land that God has given to
you” (Deuteronomy 8:10).
How
The formal birkat ha’mazon text is found in the Haggadah. The prayer is a demonstration of our gratitude,
and as such, many of the paragraphs and themes move almost stream-of-consciously from nutritional
sustenance, to the earth, to the gift of the land of Israel, to nationhood, to exile from the land of Israel, to
redemption. The Rabbis of the Talmud ascribe the authorship of the first through fourth blessings of birkat
ha’mazon to Moses, Joshua, David, and Solomon. This gives the prayer ancient biblical status and us, the
value of continuity. The first three blessings of the prayer that we recite today are almost exactly the same as
those recited in the year 100 CE.
Page [26]
Barech
gratefulness as a Value
The ritual of being grateful for our food develops into a
journey of redemption. Through the prayer, the Torah
and the Rabbis teach us the value of gratefulness and to
count our blessings, as well as to see our daily gifts as
acts of personal and universal redemption. The ritual
shifts our image of God from Creator (which may feel
historical and distant) to Sustainer (which may feel
more current and relevant). While blessings we say
before eating certain foods, such as karpas and matzah,
acknowledge God as Creator of these substances, birkat
ha’mazon following a satisfying meal is the grateful
retrospective of the completed process.
In the spirit of birkat ha’mazon, we may also
acknowledge all the natural and human efforts (a
good harvest, farming, preparing, cooking, etc.) that
enabled the meal we just consumed. Understanding this
complex process can inspire our gratitude for each and
every person who has provided for us along the way.
It is also a context that may inspire us to help sustain
those who are in need.
Three Categories of Blessings
Blessings can be divided into three categories:
1.
Birkat ha’mitzvah: Blessings on biblical
commandments. For example: “. . . and
commanded us to eat matzah,” “. . . and
commanded us to study Torah,” “. . . and
commanded us to affix a mezuzah,” “. . . and
commanded us to hear the sound of the shofar.”
2.
Birkat ha’nehenin: Blessings recited over
pleasurable encounters. For example: “ . . . Who
created the fruit of the tree,” “ . . . Who created
fragrant spices,” “ . . . Who brings forth bread from
the earth.”
3.
Birkat hoda’ah: Blessings of gratitude. For
example: some of the blessings of the amidah,
the she’hecheyanu, blessings associated with the
marriage ceremony.
The unique purpose of birkat ha’mitzvah may be to
create kavannah, intent to fulfill the commandment.
The unique purpose of birkat ha’nehenin may be to
acquire from God, the Creator, the right to extract
pleasure from God’s world. And the unique purpose
of birkat hoda’ah may be to express the wonder,
amazement, and delight at life. Notably, birkat ha’mazon
— which is, as a whole, different than any other set of
blessings — participates in all three categories.
Changing Words and Roles
on whether we are with our family, at work, at play, or
in public roles. The same is true with birkat ha’mazon. It
often takes on the character of the meal it is attached to.
“Ya’aleh v’yavoh” (“May our prayers arise and arrive”) is
a bequest inserted into the both the amidah and birkat
ba’mazon on special occasions like Rosh Chodesh and
holidays. The question arises: Is a person who forgets
to include ya’aleh v’yavoh in birkat ha’mazon required
to repeat birkat ha’mazon or not, i.e., did the omission
flaw the birkat ha’mazon recitation, or not? The answer
varies. On Rosh Chodesh we need not repeat the birkat
ha’mazon, since there is no obligation to eat a special
meal in honor of that day. However, on holidays we are
obligated to have festive meals, which would require
reciting birkat ha’mazon at their end. Accordingly, if we
forget to include ya’aleh v’yavoh in birkat ha’mazon, we
would need to repeat it.
The Requirement to Be Festive and
grateful
Jewish law requires us to be festive on holidays by
having a special meal and expressing gratitude by
reciting birkat ha’mazon. How do you feel about
religious law requiring a state of mind or emotion,
or dictating that we act morally (with gratitude)? Do
these acts then become deficient because they are
commandments (rather than acts arrived at by our
reason and free will)?
Immanuel Kant, the eighteenth-century German
philosopher, taught that people’s actions ought to be
guided by categorical imperatives that are universally
moral, derived by our reason, and implemented
through free will. This idea posed a challenge to
religion. In Judaism, commandments such as the ones
“to be festive” or “to be grateful” would, according
to Kant, cause the festivity or gratitude to be flawed,
precisely because they are commanded.
How do you feel about this conflict between being
commanded and allowing free will to determine our
acts and their relative value? What is being supported
and what is being sacrificed by such requirements?
In Light of the Video...
1.
The video, aptly titled That Sweet Taste of
Freedom, shows convicts in chains trying to get
at a watermelon. Touching upon the Passover
remembrance of our ancestors’ liberation from
slavery, what is the video telling us about the
relationship between freedom and gratitude?
2.
There are three kinds of thank you’s uttered in the
film: from the convicts to one another, from free
people to God, and from God back to them. What
do these three levels teach about when and how we
express gratitude?
Sometimes who we are and the extent of our
responsibilities depends on our circumstances. For
example, we may act or be seen differently depending
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Hallel
What
Grouped together, Psalms 113 through 118 are referred to in the Talmud as Hallel, which means “songs of
praise.” On Jewish holidays and Rosh Chodesh, Hallel is sung as part of the morning prayer service (between
the amidah and the Torah service) to help celebrate the occasion. The sequence found in the traditional
Haggadah also includes Psalm 136 (referred to in the Talmud as Hallel Ha’gadol, the Grand Hallel), as well
as the poem Nishmat Kol Chai (“May the soul of all the living bless Your name”), and other paragraphs of
praise that are generally recited in the morning prayer service on Shabbat and holidays.
Why
To help celebrate the holiday, Hallel is recited at the Passover Seder as:
•
an expression of gratitude for all that we commemorate and celebrate throughout the Seder; for the
conscious development of freedom, redemption, history, community, and family; for being a person
possessing and appreciating the very value of being grateful
•
an expression of joy for all that we have
•
a humble expression of our yearning and ability to reach beyond ourselves and share our existence with
universal rhythms, beauty, and powers; to place ourselves within the great flow of the universe (see
below)
•
an expression of the uninhibited soul, free of constraints and fear
According to the Rabbis, different than the public, raucous, epicurean song prohibited as afikoman/
epikomazein (see Afikoman section), Hallel is appropriately joyful and soulful.
When
The Haggadah splits the recitation of Hallel in two parts, as outlined by the Talmud (Tractate Pesachim
116b). Psalm 113 and 114 are recited at the end of the Maggid sequence. They are psalms we sing when
we are still meditating on the challenges of slavery, as they narrate the pain of being enslaved to abuse or
vice. They speak of the human spirit’s plea and hope and they express faith that night will end. In the first
paragraph of Hallel, the words “Mikimi mai’afar dal, Lift me, the destitute [lowly] one, up from the dust,”
echo through the ages in soulful African-American spirituals, or in Leonard Cohen’s “broken Hallelujah.” In
the second paragraph of Hallel, we begin our transition with “B’tzait Yisrael mi’Mitzrayim,” “When Israel left
Egypt...”. The Hebrew word Miztrayim, meaning “Egypt,” contains the root word maitzar, meaning “straits.”
We sing as we transition through the straits, still within them, but with redemption palpable and in sight.
Because of this, these psalms rightfully belong to the Maggid narrative.
The remainder of the Seder’s Hallel is recited immediately following Barech. With Shulchan Orech ending
just a short while before, we have had the experience of eating like free people — choosing our food and
dining in leisure. We then sing words of praise to God with perspective, for we have transitioned from
feeling enslaved to being free. The fourth and final cup of wine bookends Hallel. It is poured before and
drunken at the psalms’ conclusion to demonstrate that wine is to the body like song is to the soul —
satisfying in its complexity, layered, and becoming better with age.
We sing because we are free, because we have arrived, because we yearn. We sing the song of being near, of
being far, of having and of wanting, of cleaving and loving with unbound joy. Songs accompany us through
every emotion, every condition, every journey, every reality.
Consider critical moments in your life when a particular song helped you define the moment, or acted as a
soundtrack of your life.
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Hallel
“a Fourfold Song”
Poem by Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook (first Chief Rabbi
of Palestine, 1865–1935)
“There is one who sings the song of his own life,
and in himself he finds everything, his full spiritual
satisfaction.
There is another who sings the song of his people. He
leaves the circle of his own individual self, because he
finds it without sufficient breadth, without an idealistic
basis. He aspires toward the heights, and he attaches
himself with a gentle love to the whole community of
Israel. Together with her he sings her songs. He feels
grieved in her afflictions and delights in her hopes. He
contemplates noble and pure thoughts about her past
and her future, and probes with love and wisdom her
inner spiritual essence.
There is another who reaches toward more distant
realms, and he goes beyond the boundary of Israel to
sing the song of all humans. His spirit extends to the
wider vistas of the majesty of humanity generally, and
its noble essence. He aspires toward humanity’s general
goal and looks forward toward its higher perfection.
From this source of life he draws the subjects of his
meditation and study, his aspirations and his visions.
Then there is one who rises toward wider horizons,
until he links himself with all existence, with all God’s
creatures, with all worlds, and he sings his song with all
of them. . . .
And then there is one who rises with all these [four]
songs in one ensemble, and they all join their voices.
Together they sing their songs with beauty. Each one
lends vitality and life to the other. They are sounds of
joy and gladness, sounds of jubilation and celebration,
sounds of ecstasy and holiness. The song of the self, the
song of the people, the song of humanity, the song of
the world, all merge in him at all times, in every hour.
And this full comprehensiveness rises to become the
song of holiness, the song of God . . . in its full strength
and beauty, in its full authenticity and greatness. . . . It
is a simple song, a twofold song, a threefold song, and
a fourfold song. It is the Song of Songs of Solomon,
Shlomo, which means peace or wholeness. It is the song
of the King in whom wholeness resides. . . . ”
The Tensions of Universalism
potential. Can the message of these songs truly be
achieved without conflict? An individual’s sense of
self or national particularism may exclude — or even
cause her to revile — others with whom her values and
aspirations are in conflict.
1.
In your daily life, how do you deal with the tension
between appreciating where you are, and what you
imagine is still possible for you to accomplish?
2.
Do you believe that the different songs/stages are
in conflict with one another?
3.
How is this tension manifest in the country in
which you reside, both within the country and visà-vis the world?
4.
How is this tension manifest in your life as a Jew?
5.
One commentator describes the hierarchy as
moving from being egocentric to ethnocentric to
world-centric to cosmo-centric. Do you feel this
hierarchy fosters compassion towards the self and
others, the opposite, or both?
6.
Can you see Rabbi Kook’s “Fourfold Song,”
particularly the fourth song, as providing some
guidance for wholeness and peace?
A midrash relates that God quieted the angels who
wanted to sing as Israel was saved at the Sea of Reeds
at a cost of drowning Egyptians. “Ma’asai yadai tov’im
ba’yam, v’atem omrim shira? My handiwork is drowning
in the sea and you are reciting a song?” This midrash
highlights for us that our moments of great victory can
also be a moment of sadness and loss on a universal
level.
In Light of the Video...
1.
The video imagines three people’s journeys from
despair to hope. Visuals of cars rushing by, of a
quiet forest on a sunny day, and of flowing waters
illustrate these journeys. How do these images
resonate for you? What alternative pictures might
you imagine for such a journey?
2.
The narrator echoes the language of the Psalmist
— of struggles with death and sorrow and distress,
and then God’s answer of hope. When in a place of
despair, do you and how do you hear God’s voice?
3.
The circumstances shown in the film — of a
woman struggling with illness, another woman
saddened by the end of a relationship, and a man
challenged by poverty — are universal experiences.
Relating these to Rabbi Kook’s “Fourfold Song,” do
you understand the film as particularly Jewish, or
universal, or both? Why?
For Rabbi Kook, achieving the Fourfold Song is not just
an accomplishment; it is the highest accomplishment.
It is the expression of the fully actualized human being.
Rabbi Kook articulates a moral hierarchy that evolves
toward an ideal of universalism. While our ability to
understand reality at each level and sing its Hallel is
an accomplishment of emotional maturity, remaining
at that same level is a failure in accomplishing one’s
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Nirtzah
What
Nirtzah is the final phase of the Seder. It refers to the closing group of songs where we take leave and express
our gratitude for having completed the journey. The word nirtzah comes from the Hebrew verb rotzeh,
which means “to want or desire.” It is in the nif ’al tense of the verb, a tense that describes the state of the
subject as a result of the action. It therefore means wanting or desiring something in a resultative form —
that is, the experience of the Passover Seder has been received and accepted.
Why
The ritual of Nirtzah expresses that our Seder efforts have been received and accepted by God and by the
Seder participants around our table, and that we, ourselves, appreciate our effort and accomplishment.
Nirtzah, however, is not only a culmination of the evening. It is also an expression of unfulfilled desire
(rotzeh). The energy of Nirtzah suggests fulfillment as well as potential for more. Our end is no end at all,
but rather a satisfying phase in an evolving relationship with God, one another, and ourselves.
Both the content and structure of Nirtzah suggest a time of transitioning. It is composed of historical poems
crossing through time, songs with circular refrains, numerical progressions, and folklorish themes that
transport us from the complexities of the Haggadah to the simplicity of childlike songs.
The Order of Order
The first poem of Nirtzah is Chasal Siddur Pesach. Written in eleventh-century Germany by Yosef Tov Elem,
it reads: “The Seder is completed appropriately, with all its laws and practices. . . . ” The Hebrew word siddur
(same root as Seder and the prayerbook siddur) means “to place in order.” (The Seder is in order because it
follows fourteen established steps — Kadesh, Urchatz, Karpas, etc.).
Chasal Siddur Pesach really means, “We have completed an appropriate preparation (i.e., knowing
everything’s order) of the laws and practices of Passover,” but not the actual execution of the laws and
practices themselves. The poem was originally intended to be recited on the Shabbat prior to Passover, when
it is customary to learn about the holiday and become familiar with its laws and practices. The poem ends
with, “Just as we have merited to order it, so too shall we merit to execute it,” bringing together our ordering
intent with practice.
1.
How does the ordering mechanism of the Seder help us enter, anticipate, grasp, and utilize the Seder’s
ultimate message of redemption?
2.
How does the ordered structure of the fourteen steps help us be flexible and creative with the internal
content and development?
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Nirtzah
Freedom From, Freedom To
“The Seder is completed appropriately, with all its laws
and practices. . . . Just as we have merited to order it,
so too shall we merit to execute it.” At the very end of
the Seder we are effectively saying, “We have completed
the Seder, but it is yet to be done.” Similarly, the word
nirtzah itself implies received and accepted yet still
desiring. There is a tension between completing a task
and the desire to do it more or better. Our best effort is
the one yet to come, precisely because we now aspire to
greater challenges.
There is closure when we commemorate “freedom
from” — from slavery, illness, an abusive relationship,
school, financial burdens, etc. But “freedom to” —
to live in liberty, to choose and pursue our choices,
to accept consequences, to develop and grow with
independence, to love — is an ongoing effort. We reach
pauses, plateaus, and milestones, but never actually say
(or feel) that the Seder is complete.
to be. Perhaps Nirtzah comes from this idea. At the
conclusion of a powerful journey, it is the overflowing
of song, of lingering in the sweetness, that speaks to a
deeper part of ourselves.
Rabbi Nachman’s teaching about each person’s special
song may be understood as similar to James’ “true
self.” While Rabbi Nachman uses positive language,
and James negative language, each encourages the
development of our uniqueness.
In Light of the Video...
1.
The video for Nirtzah functions as a kind of
epilogue for the Rachtzah video, presenting the
happy conclusion — and beginning — for the
fertility-challenged couple. How does the symbol
of a baby (or in this case, babies) pull upon
Nirtzah’s theme of received and still desired, of
ending and beginning at the same time?
2.
In the video, the father says, “Each step makes me
look forward to all the other steps yet to come.”
How does this statement relate to what you now
know about Nirtzah? Does it resonate now (or
has it resonated in the past) as a truth in your life?
How?
Hadran Alach: We Shall Return to You
When we complete the learning of a tractate of a
Talmud, it is customary to recite: “Hadran alach . . . .
We shall return to you, Tractate X, and you shall return
to us. Our thoughts are on you, Tractate X, and your
thoughts are on us. We will not forget you, Tractate X,
and you shall not forget us, neither in this world or in
the world to come.”
We speak to the tractate with which we have been in a
serious learning relationship for many months or years,
as a beloved friend. As we depart (hopefully, to begin a
relationship with a new tractate), we do not say, “That
one’s complete. Let’s put it back on the shelf,” but rather
“We shall return to you.” The learning process is never
truly complete, and we comfort ourselves with the
notion that our friend is thinking of us too.
Singing Your Song
Nirtzah: Projecting Freedom
In Nirtzah we state where we are now, and then we
immediately look to the future. “We have completed the
Seder . . . next year in Jerusalem.” Our present includes
our view of the future, and our future includes its past.
In Projecting Freedom, what has been created is for
the benefit of inspiring what is yet to be understood and
created from it. The essence of the project is to return to
the source of the Haggadah and project from it; it is to
share the same body of text, to bind and guide us, and
to enable us to create further. Hadran alach. We shall
return to you . . .
“There is but one cause of human failure, and that is
man’s lack of faith in his true self.”
—William James (nineteenth/twentieth-century
American philosopher)
Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav (1772–1810, Chassidic
rebbe born in Uman, Ukraine) refers to something
called odi, meaning “more,” the little extra-ness that
each of us adds to the world. Contributing our unique
extra-ness to the world is our song, and our songs are
each unique and special. This is alluded to in the verse
from Psalms, “I will sing to God through my life; I will
serenade my God with my existence [with my extraness, with odi].” (Psalms 104:33) Rabbi Nachman’s
creative reading of the verse teaches us that we each
have a contribution to make and it bears our unique
stamp, regardless of how big or small we imagine it
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