Orot Shalhevet - Pesach 2018 | 5778

DEAR SHALHEVET COMMUNITY, RABBI ARI SEGAL HEAD OF SCHOOL

WWW.SHALHEVET.ORG

Teaching our children is a crucial part of Jewish practice, but no holiday incorporates this idea as fully as Pesach. In many ways, the entire Seder is an educational exercise, as we initiate younger generations into the tragedies and triumphs of Jewish history, as epitomized by Yetziat Mitzrayim. We teach through songs and stories, questions and answers, the sad tang of saltwater and the sweet crunch of matzah.

At Shalhevet, we believe that this kind of multi-dimensional education goes well beyond the eight days of Pesach—it’s what we do on a daily basis. More than that, our educational mission transcends the classroom itself. As educators, we’re committed to sharing our Torah not only within the daled amos of our campus, but to the community at large. To that end, our parent body joins us often at lectures and debates, and the Shalhevet Institute challenges our entire community to contemplate subjects in Torah, and its application in our modern lives. We believe in inspiring deep thought and important conversation, evaluating many perspectives, and emerging with deeper knowledge and respect for our fellow Jews and citizens of the world.

Now, we are thrilled to introduce a new initiative that will serve as yet another embodiment of that wider mission: Orot, a pamphlet packed with divrei Torah by our amazing faculty at Shalhevet. In Orot, we hope to not just provide you with a few wise words for the upcoming holiday, but to equip you with ways to bring the Shalhevet philosophy of engagement and respect to each moment of chag.

Shalhevet’s unique environment encourages robust debate and an urge for learning that comes from within, one shared by teachers and students alike. Our Torah faculty at Shalhevet have been inspired in their contributions to Orot by the passion and engagement of our wonderful students, and we hope these thought-provoking pieces enrich your seder night and Pesach holiday.

Wishing you and your family a chag kasher v’sameach, Rabbi Ari Segal

TABLE OF CONTENTS ‫הקדמה לליל הסדר‬

RABBI ARI SCHWARZBERG

PAGE 3

(‫עבדים היינו )מגיד‬

‫חמץ\בדיקת חמץ‬

RABBI DAVID STEIN

RABBI DAVID BLOCK

(‫וירעו אתנו המצרים )מגיד‬

‫ורחץ‬

PAGE 15

PAGE 4

RABBI ARI SEGAL

JOE SCHNITZER

(‫דיינו )מגיד‬

‫כרפס‬

PAGE 17

PAGE 7

DR. JONATHAN RAVANSHENAS

RABBI DEREK GORMIN

‫מוציא מצה‬

‫יחץ‬

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MRS. ATARA SEGAL

MS. ILANA WILNER

‫כורך‬

(‫סיפור יציאת מצרים )מגיד‬

PAGE 23

PAGE 12

PAGE 21

NICOLE MILES

‫צפון‬

RABBI ABRAHAM LIEBERMAN

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PAGE 10

MRS. NA'AMIT NAGEL

(‫הא לחמא עניא )מגיד‬

RABBI DANIEL BOUSKILA

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‫הקדמה לליל הסדר‬

YETZIAT MITZRAYIM: THE PERSONAL EDITION RABBI ARI SCHWARZBERG R AB BI A RI S C H WA RZ BERG IS THE F OU NDER A N D D I R E CT O R O F TH E S HA LHEV ET I N ST I T UT E A ND A S E NIO R MEM BER O F S H ALHEV ET H I G H SCHO O L' S F ACULT Y A ND L EA DERSHIP TEA M . HE R E CEIV ED HIS S E M I KHA FR O M Y E SHIV A U N I V ER SIT Y AN D HO LDS A MA ST ER S O F TH EO LO GICA L S TU DIES FRO M H AR V A R D D I VI NIT Y S C H OO L.

The Seder night stands alone as a singular experience of Jewish ritual and custom. The liturgy, structure, and all of its nuances create an incredible ritual journey that is unparalleled on the Jewish calendar. At the same time, the notion of remembering the Exodus from Egypt pervades our daily Jewish experience. Twice a day in Shema we recall this event, and every Friday night we usher in Shabbat by invoking the memory of yetziat mitzrayim. So, on one hand, the Seder is absolutely unique, and on the other hand, the story of yetziat mitzrayim is a ubiquitous part of Jewish life.

I think the centrality of this moment in Jewish history is not lost on many. The formation of Jewish peoplehood, God’s supernatural wonders, and the path to Sinai are all foundational cornerstones of Jewish existence. But if this is all part of our daily experience, what does the Seder experience add that is not included in our daily commemoration?

Scholars and classical commentaries offer a wide range of both halakhic and theological responses to the question. But this year, I’m finding meaning in a reflective and profound thought by one of the great Hassidic minds of the 19th century.

Rabbi Yehuda Aryeh Leib Alter of Gur, otherwise known as the Sefat Emet, ingeniously employs a literary twist of the name: Yetziat Mitzrayim. While the phrase ‫מצרים יציאת‬ usually refers to the historical moment of leaving Egypt, the Sefat Emet suggests that it should also be read as a “‫[ המצרים מן יציאה‬yetzia min hametzarim]” – an exodus from our (inner) straits or narrowness.

According to this rendition, while the historical Exodus was a transformative moment of slavery to freedom accompanied by God’s revelation, its ongoing significance lies in a demand for the continued revelation of our inner selves. In that sense, although the Pesach Seder is constructed to commemorate a historical moment, the work of the Seder and Pesach involves an inner experience where we are called on to exorcise ourselves from the confining elements of our lives. I’m referring to the things that get in the way of us reaching our imagined self – the one we briefly know during our peak moments, but find hard to perpetually realize.

This Hassidic understanding of ‫ מצרים יציאת‬demands a far more ambitious Seder, one that unearths a deeper layer beyond the rituals and liturgy of the Haggadah. The mitzvot of this night become a starting point for a more profound end game that is meant to shake up our inner sanctum to awaken a manifestation of our self that is kinder, more generous and humble, and more spiritually connected.

This is perhaps the meaning of the Haggadah’s statement that: ‫בְּכָל דּו ֹר וָדו ֹר חַ ּיָב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת עַצְמ ֹו כְּאִלוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּ ְצרַיִם‬ “In each generation, a person is obligated to view him/herself as if they left Egypt.”

Done right, the Seder is an experiential process that brings us closer to an existence of greater freedom and redemption. If each day of the year we invoke ‫ תאיצי םירצמ‬to attest to its historic role in the formation of Judaism, Seder night offers the special mitzvah of retelling and reliving the narrative in a way that moves each of us towards a deeper expression of our own spiritual and personal dreams.

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‫חמץ\בדיקת חמץ‬ A RISE IN CREATIVITY: RE-IMAGINING THE PROHIBITION OF CHAMETZ AND THE HOLIDAY OF PESACH The rush to rigorously rid our homes of chametz has become one of the Jewish hallmarks of springtime. The mitzvah to do one last meticulous check for chametz on the night before Pesach has become, for many, a family activity and a staple of the Pesach experience.

RABBI DAVID BLOCK

R A BBI D A V ID B LOC K IS T H E But when we consider why we do this and why there is a prohibition to own chametz a bit M A S H G IA C H more deeply, the law begins to seem quite strange. If we were asked why Jews abstain from R U CHA NI A ND A leaven during Pesach, I imagine many of us might offer the age-old historical response: ME MBE R O F When we left Egypt, we did so in such haste that we did not even have enough time to allow THE L IMU D E I our dough to rise. And that is certainly true (Shemos 12:39).

KODESH F A C ULTY AT But that cannot be the whole story, for a number of reasons. First, B’nei Yisrael were initially SHALHEVET commanded to rid themselves of chametz (Shemos 12:15) before they left Egypt, before they H I G H SCHOOL. ever needed to grab their unleavened bread and urgently exit (12:34, 39)! It seems quite H E FO R ME R L Y unlikely that the initial command was based on an event that was yet to occur. Second, if the WORKED AS reason were based on the historical haste alone, would that not yield a law only to abstain TH E C O NT E NT from eating leaven? Why is the Torah so adamant that we must utterly destroy chametz from A ND our homes (Shemos 12:15, 19)? And lastly, and perhaps most poignantly, the historical CU R R IC U L U M reason itself may still not justify the law. The upshot of not having time for their dough to DE V E L O P E R A T rise was that B’nei Yisrael had to eat matzah. Naturally, then, we should be commanded to AL E P H BE T A eat matzah on Pesach. And, indeed, we are. But then why prohibit the inverse? On Rosh A ND A T Hashanah, when we are commanded to blow the Shofar, does the Torah outlaw owning R A MBA M ME S IV T A IN other types of horns? On Sukkos, when we are commanded to shake the Arbah Minim (Four NE W Y O R K .

Species), does the Torah ban lifting or shaking any other objects? Yes, the resultant matzah D A V ID on the night of the Exodus should be commemorated by eating matzah, but why does that R E C E IV E D preclude the possibility of eating or owning chametz as well?

R A BBINIC A hint towards beginning to understand the prohibition may be found in an oft-overlooked O R DI NA T IO N A T Y E S H IV A law, entirely unrelated to Pesach. Pesach is not the only context in which there is a ban on UNIV E R S IT Y , chametz. The Torah tells us that the korban mincha, a meal offering brought throughout the W H ERE HE year, can never include chametz (Vayikra 2:12): ALSO ...‫עשֶׂה חָמֵץ‬ ָ ֵ‫כָּל הַמִּ ְנחָה אֲשֶׁר תַּקְרִיב ּו לַה‘ לֹא ת‬ CO M P L E T E D A N No meal offering that you offer to God shall be made with leaven…

M . A. IN J E W IS H H IS T O R Y , A N If the problematic nature of chametz were simply the byproduct of the haste with which M.S . IN B’nei Yisrael left Egypt, why would that have any bearing on the laws of offerings, which E D U C A T IO N, seem to have no particular connection to the Exodus? Indeed, this enigmatic law indicates A ND IS that, in addition to the historical element, chametz may have an entirely independent, C U R R E NT L Y perhaps inherent, spiritual limitation. What is it about leaven that, in certain ritual arenas, WO R K ING O N H IS we must be so careful to avoid?

DO CT O R A T E . H E Throughout Jewish literature, many have suggested interpretations as to the problem with I S A W E X NE R chametz: Chazal compare the leaven to the evil inclination (Berachos 17a; see also Responsa GRADUATE of the Radvaz 3:546), and the Sefer HaChinuch (117) equates leaven to arrogance.1 These FE L L O W / D A V ID S O N 1 The Rambam (Moreh Nevuchim 3:46) suggests that chametz is prohibited in sacrifices because offering leaven was the practice of SCHOLAR. idolaters. This interpretation, however, is more localized than the rest of the explanations, as it is difficult to explain the prohibition of chametz on Pesach using that rationale.

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answers, to me, always seemed more homiletic than critically interpretive. The optics of bread rising can certainly be reminiscent of an inflated ego, perhaps the most volatile element of the human yetzer hara. But is that all Chazal are underscoring – a tenuous visual analogy?

I want to share an insight into the spiritual significance of bread, based on the process of bread-making, shared with me by my teacher, R. David Forhman. Using that framework, we can return to our initial questions and suggest a much deeper, more fundamental understanding of chametz that both sheds insight into its prohibition and also substantiates the ostensive homiletic chametz analogies of Chazal and the commentaries.

What is the true difference between chametz and matzah? Just one thing: Leaven. Chametz dough rises. But what exactly does that mean? What happens, scientifically, when the leaven is activated and the dough swells?

Peter Reinhart,2 a renowned master baker, shares insight into the bread-making process that may give us just the information that we need. Reinhart enumerates a twelve-step bread-making process, but focuses primarily on a few of those stages – ones that he refers to as “transformational.”

First, the wheat is cut off from its stalk. We call that “harvesting,” but the process of disconnecting something from its life source is really a form of killing. And yet, the “dead” seeds still have the potential to be replanted and to create life. Instead, we crush the grain into flour, thereby ending their potential for future life. As the bread-making process begins, the raw flour is utterly lifeless.

Then, with this “dead” flour before us, we do something radical: We add water to the flour to transform it into clay, and with the addition of a leavening agent (like yeast), we bring the dough to life. As Reinhart notes, “leaven comes from the root word that means ‘enliven’ – to vivify, to bring to life.”3 But what exactly happens as the dough rises?

The yeast, which consists of live microorganisms, “eats” the sugars and transforms them into carbon dioxide and alcohol – which it then “breathes” back into the dough, thereby causing the dough to rise.4 By infusing life into that which was dead, the baker, in a sense, is a creator. The baker plays God. She or he does not create a sentient life form, but does create a new entity through controlling what is usually only in the Godly realm: Life and death. As Reinart notes, “the baker’s choices all along the way determine the outcome of the product. A subtle change in temperature, a subtle change in time… That’s the art of baking.”

Fascinatingly, the Torah itself seems to recognize the model of bread-making as the paradigmatic example of Godliness. Think about this: Does the creation of bread – the act of adding water to flour or dust, thus creating a clay, and then breathing into the clay, causing it to become “alive” – remind us of anything? That is precisely the imagery used to describe the creation of mankind in Bereishis (2:6-7): ,‫הָאֲדָמָה‬-‫הָאָדָם עָפָר מִן‬-‫ ז וַ ּיִיצֶר יְהוָה אֱלֹהִים אֶת‬:‫ פְּנֵי הָאֲדָמָה‬-‫כָּל‬-‫שקָה אֶת‬ ְׁ ִ‫ וְה‬,‫הָאָרֶץ‬-‫עלֶה מִן‬ ֲ ַ‫ו וְאֵד י‬ ‫ש חַ ּיָה‬ ׁ ֶ‫שמַת חַ ּיִים; וַ ְיהִי הָאָדָם לְ ֶנפ‬ ְׁ ִ‫פַח בְּאַפָּיו נ‬ ּ ‫וַ ִּי‬ 6 And a mist went up from the earth and watered the whole face of the ground. 7 Then God formed mankind of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and mankind became a living soul.

Indeed, the Talmud Yerushalmi (Shabbat 2:5) makes the connection explicit: “Adam HaRishon was the pure bread of the world, as it says, ‘and God formed mankind of the dust of the ground.’ ” Similarly, the Shelah HaKadosh (Pesachim 107) spells out this connection: “Adam HaRishon is called the ‘dough of the world.’ ” The making of bread (chametz) is therefore akin to Godly creation itself – in a way in which dough that does not rise (matzah), which is never brought to life by leavening, is not. In essence, then, chametz is matzah, but with the extra stage of life-giving creativity (leavening) added in the middle of the process. When a baker causes – or allows – dough to rise, he or she acts as creator.

While the Torah values (and commands!) creativity, there is a danger in being a creator. In the Torah’s words, such creative power can lead one to think, “‫הַחַיִל הַזֶּה‬-‫עצֶם יָדִי עָשָׂה לִי אֶת‬ ֹ ְ‫ – ”כֹּחִי ו‬my power and the might of my hand has made me this success” (Devarim 8:17). When we become creators, there is the grave potential for us to forget that 2 TedTalk, entitled “The Art and Craft Bread” 3 Found at 9:29 of the recording of the above-mentioned TedTalk.

4 It is worthwhile to note that until relatively recent times, sourdough was used for this purpose rather than artificial yeast. Still, the bacteria inside the sourdough accomplish the same goal as in the case of yeast, albeit more slowly.

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our ability to create is simply a function of the ultimate Creator: “‫עשׂוֹת חָיִל‬ ֲ ַ‫ ל‬,ַ‫ת אֶת ה‘ אֱלֹקיךָ כִּי הוּא הַנֹּתֵן לְךָ כֹּח‬ ָּ ‫”וְ ָזכַ ְר‬ “but you must remember your God, for it is God that his given you the power to be successful” (ibid. 8:18). In our moments of personal accomplishment, how easy is it to forget God? This brings us to a remarkable conclusion: Bread, the paradigm of human creativity, also represents the potential paradigm of human arrogance and the dismissal of God’s presence in daily life.

And with that, we can now return to the prohibition of chametz on Pesach. Along with many other ideas, Pesach is about recognizing God’s hand in our lives. The Ramban (Shemos 13:16) notes that the purpose of the grand miracles in Egypt and of the Exodus, and the reason we are commanded to continuously remember it, was to teach B’nei Yisrael – and everyone else – that God is an active force in the world. In fact, the Exodus was not really about the grand miracles at all, as the Ramban explains: “And from the great [explicit] miracles, one comes to recognize the hidden miracles – which are the foundation of the entire Torah.” In other words, commemorating the grand scale miracles of the Exodus is like riding with training wheels: Children use training wheels to help teach them how to ride a bike. After the training wheels are removed, the children are capable of riding on their own. So too, by reminding ourselves of the indisputable divine basis of the big miracles on Pesach, we train ourselves to recognize that God plays an active role in the world. Although we do not see or discuss at length such grand scale miracles at other times during the year, our Seder has trained us to recognize that all the “smaller” occurrences, which may not seem to be miracles, are just as much from God. In other words, our celebrating the miracles of Pesach enables us to recognize the hand of God in our lives throughout the year.

So on the very holiday meant to inculcate that everything we have – big and small – is from God, how can we enjoy the very type of food that epitomizes human creativity and the potential to forget God in the process? While the positive action of eating matzah is spiritually valuable, it does not mitigate the need to rid ourselves of creative ego and to attribute all to God. For this reason, chametz is not only prohibited to eat, but even owning chametz during this training holiday runs counter to the entire spiritual enterprise of Pesach.

And perhaps that is why it is prohibited to bring chametz in a korban mincha throughout the year as well. As R. Shimshon Raphael Hirsch explains (Vayikra 2:1), the one who brings this gift offering expresses, through the offering, that “that part of his possessions which is represented by that which he brings really belongs to the Receiver of the gift, is only granted by Him5, [and] is only in the possession of the bringer as a fief at the Receivers’ disposal….”

Indeed, the mincha was meant to accomplish on the individual level what Pesach is meant to accomplish nationally – namely, to remind the subjects that all we have, even when it seems utterly ordinary or the result of human creativity, is from God.6 And, if all this is true, then the words of the Sages and commentaries that compare chametz to the evil inclination and ego are not providing mere poetic interpretations at all. They are, in fact, highlighting the most fundamental spiritual dangers of chametz: When we become creators, it is quite easy to live in the illusion that our success stems from our own actions. To quote my chavrusa Immanuel Shalev, it is easy to serve at the altar of our creativity. There is no greater arrogance than that. No pull of the yetzer hara is stronger than the human desire to be its own master.

The ban of chametz on Pesach and in the korban mincha serves to combat such pride and to remind us that, after all, God is the One who gives us the ability and power to be creative and successful.

As we keep away from chametz on Pesach, it is easy to dream wistfully of the pizza and bagels we cannot eat. Instead, this year, let us try to use our abstention from chametz as a reminder of God’s hand in our lives, and celebrate the difference between us, the creators of bread, and God, the Creator of the world.

5 Italics mine 6 It is important to note that, despite the Torah’s insistence that chametz should never be brought, there are two notable exceptions: The offering of the shtei halechem, the two loaves offered from the new wheat on Shavuos (Vayikra 23:17), and the korban todah, the thanks offering (Vayikra 7:13). While the details and circumstances of each are too complex to delve into here, the shtei halechem may well be the culmination of the Pesach journey – from matza to bread, while the korban todah generally gives gratitude for a particular event, rather than the general “everything-is- from-God” gratitude represented by the korban mincha and by Pesach as a whole.

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‫ורחץ‬

THE HAGGADAH: GATEWAY TO PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE JOE SCHNITZER J O E S CHNIT Z ER I S A G R A DUA T E OF S H ALHEV ET ' S C L A SS O F 2016 AN D IS C U R REN T LY S TU DY IN G A T OR A YT A IN Y E R USHA LA YIM .

The Shulchan Aruch (Orach Chaim 158:4) codifies an obligation to wash one’s hands before eating fruits or vegetables dipped in one of seven specific liquids. Common daily practice ignores this halacha with one exception: Urchatz, the second ritual in the Passover Seder.

The Taz (Orach Chaim 473:6) understandably asks: Why are we machmir, stringent, on washing our hands before eating vegetables on Seder night, when the rest of the year we aren’t?

The Shai Torah L’Brisk brings a fascinating answer: The washing evokes the memory of the Kohanim, the priests, ritually purifying themselves in the Temple before eating the tithes.

When we wash our hands on Passover specifically, we create a connection between the beginning of the Seder and the end. The first ritual, Kadesh, isn’t unique to the holiday; we do it every single week. Thus, Urchatz emerges as the first ritual unique to the Passover experience of the evening, recalling a world of tuma and tahara, purity and impurity, that was lost, and connecting us to a romantic vision of the past. The last part of the Seder, Nirtzah, begins with singing none other than “L’Shana Haba’ah B’Yerushalayim”, a cry of yearning for the eschatological age. In this way, we bookend the Seder with a nostalgic vision of the past (Urchatz) and an impassioned longing for the future (L’Shana Haba’ah).

In addition to drawing our attention to the past and the future, the Seder is also designed to be an intergenerational experience. Retelling the story of the Exodus, father to son, old to young, not with an eye towards the past but towards the future, prepares us for a world that will be. It is no wonder such a great emphasis is placed on the inherent value of teaching the story to one’s children. We should not view it merely as a story that took place in a forgotten world, but a permanent drama that permeates our consciousness when we think of who we are, and who we want to be.

This notion of the Seder being a multigenerational experience is actually already evident in the Haggadah itself, as noted by Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik (in Kol Harav). He points out that in the story of the Sages in Bnei Brak, who, lost in their memories of the Exodus, are interrupted by their students at daybreak to recite the Shema, Rabbi Tarfon, Rabbi Akiva, and Rabbi Eliezer ben Azarya were from three completely different generations. Rabbi Tarfon, the seasoned and venerable scholar, shares a table with great men many years his junior, yet there exists no chasm — they speak as if they were all present during the Exodus, and plan to live out their days united in the redemptive era. Mentioned there is only one day, one picture, but it continues generation after generation. It isn’t an isolated historical event, but a perennial scene that has been enacted since antiquity thousands of times. The students need to remind the Sages of Zeman Keriat Shema, the time for reciting Shema, as the sages are distracted from the present, deep in the abyss of our nation’s history, clawing their way out with the keys of redemption.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes how the most powerful link between the generations is the tale of those who came before us – a tale that becomes ours, that we hand on to those who will come after us. To be a Jew means to be a part of that story, to personally strive to fulfill a collective destiny. My Jewish identity does not begin with me, and it does not end with me.

The blood coursing through my veins contains the sacrifices and aspirations of my ancestors — memories that will undoubtedly outlive me. The dream will live on, if and only if, I remember to tell the story.

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FREEDOM: LET'S MAKE IT REAL

‫כרפס‬

Jewish Heritage is filled with tradition. Some of our practices are biblical, some are Talmudic in nature, and some have developed as customs over the years as families pass down the meaningful messages of our people to their children, from generation to generation. Each practice has a beautiful history and requires a deeper examination to appreciate it in its own right. This is particularly true about the holiday of Pesach and the Seder night, which is filled with various types of practices designed to help commemorate Hashem’s redemption of our people from Egypt. When properly understood, we can see that many of the practices of the Seder night not only help us commemorate events that took place in the past, but also transmit profound messages as to how to live our lives and improve ourselves in the present.

Let’s take the example of urechatz, the second step of the Seder. There is a universal Jewish custom on Pesach to wash our hands with water before eating the karpas (parsley or other green vegetable). The reason for this custom is not specifically related to cleanliness, but to ritual purity. In the times of the Beis HaMikdash, one was required to wash one’s hands not only prior to eating bread, but also prior to eating a food that was dipped in a liquid, due to reasons of ritual purity. This includes karpas, which is dipped in saltwater. But today, many people no longer observe this practice, except for the night of the Seder (see, e.g., Mishna Berura, Orach Chaim 158:20). Why is urechatz any different than the common custom during the rest of the year? Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook zt”l teaches that on Pesach Night we should be as stringent with regard to purity as if each of us were the Kohen Gadol, the high priest performing the requisite services of the day in the great Temple in Jerusalem. Rav Kook continues to explain that the internalization of this parallel demonstrates the true power of freedom, the main theme of Pesach. True freedom, Rav Kook explains, can take a person beyond time or space. We can momentarily move from the West Coast of America in 2018 to Egypt in biblical times, or to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem in the year 50 CE. But just like we celebrate the freedom from the shackles of Egyptian bondage and servitude, we also celebrate our current freedoms and remind ourselves and our community what true freedom can be.

Another beautiful practice that we observe on Pesach is the injunction that everyone must view themselves as having personally been freed from Egypt. This idea is much deeper than simply facilitating a means to understand the plight of our great great-grandparents. Our Rabbis are teaching that in every generation, we have our own “Egypts” from which we need freedom. The famous Chassidic master Sfas Emes, the Gerrer Rebbe in Poland during the 1800s, among others, notes that the word in Hebrew for Egypt, “Mitzrayim,” is grammatically connected to the word “maytzarim,” meaning things that hold you back, or limitations. Therefore, the idea of Egypt represents physical, mental, emotional and spiritual constraints. Pesach is our time to break through those constraints and find freedom to grow as individuals and as a community. Each year we must ask ourselves: What is my “Egypt,” and how can I facilitate my personal redemption to freedom? We must experience anew our personal growth and redemption.

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RABBI DEREK GORMIN RAB B I D ER EK G O R M IN WAS B OR N AN D R AIS ED I N SU NN Y O R AN G E CO U N TY , CAL IF O R N IA WH ER E H E S TU D IED PO L ITICAL S C I EN CE, M U S IC A ND S O CIO L O G Y A T T H E U N IV ER S ITY OF CAL IF O R N IA, IR V IN E. A D D ITIO N AL L Y , DE R E K R ECEIV ED A C E RTIF ICATE O F I NTER N ATIO N AL P OL I TICS F R O M A P R OG R AM AB R O AD STU D Y IN G AT Y O N S EI U N IV ER S ITY IN S E O U L , K O R EA. U PO N G R AD U ATIO N , D ER EK WAS B L ES S ED TO S PEN D TIM E DI V I NG IN TO TH E DEPTH S O F H IS J E W I SH H ER ITAG E IN V AR IO U S Y ES H IV O T IN J E R US AL EM . TH IS I S R A B BI G O R M IN 'S 5TH Y EAR O N F ACU L TY AT S H AL H EV ET, W HER E H E H AS T A U G H T TAL M U D , JEWIS H P H IL O S O PH Y , C H A S S ID U T AN D P RAY ER . WH EN NOT IN S ID E TH E H OL Y WAL L S O F S H A L HEV ET, R AB B I G OR M IN IS TH E R EG IO N AL DIR ECTO R O F W E S T C O AS T N CS Y .

One of the primary mitzvot of the Seder night is telling one’s children the story of Passover, as the Torah states: “Vehigadeta lebincha bayom hahu leimor,” “you shall tell your child on that day, saying” (Shemot 13:8). In addition, we know that the Haggadah instructs us to give different explanations to the different types of questions asked by the children, as seen from the section of the arba banim, the four children. Given the understanding of the Sfas Emes that part of commemorating yetzias Mitzrayim involves a personal component that is specific to each person, one might wonder why this part of the Haggadah is relevant where there are no children present. In other words, what is the personal benefit to reading the specific questions and answers given for the four children found in the Haggadah (wise, wicked, simple, unable to ask) even if these types of children aren’t present at the Seder?

Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson of blessed memory, the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, answers this question with a powerful statement about the Haggadah and our heritage in general. The Rebbe notes that all aspects of the Torah, including the Haggadah, address all of the Jewish People in every generation. The Rebbe explains that the messages of the four sons are applicable to each of us personally as well, because we all possess aspects of each of the “four children” within ourselves. Therefore, everyone, even one who does not have children present at the Seder, is required to recite all four questions and answers, because we are in essence speaking to the wise, wicked, simple and unable to ask elements that exist within each one of us individually.

We owe it to ourselves to transform our Passover celebrations from a simple handwashing and retelling of the story of an ancient enslaved people, to a real, meaningful, everlasting experience of personal and communal freedom in our lives as well, recognition of growth opportunities and hopes for a better future.

In closing, I would like to send everyone blessings of redemption from all that holds us back, and that we have the strength to find a deep recognition of the many freedoms we are afforded and are privileged to appreciate every single day.

Wishes for a Joyous and Kosher Pesach.

9

THE ART OF BREAKING

‫יחץ‬

If I could add a fifth question to the Ma Nishtana I would add: “On all other nights and holidays we eat from whole challot, but tonight it is our custom to break a matza.” Yachatz, the ritual of breaking one of the matzot, has always troubled me. Why does it need its own ceremony? How does this ceremony add to the Seder experience (other than the questions it’s causing us to ask)?

The basic reason given by the commentaries (see Mishna Berura 473:57) for Yachatz is based on the Gemara in Pesachim (115b), which tells us that our matza must be lechem oni, translated as bread of affliction or poor man’s bread. The Gemara explains that just as a poor man will normally eat a portion of his food and save the rest for later, so too we break our matza into two, keeping one piece for now, and “saving” the other one for later.

But I think there’s a greater symbolism and meaning behind the breaking of the matza.

There are two other major examples of breaking an object in our tradition and in our rituals.

One is Moshe’s breaking of the luchot (tablets), while the other is the breaking of the glass that is customarily done at a wedding.

The first breaking occurred thousands of years ago after Bnei Yisrael sinned by worshiping the golden calf. Moshe descended from Har Sinai, where he had just received the luchot from Hashen, saw what the Jews were doing, and proceeded to break the luchot (Shemot 32:19). One might have thought that Moshe did so simply because he was angry, but it was not necessarily the right thing to do. But Reish Lakish in the Gemara (Shabbat 87a) interprets the words in the Torah “asher dibarta,” “that you have spoken,” to mean that God said, “yasher koach sheshibarta” thanking and congratulating Moshe for breaking the luchot.

In the second breaking, which takes place at one’s biggest simcha, a wedding, we take a moment to remember that we are in galut, exile, and that our Beit Hamikdash, the Temple, was destroyed. We commemorate it by breaking the glass under the chuppa. The reason is that even on our happiest occasions, we need to remember that we, as a people, have caused the Beit Hamikdash to be destroyed, and that we have not yet merited for it to be rebuilt.

What is the significance of these examples of breaking? And why do we commemorate the Beit Hamikdash specifically with breaking the glass?

I think there is a deeper meaning and symbolism to the concept of brokenness in our tradition. Broken doesn’t signify failure or irreparability; it means it’s time to rethink, reexamine and shift our perspective. When Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge and broke God’s trust, they didn’t destroy the relationship. Rather, there needed to be a shift in perspective by both parties, with the understanding that Adam and Eve were no longer in a state of perfection. Similarly, the broken glass and the broken luchot don’t symbolize our failures and sins, but rather force us to rethink our growth. For this reason, the broken luchot were kept in the aron, the ark, alongside the new set (see Bava Batra 14b). The broken luchot served as a constant reminder that we are not perfect; we make mistakes and we learn from them.

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MS. ILANA WILNER MS. ILANA WILNER IS THE DIRECTOR OF STUDENT ACTIVITIES AND LIMUDEI KODESH TEACHER AT SHALHEVET. ILANA HAS A MASTERS IN BIBLICAL AND TALMUDIC INTERPRETATION FROM YESHIVA UNIVERSITY’S GRADUATE PROGRAM FOR ADVANCED TALMUDIC STUDI ES (GPATS), AS WELL AS A MASTERS DEGREE IN EDUCATION FROM AZRIELI SCHOOL OF EDUCATION AND ADMINISTRATION.

I believe the same is true with Yachatz. We break the middle matza into two unequal sizes, we put the bigger piece aside for afikoman, and we take the smaller piece and hold it up while reciting “Ha Lachma Anya,” “this is the break of my affliction.” Right now, the matza is lechem oni, and symbolizes our slavery, hardships and failures. However, just like the broken luchot, we take our broken piece of matza and keep it with us throughout the night, ultimately using it as our redemption, our afikoman. Our struggles and suffering force us to improve and build up our spiritual character, which are precisely what allow us to grow and to merit that future redemption. The act of breaking the matza symbolizes this necessity for us to examine our actions and try to rectify them. This, in turn, prepares us for the shift in perspective — from slave mentality to that of kings and queens.

Throughout Pesach, matza serves as a dichotomous symbol. On the one hand, matza represents lechem oni, the bread of our affliction, while on the other hand, matza represents our freedom, since we left Mitzrayim in such a hurry there was no time wait for the dough to rise. This dichotomy is the meaning of Yachatz and Pesach- we are in control of our choices. It is our job to shift the perspective of the Seder from genai, negative, to shevach, positive. It is up to us to turn our brokenness and our shortcomings into greatness, our slavery into our freedom.

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(‫סיפור יציאת מצרים )מגיד‬

THE POWER OF STORYTELLING ON PESACH

As a lover of books and stories, the Pesach Seder has always spoken to me because it achieves the important but complicated task of connecting future generations to an ancient past through the medium of storytelling. Sippur yetziat Mitzrayim, telling the story of the Exodus from Egypt, is one of the primary mitzvot of the holiday commanded by the Torah (see Shemot 13:3, 8), and codified by the Rambam (Hilchot Chametz Umatza 7:1) as follows: "‫"מצות עשה של תורה לספר בנסים ונפלאות שנעשו לאבותינו במצרים‬ “It is a positive commandment to tell [the stories] of the miracles and wonders that were performed for our forefathers in Egypt.”

The Talmud (Pesachim 116b) takes this mitzva a step further and rules that simply telling the story of the Jews leaving Egypt is not sufficient. Rather, a person must imagine that they themselves have experienced this miracle: “In every generation, a person is obligated to view [‫ ]לראות‬himself as if he went out of Egypt.”

While there are many curious elements about this commandment, I have always wondered why the Torah chose storytelling as the medium through which we remember the Exodus.

The Torah could have asked us to do so in many different ways. After all, on Succot we build a Succah, on Shavuot we stay up and learn Torah, and on Chanukah we light a menorah.

Why not have us bake matzah, pack our bags, and flee Beverlywood on the Seder night?

Wouldn’t that be an even more effective way of remembering the story and perceiving ourselves as having experienced it personally?

The answer is that the Torah, and Chazal, are in tune with the human psyche and understand that stories can affect people even more than performance. When you read or listen to a story, you are not merely retracing the steps of the characters or people in the story; rather, you are walking a mile in their shoes. This is exactly the point of the mitzva of sippur yetziat Mitzrayim, and that is why the Seder night is dedicated primarily to telling the story: There is something uniquely powerful and empowering about storytelling, so much so that if done properly, can actually facilitate our experiencing the event as if we were present.

In fact, modern researchers have found quantifiable evidence that stories have a unique ability to change people’s points of view and that much of what we know about life comes from reading stories. Daniel Siegel, a clinical professor of psychiatry at UCLA, explains that storytelling “not only weaves together all the details of an experience when it’s being encoded, but enhances the network of nodes through which all those details can be retrieved and recalled. Research shows that we remember details of things much more effectively when they are embedded in a story. Telling and being moved to action by them is in our DNA.” Why is storytelling so powerful? I think that its power lies in the way that, when done effectively, the listener or reader plays an active role in the experience. On the Seder night, we are essentially doing the same thing that I do with my English class when we read novels and analyze the text to understand it on a deeper level. We don’t just read the the pesukim, 12

MRS. NA’AMIT NAGEL MRS. NA'AMIT STURM NAGEL TEACHES 11TH GRADE BRITISH LITERATURE AND A JEWISH LITERATURE SAS CLASS THAT SHE CREATED FOR SHALHEVET SENIORS. SHE RECEIVED HER B.A. FROM UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO AND HER MASTERS IN ENGLISH LITERATURE FROM BRANDEIS UNIVERSITY. SHE IS ALSO A UCLA WRITING PROJECT FELLO W AND HAS PUBLISHED ARTICLES IN THE FORWARD, LEHRHAUS, THE JEWISH JOURNAL AND KVELLER.

or verses, starting with “Arami oved avi,” “an Aramean tried to destroy my father” (Devarim chapter 26), which according to the Talmud (Pesachim 116a) is the primary text to be recited for the storytelling. Rather, the Haggadah itself presents commentary on it to assist us in thinking about what is below the surface of the text. We don’t just point to or mention the Pesach, Matza and Maror at our table; we discuss the deeper symbolism behind them in the Haggadah. There is a dispute in the Talmud (Pesachim 116a) how exactly we should begin the story: Rav holds that our story starts with “Mi-techila ovdei avoda zara hayuavoteinu,” “initially our ancestors were idol worshipers,” whereas Shmuel believes we must begin with: “Avadim hayinu,” “we were once slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt.” But we don’t just follow one opinion, like we usually do when it comes to matter of practical halacha. Rather, the Haggadah uses both beginnings, forcing us, the readers, to piece the narrative together and determine the relationship between them. We even engage in a game of mathematics for people who connect more with numbers than words by counting how many plagues the Egyptians suffered from in Egypt based on various pesukim. The authors of the Haggadah clearly designed the telling of the story to be an active process, rather than making us passive listeners.

This close reading and engaging with the story is part of what enables us to feel as if we have experienced the Exodus ourselves, as it helps us to personalize the narrative. In fact, some commentaries suggest that Moshe was purposefully omitted from the Seder narrative (except for one indirect reference) so that the story would not revolve around one central protagonist, which in the Torah it certainly does. Instead, the authors of the Haggadah wanted each individual person to be able to be the protagonist of the story by engaging in it in their own unique way.

In addition to allowing us to play an active role and experience a piece of our history, the story also leaves room for modern day Jews to connect that history to our lives. The adaptability of the narrative has enabled Passover metaphors, motifs, and rituals to become part of many different movements over the years. For example, the American Jewish political movement to free Soviet Jewry during the 1970s and 1980s used this narrative in their efforts, as did African Americans struggling under slavery in America. These cases are evidence of the transformative power of storytelling in general, and the redemption from Egypt in particular, as a means of creating agency amidst disempowering world events.

This Pesach, we should challenge ourselves, “‫לראות‬,” to see ourselves, as if we left Egypt by telling the story in the Haggadah, delving into it, and personalizing it. If we can place ourselves in the narrative and internalize the story, we can allow it to transform us as people and truly become a part of who we are and how we live our lives.

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(‫הא לחמא עניא )מגיד‬

BEN-GURION, PESACH & ISRAEL’S 70TH ANNIVERSARY: A FIFTH QUESTION FOR YOUR SEDER

In 1936, standing before the Peel Commission on the Partition of Palestine, David Ben-Gurion spoke these words: “Three hundred years ago a ship called the Mayflower set sail to the New World. This was a great event in the history of England.

Yet I wonder if there is one Englishman who knows at what time the ship set sail? Do the English know how many people embarked on the voyage? What quality of bread did they eat? Yet more than three thousand three hundred years ago, before the Mayflower set sail, the Jews left Egypt. Every Jew in the world, even in America or Soviet Russia, knows what kind of bread the Jews ate - Matza.

Even today, the Jews worldwide eat Matza on the 15th of Nisan.

They retell the story of the Exodus and all of the troubles Jews have endured since being exiled, saying: This year we are slaves, next year, free. This year we are here, next year in Jerusalem, in Zion, in Eretz Yisrael. That is the nature of the Jews.”

Twelve years later, on Erev Shabbat, 5th of Iyar 5708 (May 14, 1948), the same David Ben-Gurion stood before the Provisional Zionist Government in Tel-Aviv and made this historic declaration: “We hereby declare the establishment of a Jewish state in Eretz Yisrael, to be known as the State of Israel.”

In one short sentence, Ben-Gurion put an end to nearly 2000 years of Jewish homelessness, finally giving Am Yisrael a secure home in their historic homeland of Eretz Yisrael. His historic words changed the course of Jewish history forever.

In light of Ben-Gurion’s speech about Pesach in 1936, followed by his transformative words in 1948 – and in anticipation of Israel’s 70th birthday -- here is a “fifth question” to add to your Seder this year: “Why is the Haggadah text we read inaccurate? For in all other years when we were in collective exile, our Haggadah text appropriately said This year we are here, next year in Eretz Yisrael. But for the last seventy years, with a sovereign State of Israel, shouldn’t our Haggadot be adjusted to read: “In past years we were in exile, but this year we are in Eretz Yisrael, in Medinat Yisrael”?

What’s the answer? What do you think? ‫“ — צא ולמד‬Go forth and expound…”

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RABBI DANIEL BOUSKILA RABBI DANIEL BOUSKILA IS THE DIRECTOR OF THE SEPHARDIC EDUCATIONAL CENTER, AN INTE RNATIONAL ORGANIZATION WITH BRANCHES AROUND THE U.S. AND A HEADQUARTER CAMPUS IN THE OLD CITY OF JERUSALEM. HE TEACHES TALMUD AND ISRAEL EDUCATION AT SHALHEVET. HE STUDIED AT YESHIVA KEREM B'YAVNEH IN ISRAEL, SERVED IN THE IDF'S GIVATI BRIGADE, STUDIED BIBLE & HEBREW LITERATURE AT HEBREW UNIVERSITY FOR A YEAR, EARNED A B.A. IN HISTORY FROM UCLA AND SEMIKHA FROM YESHIVA UNIVERSITY.

(‫עבדים היינו )מגיד‬

LOWLY BEGINNINGS AND LOFTY GOALS: NARRATIVE STRUCTURE OF THE SEDER STORY RABBI DAVID STEIN R ABBI D AV I D S T EI N IS TH E D I REC T OR O F GEM ARA E DU C AT I ON AT SH AL HEV ET HI GH SCH OOL AND I S TH E C O- F OUND ER O F THE LAHAV CU R R I C ULUM PR O JE C T . D AV I D ATTE ND ED Y ESHI V A COLLEGE AND R IE TS F OR HI S U NDE RGRAD UAT E AN D SEM I K HA STU DI ES, AND ALSO R ECEI V ED HI S MASTER’S D EGREE IN ME C HANI C AL E NGIN EERI NG FR O M C OLUM B I A U NIVERS I T Y . HE I S CU R R E NT LY STU DY I NG AT AME RI C AN J EWI SH U NIVERS I T Y ’S G R ADUAT E C ENT ER FOR JE WI SH E DU C AT I ON AS A W EXNER FEL LOW/D AV I D S ON SCH OLAR, AND AND H EL PE D WRI T E T HE FIR ST EV ER STAND ARD S AND BEN CH M ARK S F OR G EMA RA E DU C AT I ON AS A ME M B ER OF T HE L EG AC Y HERI T AGE L EADERS HI P INSTIT UT E WRI T ERS G R O UP.

As stories go, this one is pretty epic. It’s about the underdogs who overthrow an empire; a reluctant leader who finds his voice; a people who discover their potential, and a God who makes His name known to the world. The Pesach story is one of civilization’s definitional narratives — and from the deserts of Sinai to Charlton Heston, it’s been retold on big screens and around small tables for generations.

Yet one central question for any story — and for ours as well — is where to begin. What narrative arc are we to cut as we retell the saga of redemption? At issue is not simply a question of how long we’ll have to sit at the Seder table: As any English teacher will tell you, the choice of where to begin the story will also undoubtedly impact upon the story itself.

And so, to sharpen ourquestion, we must also ask how the opening scenes of our story will shape the very messages that we’re trying to convey.

Our tradition records a vigorous debate about this most “Hollywood” of questions.1 Shmuel famously declares that our story must begin with the story of the servitude and enslavement, captured by the paragraph of “‫ ”עבדים היינו‬that is found at the begiggadah. Rav, however, tells the story differently. He declares that our saga begins not with the physical bondage of Egypt, but with the spiritual low point of idolatry of our ancestors: “‫עבודה זרה היו אבותינו‬ ‫”מתחילה עובדי‬, referring to Terach, the father of Avraham.

Why are there two different opinions about where to start the Haggadah? It would seem, on the surface, that Rav and Shmuel are arguing about what angle to take on the Pesach story: Is this a narrative of physical redemption — of slave over master and weak over mighty — as Shmuel would have it? Or, as we find in Rav’s telling of it, is our story about the spiritual journey of our people, our forefathers’ quest to find God, and the ups and downs of our relationship with Him? Yet I believe that there is more to this story as well, and behind Rav and Shmuel’s dispute lays an even deeper dispute about the purpose of the Pesach narrative. In order to understand this dispute, though, we must first examine another debate about the Pesach night.

In his discussion of the command to tell the Pesach story, the author of the Sefer HaChinukh chooses a classic verse as the source for this command. Here’s what he writes (Mitzva 21): [The mitzvah is] to tell the story of the Exodus on the night of the 15th of Nissan, each one according to their own ability, and to praise Hashem for all of the miracles that He performed for us there, as it says: (Shemot 13:8) “You shall tell your children...”

‫לספר בענין יציאת מצרים בליל חמשה‬ ,‫עשר בניסן כל אחד כפי צחות לשונו‬ ‫ולהלל ולשבח השם יתברך על כל הנסים‬ [’‫ ח‬,‫ שנאמר ]שמות י”ג‬,‫שעשה לנו שם‬ .’‫והגדת לבנך וגו‬

The Chinukh’s source here tells us a lot about what he thinks as to the goal of the Pesach story.

By emphasizing the verse of “you shall tell your children,” he makes clear that the primary point of the Pesach story is education. In fact, some commentaries and authorities take this source so seriously that they declare that one is not obligated to fulfill the mitzvah of telling 1 The background to this dispute is that the Mishna (Pesachim 116a) dictates that the Pesach story must begin with “lowliness” and conclude with “praise” or “glory”: “‫מתחיל בגנות ומסיים בשבח‬.” The dispute in the Gemara discussed in the rest of the article revolves around which specific “lowliness” must be detailed at the outset of the story.

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the Pesach story on the biblical level unless there are children or others present to whom one can tell the story. Of course, from the Mah Nishtana to the Afikoman, this is why the Pesach Seder includes such a heavy emphasis on children, education, and experiential learning.

The Rambam, however, invokes an entirely different source in his discussion of the mitzvah of telling the Pesach story (Hilchot Chametz Umatza 7:1): It is a positive Torah commandment to tell of the wonders and miracles that were performed for our forefathers in Egypt on the night of the 15th of Nissan, as it says (Shemot 13:3): “Remember this day that you left Egypt.”

‫מצות עשה של תורה לספר בנסים‬ ‫ונפלאות שנעשו לאבותינו במצרים בליל‬ (‫חמשה עשר בניסן שנאמר )שמות י”ג‬ ”‫“זכור את היום הזה אשר יצאתם ממצרים‬

Strangely, in this discussion of the mitzvah to tell the Pesach story, the Rambam doesn’t use the verses about education as the source for the mitzva of telling the story.2 Instead, he focuses on the personal, individualized command to “remember” the exodus of Egypt. What then, is the purpose of telling the Pesach story according to the Rambam? It would seem that for him the mitzvah is more about personal inspiration, internalization, and meaning, and memory. Instead of being focused on sharing the story and educating others, Rambam sees in the Pesach story an essential opportunity for us to connect to and focus on our own spiritual growth.

What does this all have to do with the opening of the Pesach story? I’d like to suggest that Rav and Shmuel — who we discussed above — are actually having the same argument as the Rambam and Sefer HaChinukh. At the core of their dispute lays the essential purpose of the entire Seder night. Shmuel, who suggests beginning with the paragraph of ‫עבדים היינו‬, does so because he thinks the goal of the evening is education. After all, the very words‫״עבדים היינו״‬ are the continuation of a pasuk that discusses a parent teaching children about yetziat Mitzrayim: “And when your child asks you tomorrow, saying: What are the testimonies, and the statutes, and the ordinances that the Lord our God commanded you? And you shall tell your child that we were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt” (Devarim 6:20-21). By contrast, Rav’s opening lines focusing on our past history as idol worshippers can be traced back to a different set of pesukim in Tanakh: The words ‫ מתחילה עובדי עבודה זרה היו אבותינו‬are invoked by Joshua at the end of his life to inspire the Jewish people to complete the conquest of Israel (Yehoshua 24:2-4). This approach, then, emphasizes the role of personal, communal, and spiritual reflection as the centerpiece of the Seder experience — similar to the approach of the Rambam that we discussed above.

What we have then in the opening lines of the Pesach story are two very different approaches to the entire Seder night: Is this experience supposed to be about educating others, or is it about nurturing our own spiritual journey?

The good news is that the answer is both - while we begin our answer to the Ma Nishtana with ‫עבדים היינו‬, our versions of the Haggadah actually contain both paragraphs, as ‫ מתחילה‬is found later in Maggid. This emphasizes the need to both sustain and support our own relationship with God and our people through the telling of our national story, while also sharing that story and inspiring others through it. For us, then, the two-fold challenge that emerges from the Seder night is actually foundational to our entire religious experience: Kindling the flame of our own spiritual growth so that we can in turn share its light with others.

2 Although the Rambam does mention the verse of “vehigadeta” in the continuation of the halakha, he only does so to explain the technical source for applying the mitzva specifically on the night of the fifteenth of Nissan.

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(‫וירעו אתנו המצרים )מגיד‬

BUILDING A NATION: IN EGYPT AND TODAY RABBI ARI SEGAL RABBI ARI SEGAL IS THE HEAD OF SCHOOL OF SHALHEVET HIGH SCHOOL IN LOS ANGELES. HE HAS PREVIOUSLY WORKED AT ROBERT M. BEREN ACADEMY IN HOUSTON AND RAMAZ IN NEW YORK CITY. R' SEGAL EARNED MASTERS DEGREES IN BUSINESS ADMINISTRATION FROM EMORY UNIVERSITY AND COMMUNAL ORGANIZATION FROM YESHIVA UNIVERSITY. IN ADDITION TO HIS PASSION FOR THE MINNESOTA VIKINGS AND GOURMET COFFEE, RABBI SEGAL HAS FOUR AMAZING DAUGHTERS WHO KEEP HIM BUSY AND ONE INCREDIBLE WIFE WHO KEEPS HIM VERY SANE.

Many of us are familiar with the passage from the Pesach Haggada (based on the Talmud in Pesachim 116b) that states: “A person must view themselves as if they had left Egypt.” This famous obligation instructs us not only to learn about the story of yetziat Mitzrayim, the exodus from Egypt, but to experience this part of our national history in a tangible, experiential sort of way. The problem is that this is quite difficult for most of us to do, given that we were not actually there. It requires much intellectual and emotional effort, as well as a large dose of imagination as to just what it might have been like to be there. How, then, did our Sages expect us to place ourselves in our ancestors’ shoes?

The only way, I believe, that this can be successfully achieved is to relate the essence of this story to our daily lives in a manner that resonates with us.

I would like to suggest one way of doing this, which will bring a tremendous amount of relevance from the story to our daily lives, as well as echo some of today’s leading thinkers in the areas of psychology and sociology.

Calculated Slavery If we examine the story of the slavery in Egypt, we can see that the Egyptians did not simply make us suffer in a happenstance way or through trial and error. Rather, their methods were cunning, calculated and systematic in attempting to torture our people. In fact, before even beginning to enslave the Jews, Pharaoh declared “hava nitchakma lo,” “let us be wise against it” (Shemot 1:10), which the Ramban explains to mean that he carefully planned to slowly increase the slavery and oppression of the Jewish people in the stages described in the subsequent pesukim (verses). According to the Ramban, he began by imposing a special tax on the Jews, then imposed forced labor on them, then attempted to secretly kill Jewish baby boys using the midwives, and so forth. This way, the Jews would not immediately realize what was occurring.

Moreover, the Egyptians didn’t simply subject the Jews to difficult work, brutal conditions and murder. The Israelites were also dehumanized, degraded, and demoralized.

The Three Tactics I think that the Egyptians utilized at least three primary tactics in attempting to subjugate our nation both physically and morally that are evident from the Torah’s account Sefer Shemot: • Pointless work • Making people nameless • Causing everyone to feel worthless and replaceable For short, we can call them “pointless, nameless, and worthless.” Let’s take a look at each one individually.

1. Pointless Work Intent on demoralizing the Israelites, their brutal masters cruelly subjected them to backbreaking work that was impossible to complete. The Gemara in Sota (11a) teaches that the Egyptians conscripted the Jews to build storehouses on swampland, which could not support the structures. Progress was impossible; everything the Jews built sank into the 17

ground. Nevertheless, the Egyptians would not release the Jews from this pointless and grueling task.

This type of pointless labor is reminiscent of the Greek mythological figure Sisyphus - a king punished by being compelled to roll an immense boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down, and to repeat this throughout eternity.

The psychological effect of this exercise was crueler than the labor itself, as there is nothing more demoralizing for a person than performing meaningless work, a reality already noted by the Midrash Me’am Lo’ez in this context. The Egyptians did not need or want the storehouses. Their sole purpose in forcing the Jews to do backbreaking work was to afflict them. Denied the opportunity to feel any sense of accomplishment from their efforts, the Jews felt quite embittered about their lives.

2. Making People Feel Nameless In the very first verse of the book of Shemot, the Torah lists the names of the twelve sons of Ya’akov who came to Egypt with their families. However, under the new Pharaoh, the Jews quickly became a nameless and faceless people.

It is remarkable how infrequently names are used in the next few chapters describing the slavery in Egypt, compared to the book of Bereshit. In fact, even Moshe is born without a recorded name; he, and his parents, the famous Amram and Yocheved, are also nameless: They are simply “a man from the house of Levi and a daughter of Levi” (Shemot 2:1).

Although we later discover the identities of these individuals (see Shemot 6:20), the fact that the Torah initially hides their identity is most instructive. The Jewish people had become nameless.

3. Worthless and Replaceable In Egypt, the Jews were forced to make their own bricks (see Shemot 5:7) and to build enormous structures for their masters using those bricks. On the other hand, Jewish tradition clearly places great emphasis on stones, which was the material used exclusively to build the walls of the Beit Hamikdash, the holy Temple. What is the difference between them? Why did the Egyptians use bricks and Judaism uses stones? The answer is that as opposed to stones, which can come in different shapes and sizes, bricks are all the same. They are completely replaceable, and if one falls out, you simply insert another one that is exactly the same. This tactic reflected the Egyptians perception of their Jewish slaves: There was no individuality; each Jew was simply another slave required to work, just like every other.

The Midrash notes another way in which the Egyptians pursued this goal of making the Jews “worthless” that pertained to the scaffolding. If one Jew would fall off, everyone would just be asked to move up one level and work would continue. Everyone was replaceable. There was a tremendous focus on uniformity and sameness, as the Egyptians wished to suppress all sense of uniqueness and individuality on the part of every person.

These tactics are eerily similar to many of the strategies used by the Nazis in oppressing the Jews during the Holocaust. Like the Egyptians, the Nazis also built up the restrictions and oppression against the Jews gradually, in a calculating manner, so that they would not realize what was in store for them until it was too late. In addition, the Nazis were extremely effective at the “pointless, nameless, and worthless” techniques of dehumanizing and demoralizing the Jews. Their tactics, such as shaving off half of their beards, forcing them to perform degrading and sometimes purposeless tasks, and treating them like dogs rather than humans, often were successful at achieving these goals. In addition, the Nazis referred to each person by numbers rather than by name to ensure that the people did not feel any individuality or uniqueness.

Nation Building by God Now imagine for a moment what might happen if we took the same three elements discussed above and reversed them. Could we find a formula for building a nation? Is this not exactly what happens when God takes the Hebrew slaves out of Egypt and brings them in to Israel as the Jewish nation?

• If giving the Jewish People “pointless” work is a destructive factor – then giving them meaningful work and empowering them through Torah and Mitzvot is the way to build them up. This is why they were given the Torah shortly after their departure from Egypt.

• If making the Jews “nameless” was key to destroying them – then giving them a voice and making them feel valued would be part of the formula to building them up. This may be seen from the Midrash that notes that when the Jews crossed the Red Sea, they were divided up according to their tribes. Perhaps the goal was to remind each tribe that they were unique and special, so much so that they received their own “private 18

miracle” of a special path that split the Red Sea just for them. It’s also evident from the fact that each of the nesi’im, princes of the tribes, brought their own offering for the dedication of the Mishkan (Bamidbar chapter 7). Despite the fact that every offering was exactly the same, the Midrash and commentaries there (see, e.g., Ramban) explain that each tribe’s offering was valued equally by Hashem, and each had its own unique intent and symbolism.

• If the Egyptians tried to making the Jews feel “worthless,” – then the key to developing them as a nation was to empower them to feel valued and worthwhile. This, according to the Midrash (cited in Rashi on Shemot 12:6), is why the Jewish people were instructed to perform the mitzva of the korban Pesach, the Paschal offering (as well as the mitzva of brit mila, circumcision), prior to departing Egypt— God wanted to show them that their contribution mattered, and their actions were necessary and instrumental in enabling them to be saved from Egypt. This is also why they needed to commit themselves by saying “na’aseh venishma,” “we will do and we will hear,” before receiving the Torah—their input and response was necessary in order to proceed with their new responsibilities as the Chosen Nation.

People Building by Us Perhaps these three positive steps, the very antithesis of the elements used by our enemies in attempting to destroy us, can serve as a model for how we are to build anything that involves people – companies, shuls, schools and families. In fact, recent contemporary literature on business and education has also been pointing to the need to empower and ennoble employees and students. Daniel Pink, in his latest #1 New York Times Best Seller named Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us, discusses this very issue and uses fifty years of behavioral science research to overturn the conventional wisdom about human motivation and to offer a more effective path to high performance. He suggests that there are three key ingredients to the best organizations in the world: 1. Autonomy 2. Mastery 3. Purpose In order to motivate and encourage people to perform at the highest level of which they are capable, they need to feel free to express themselves, voice their individual opinions, and choose how they wish to do their work (autonomy); they need to feel their work is meaningful (purpose); and they need to feel they can advance and master the skill sets necessary to succeed in the job, which can only occur if their employer values their specific contribution (mastery).

These are the same three elements that the Egyptians — and the Nazis — attempted to obliterate, and the same three elements that Hashem used to develop us as a nation when leaving Egypt.

These are also precisely the same steps we need to take as parents and educators to allow our children and students to succeed. To be honest, I think that we, collectively, as a community, can use much improvement in this area. Are we giving our children and students enough of a voice? Are we allowing them to matter and feel valued? Are we letting them be a part of the meaningful and difficult decisions as much as possible? Are we empowering them to be critical thinkers at school and at home, each of whom think in their own unique way, or are we simply throwing information at them, expecting them to parrot it back to us?

If we want to build up our young people, then we must create an environment where they are allowed to flourish, where each of them has a voice, and where they matter. The same is true of colleagues at work, of friends in shul, and of members of our own families. The merging of autonomous, motivated individuals together into a unified whole is what creates strong schools, shuls, institutions, and a strong nation.

Utilizing the lessons of Egypt’s oppression of our people and Hashem’s responses as a paradigm for our own lives will better enable us to view ourselves as if we have left Egypt. Those of us who have at times been made “worthless, nameless, and pointless” by others can appreciate, at least to a small extent, the difficult condition of our ancestors.

And those of us who have been empowered with autonomy, mastery, and purpose, can appreciate the greatness of redemption that Hashem bestowed upon them. If we as a community can give others around us the opportunity to empower themselves, and provide them space to grow and develop, we will emerge with a stronger, more inspired community, one that will make us worthy of redemption as well.

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(‫דיינו )מגיד‬

THE ATTITUDE OF GRATITUDE

‫דַּי ֵּנ ּו‬...‫כַּמָה מַעֲלוֹת טוֹבוֹת לַמָּקוֹם עָלֵינו‬ How many degrees of good did G-d bestow upon us...it would have been enough Today, most people would agree that we have a lot to be thankful for, perhaps even more than our predecessors. After all, many of us live a lifestyle full of conveniences and blessings that range from comfortable homes, nice clothing, and reliable transportation. We have no shortage of clean water or healthy food, of access to quality healthcare and education, and we basically live a good life with a lot of freedom, safety and security. Yet, often, we desire more, better, bigger, etc.

Every year, the lyrics of Dayenu take us through the Israelites’ escape from Egyptian slavery and their journey through the desert, as we sing about each gift – each miracle – that G-d bestowed and how each alone would have sufficed.

In his commentary on the Haggadah, From Bondage to Freedom, Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski offers a beautiful insight into Dayenu’s important lesson: “We must learn to be grateful for every favor we receive, even if at the moment we cannot see its ultimate good.

As we advance in spirituality, we should advance in acknowledging the kindnesses we receive, and promptly express our gratitude for them.”

How many times do we forget to pause and notice that where we are is exactly where we ought to be? That we have exactly enough? Dayenu is a reminder never to forget all the miracles and blessings in our lives. When we stand and wait impatiently for the next “blessing” to appear, we are missing the whole point of life and the blessing right in front of us. Instead, we can actively seek a new reason to be grateful, a reason to say “Dayenu,” and be happy with what we have.

One of the primary purposes of the Passover Seder is to make us feel as if we personally experienced the Exodus from Egypt and the redemption from slavery to freedom. This is no less true for the way we understand the Dayenu song. Dayenu provides a powerful contemporary Hashkafah (outlook on life), a call to mindfulness about the way we currently lead our lives, reminding us to be grateful for every blessing we have experienced in our personal lives.

In a telling sign of the importance of gratitude and appreciation, the Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 9:7) tells us that in the end of days, when sin and war will be removed from the world, all the Temple offerings will be obsolete – except for one, the Korban Todah, the Thanks-Offering.

This is initially puzzling – if we assume that the end of days is a more peaceful time, without war or hardship or any of the precarious scenarios that normally necessitate a thanksgiving sacrifice (see, e.g., Rashi on Vayikra 7:12), then why will there be a need for gratitude? The answer, of course, is that gratitude does not have to be offered only in the case of surviving a traumatic experience. Rather, as we say in our daily prayers, we are grateful for: ‫נסיך שבכל‬ ‫יום עמנו ועל נפלאותיך וטובותיך שבכל עת‬, your miracles and wonders that are with us each and every day, at all times.

Fun Seder Fact: Persian Jews hit each other over the heads and shoulders with scallions every time they say Dayenu! They especially use the scallions in the ninth stanza, which mentions the manna that the Israelites ate everyday in the desert, because the Torah tells us that the Israelites began to complain about the manna and longed for the onions, leeks and garlic.

Feel free to be Persian for the evening if you’d like and whip away…

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DR. JONATHAN RAVANSHENAS DR. JONATHAN RAVANSHENAS HOLDS UNDERGRADUATE AND DOCTORAL DEGREES FROM UCLA AND USC IN EDUCATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY, BUSINESS AND CHILDHOOD DEV ELOPMENT. DURING THE YEAR JONATHAN WORKS AT SHALHEVET HIGH SCHOOL AS THE DEAN OF STUDENT LIFE AND AS THE YOUTH DIRECTOR AT THE YOUNG ISRAEL OF CENTURY CITY. HE IS A WEXNER GRADUATE IN THE DAVIDSON SCHOLARS PROGRAM. DURING THE SUMMER, JONATHAN CONTINUES HIS FOCUS ON JEWISH YOUTH WHERE HE IS CO-FOUNDER AND CO-DIRECTOR OF LA'S MJ SPORTS CAMP, WHICH HE CONSIDERS TO BE AN INTEGRAL PART IN JEWISH EDUCATION AND SOCIALIZATION.

‫מוציא מצה‬

PREPARED OR UNPREPARED?: PERSPECTIVES ON THE ROLE OF MATZAH DURING YETZIAT MITZRAYIM MRS. ATARA SEGAL MRS. ATARA SEGAL IS THE MASHGICHA RUCHANIT, A MEMBER OF LIMUDEI KODESH FACULTY, AND DIRECTS ISRAEL GUIDANCE AT SHALHEVET HIGH SCHOOL. ATARA RECEIVED HER BA FROM STERN COLLEGE AND COMPLETED HER M.A. IN JEWISH STUDIES AT THE BERNARD REVEL GRADUATE SCHOOL. SHE IS CURRENTLY COMPLETING HER STUDIES AT NISHMAT'S YOETZET HALACHA PROGRAM.

If you were asked why we eat matzah at our Pesach Seder, you might answer that we are commemorating the departure of the Jewish people from Egypt, when they did not have sufficient time to bake bread, and ate matzah instead. But contrary to what we generally learn when we are young, the first time Bnei Yisrael ate matzah during the Exodus was not after they fled, and because of their lack of time. They actually ate matzah because God told them – before they even stepped foot out of Egypt.

If we examine the narrative of the Torah, we see that God commanded Bnei Yisrael to eat matzah as part of the guidelines of eating the Korban Pesach, the Paschal offering. The korban had to be eaten in tandem with matzah and maror, as the Torah states (Shemot 12:8): “‫“ ”על מצות ומרורים יאכלוהו‬it shall be eaten with matzah and maror.”

Of course, our children are not wrong when they tell us that matzah reminds us of the fact that Bnei Yisrael left so quickly, they did not have time to let their dough rise. After all, later in the same chapter the Torah states explicitly: ...‫”וישא העם את בצקו טרם יחמץ משארותם צררות בשמלותם על שכמם‬ ‫ויאפו את הבצק אשר הוציאו ממצרים עגת מצות כי לא חמץ כי גרשו ממצרים‬ “‫ולא יכלו להתמהמה וגם צדה לא עשו להם‬ “The people carried their dough before it was leavened, their kneading bowls bound in their garments on their shoulder… and they baked the dough that they had brought out of Egypt into unleavened cakes, as it was not leavened; because they were driven from Egypt, and they were unable to linger, and they did not prepare provisions for themselves either” (Shemot 12:34, 39).

But this reason for eating matzah, despite being the more popular one, might be harder to understand, as we will explain. Consider: Absent yeast, the only way to eat leavened bread in those times was to mix dough with a starter from a previous batch of leavened bread and wait at least several days for the dough to turn to leavened sourdough. However, the Jews were already informed that they would be leaving at least two weeks before, as is evident from the Torah’s instructions that they needed to be ready to leave when consuming the Korban Pesach (Shemot 12:11), which were given on the first of Nissan (Shemot 12:1). Given this awareness of their impending departure, it seems rather strange that the Israelites did not think ahead.1 Why didn’t they plan their bread-making in such a manner that the dough would have risen before they left?

One might respond that the Jews could not prepare bread for the journey because they were not allowed to consume chametz during the seven days of Pesach, just as we are forbidden from doing so. But it seems that this was not the case. In the first section of Shemot chapter 12 (verses 3-13), Bnei Yisrael are commanded about the details of how to celebrate that very first Pesach, of which there were many: The details of which animal to take for the korban, the precise placement of the blood, the manner of preparing the meat and its disposal, and 1 The Rashbam (Shemot 3:11) is of the opinion that during the entire period of the Ten Plagues through the night of Pesach, Pharaoh was still under the impression that the Jews would only be taking a temporary journey, just as he was told initially by Moshe (Shemot 5:3) that they would travel for three days and then return to Egypt. But even according to this approach, the Bnei Yisrael themselves were certainly aware that they were departing Egypt for good (see Shemot 4:29-31). For a discussion of this approach, see Menachem Leibtag’s shiur on the beginning of Sefer Shemot, “Was Let My People Go a Hoax?” available at www.tanach.org.

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even a command to eat it with belts buckled and walking staff in hand.2 However, absent from these instructions was the commandment to rid their households of chametz and any leavening agents. Only in the next section (Shemot 12:14-20) is the nation told about the eternal national holiday: ;’‫”והיה היום הזה לכם לזכרון וחגותם אתו חג לה‬ “‫“ לדורותיכם‬This day shall be a remembrance for you, and you shall celebrate it as a Festival to God for your generations.” Only in this context are they commanded: ,‫ כל מחמצת לא תאכלו‬. . . ‫”שבעת ימים שאור לא ימצא בבתיכם‬ ‫”בכול מושבותיכם תאכלו מצות‬. “For seven days, there shall be no sourdough found in your homes… you shall not eat any leavened bread, in all of your dwellings you shall eat unleavened bread.” Evidently, the prohibition against owning and consuming chametz only applied in future generations, but during the actual Pesach of yetziat mitzrayim, the Jews were permitted to consume chametz, at least after the fifteenth of Nissan.3 If so, the Jews could have, and should have, prepared their bread in advance, so that they would have proper provisions for their journey.

But it seems that they didn’t do that, as we saw above: The Torah states that they had to eat matzah upon leaving Egypt because they didn’t have any bread already prepared, and didn’t have sufficient time to allow any more to rise.

So why didn’t they prepare bread? Some suggest that they did not have sufficient belief in God that He would actually redeem them. Alternatively, due to the extent of their slavery, perhaps they could not imagine that they would actually leave – and therefore they did not prepare the bread. Ultimately, it is impossible to know their mindset. But perhaps we can suggest that they did expect to leave Egypt, and they nevertheless intentionally did not prepare leavened bread for the following reason: Having already discovered that chametz and leavening agents would be forbidden during the Pesach of the future, they wanted to demonstrate their commitment to God even before they were required to do so. Perhaps due to a desire to observe even more mitzvot, they rid themselves of their chametz and other leavening agents, even though the commandment to do so only applied for future generations. If so, what would they eat during their journey? They could not wait the weeks it would take to develop a new starter, and they had no bread left in the house to take with them. Their only alternative at that point was to take the raw dough (which would not leaven for at least several more days) and turn it into matza on the way.

According to this understanding, there is yet an additional dimension to matzah: It is not just the bread of affliction that the Jews ate in Egypt while they were slaves (as we say at the beginning of Maggid in the section known as Ha Lachma Anya), it is more than the bread commanded by God to eat with the Korban Pesach, and it is not simply the food that the Jews ate while they were leaving. Rather, it is also the bread that symbolized the great yearning of the newborn nation to adhere to the word of God, to create an authentic religious experience even as they were being born. It is evidence of their total reliance on God. Knowing that they would not have bread for days, it would have been logical for them to actively work on getting food. But they didn’t do that; they just left.

It is therefore fitting and understandable why the commandment to eat matzah is not just dependent upon the Korban Pesach. Instead, we have a separate Torah mandated mitzvah of eating matzah, as commanded by God before that first Pesach, which we fulfill during the stage of the Seder known as ‫מוציא מצה‬. It is a mitzvah that reminds us of the faith of the nation in embarking on the journey without any chametz in order to adhere as much as possible to the will of God. May we too merit to please God by going the extra mile in keeping His mitzvot.

2 Nechama Leibowitz explains that these details were designed to inculcate in the nascent nation the pride of being the nation of God. The repeated acts of extreme fealty to the details of God’s commandments turned the nation from one of slaves into the ‫עם סגולה‬, despite the feelings of inadequacy that they may have felt.

3 The Gemara (Pesachim 96b) indicates that during that year, the prohibition against consuming chametz still applied during the first day of Pesach, i.e., the fifteenth of Nissan.

However, it seems that even on that day, they were still permitted to own chametz.

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‫כורך‬

‫חשיבות של כורך‬ ‫המקור לכורך בו אנחנו אוכלים את המצה ומרור ביחד‪ ,‬נמצא בפסוק בו מתואר אחת ההלכות‬ ‫ההלכות לאכילת קרבן הפסח‪” ,‬על מצות ומרורים יאכלוהו" )במדבר ט‪:‬יא(‪ .‬הלל הזקן‪ ,‬שחי בזמן‬ ‫בית המקדש‪ ,‬פירש את הפסוק שצריך לכרך מצה ומרור עם הקרבן בכוונה לקיים את שני החיובים ‪-‬‬ ‫גם מצוות אכילת מצה וגם מצוות אכילת קרבן הפסח )עם מצה ומרור(‪ .‬יש פסוק נוסף שמצווה‬ ‫עלינו במפורש על אכילת מצה בחג הפסח‪ ,‬אבל לא נמצא פסוק כזה לגבי מרור‪ .‬לכן‪ ,‬הפעם היחידה‬ ‫שאכילת מרור היא חיוב מדאורייתא היא בהקשר לאכילתו עם קרבן הפסח‪ ,‬כלומר בזמן בית‬ ‫המקדש‪.‬‬ ‫למרות השיטה של הלל‪ ,‬אנחנו לא מקיימים את המצות של אכילת מצה ואכילת מרור בצורה הזאת‪,‬‬ ‫אלא דוחים את ה"כורך" עד אחרי השלבים של "מוציא מצה" ו"מרור‪ ".‬הטעם לזה מוא במסכת‬ ‫פסחים‪ ,‬דף קטו ע"א‪ ,‬שבו מוצג קושי‪ :‬אולי צריך לחשש שהמרור שבכריכת הלל יבטל את קיום‬ ‫מצוות אכילת מצה‪ ,‬מפני שאוכלים אותם ביחד‪ ,‬ואולי מצות המצה מתקיימת רק כשנעשית לבדה!‬ ‫זה כנראה לא היה בעיה להלל‪ ,‬כי הוא לא סבר שמצוה דאורייתא )אכילת המרור כחלק מהקרבן(‬ ‫תבטל מצוה דאורייתא שנייה (אכילת המצה)‪ ,‬שהרי לשניהם יש אותה דרגת חיוב‪ .‬אבל כיום‪ ,‬מפני‬ ‫שהחיוב של קרבן פסח כבר לא בתוקף‪ ,‬המצווה לאכול מרור היא רק מדרבנן‪ .‬לעומת זאת‪ ,‬מצוות‬ ‫אכילת מצה עדיין בתוקף היום מפני שהיא לא תלויה בקרבן‪ -‬אלא מצווה בפני עצמה‪ .‬לכן‪ ,‬היום‬ ‫המצווה מדרבנן )מרור( כן מבטלת את המצווה מדאורייתא )מצה( בכך שהן בדרגות שונות והדרבנן‬ ‫'משפילה' את הדאורייתא ובכך האוכל שתיהן ביחד‪ ,‬לא יצא ידי חובת אכילת מצה‪.‬‬ ‫בגלל הסיבה הזאת‪ ,‬אנו אוכלים ומברכים על מצה לחוד‪ ,‬לצאת ידי החיוב מדאורייתא‪ ,‬ואז על מרור‬ ‫לחוד‪ ,‬כדי לצאת ידי החיוב מדרבנן‪ .‬אם כך‪ ,‬למה אנו כורכים אותם ב"כורך" אחר כך בכלל? אם‬ ‫מייסדים חלק שלם של הסדר שלא מקיים שום חיוב או מצוה‪ ,‬כנראה שיש משמעות חשובה מספיק‬ ‫בחלק זה כדי להיכלל בסדר פסח‪.‬‬ ‫לפי הגמרא‪ ,‬התשובה היא שכורכים כ"זכר למקדש כהלל"‪ ,‬כלומר זכר לסגנון שבו הלל אכל את‬ ‫קרבן הפסח והמצה‪ .‬אבל מעבר לכך‪ ,‬אפשר להסביר באופן מחשבתי שכריכת המצה והמרור‬ ‫מסמלת טריכוטומיה של מרירות וקושי בגלות‪ ,‬יחד עם גאולה וחירות‪ ,‬תחת השגחת השם‪ .‬קרבן‬ ‫פסח מסמל את השגחת ה׳ עלינו ואת הכרת הטוב שלנו אליו‪ ,‬שהרי כך נאמר במסכת פסחים קטז‬ ‫ע״ב ״פסח על שום שפסח המקום על בתי אבותינו במצרים״‪ .‬המרור מסמל את העבדות והקושי‬ ‫בגלות‪ ,‬שנאמר שם ״שמררו המצרים את חיי אבותינו במצרים״‪ .‬והמצה מסמלת את חירותנו כעם‬ ‫יהודי‪ ,‬שנאמר שם ״שנגאלו אבותינו ממצרים״‪ .‬כשכורכים את שלושת דברים אלו ביחד ‪,‬נוצרת‬ ‫מהות חדשה ועמוקה יותר שמשלב את שלשת הענינים האלו ביחד‪ .‬כל העניין של פסח מתבטא‬ ‫על ידי הכורך‪ ,‬בכך שהקב״ה מוביל אותנו מעבדות לחירות‪.‬‬ ‫בחיינו היום‪ ,‬המרירות והשליליות של מציאותנו ללא בית מקדש )גלות(‪ ,‬מאתגרת אותנו להתחזק‬ ‫ולעבוד את ה׳‪ ,‬ולבסוף הוא יביא אותנו לגאולה‪ ,‬לשלב שבו זוכים להרגיש את המצה‪ ,‬הכח של‬ ‫גאולה‪.‬‬ ‫שבעז״ה נזכה לראות את בית המקדש השלישי ונזכה להקריב קרבן פסח כמו במקדש‪ ,‬כהלל‪.‬‬

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‫‪NICOLE MILES‬‬ ‫‪NICO LE MILES IS‬‬ ‫‪A GRADUATE OF‬‬ ‫‪SHALHEVET'S‬‬ ‫‪CLASS OF 2017‬‬ ‫‪AND IS‬‬ ‫‪CURRENTLY‬‬ ‫‪STUDYING AT‬‬ ‫‪NISHMAT IN‬‬ ‫‪YERUSHALAYIM‬‬

‫צפון‬ A BREAK IN THE ACTION: THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE AFIKOMAN The ritual of the eating of the afikoman, the larger part of the broken Matzah, is known as Tzafun, hidden, since this matzah has been hidden until this part of the Seder. This is a very significant part of the Seder, which often motivates many young children to try to stay awake until the end, hiding or searching for the afikoman. What is the significance of the afikoman? Why must we eat additional matzah when we already consumed plenty of matzah during the motzee-matzah part of the Seder, and likely during the meal as well?

Brake The commentaries offer a number of reasons for this practice. The primary reason given by many commentaries, including the Shulchan Aruch (Orach Chaim 477:1), is that it serves as a zecher, or remembrance, for the Korban Pesach, the Paschal offering, which we no longer bring in our times. For this reason, the afikoman must be eaten after the meal, on a full stomach, since it parallels the Korban Pesach, which is required to be eaten al hasova, when full. In addition, the Shulchan Aruch (ibid.) states that one must be careful to eat the afikoman before chatzot, halachic midnight, because the Korban Pesach also needed to be consumed by that time (Mishna Berura 477:6) according to many opinions. According to this approach to afikomen, one should eat one kezayit, olive-size piece, in order to fulfill this obligation.

Other commentaries (see Magen Avraham 477:1 and Beit Yosef 477:1 citing Rashbam) add that in addition to symbolizing the Korban Pesach itself, the afikoman also commemorates the matzah that accompanied the Korban Pesach (see Shemot 12:8). According to this opinion, one should consume two olive size portions, and the Mishna Berura (477:1) recommends following this approach lechatchila, ideally.

The Maharil (Hilchot HaHaggada 16b, cited by Taz, 477:1) adds a third dimension to the significance of the mitzvah of Afikoman. He declares that it is beloved by the Jewish People more than other mitzvot that involve the consumption of food. For this reason, the Maharil too recommends eating a double portion of two kezaytim of matzah for Afikoman. But the Maharil does not explain why it should be more special or beloved than other mitzvah foods, and other commentaries indeed question his opinion (see Bach 473 and Pri Megadim 477). What is the reason for this uniqueness?

Perhaps we can explain the idea as follows: The eating of the afikoman comes at the end of the Seder, and concludes the biblical mitzvah of eating matzah. Matzah is the only specific food that the Torah requires be consumed biblically in our days, as opposed to the times when the Beit Ha-Mikdash stood, when the consumption of some offerings also constituted a mitzvah (see, e.g., Chatam Sofer, Orach Chaim 196, hashmatot; Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach in Halichot Shlomo, Pesach 9:54). Therefore, as we conclude this unique mitzvah and say goodbye to it (at least on a Torah level—the second night Seder is rabbinic), we wish to show our love and joy for it, and therefore double the amount.

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RABBI ABRAHAM LIEBERMAN RABBI ABRAHAM LIEB ERMAN IS A MEMBER OF THE LIMUDEI KODESH FACULTY AT SHALHEVET HIGH SCHOOL. HE PREVIOUSLY SERVED AS THE HEAD OF SCHO OL AT YULA GIRLS HIGH SCHOOL. RABBI LIEBERMAN LEARNED AT YESHIVA UNIV ERSITY AND RECIEVED SEMIKHA FROM EMEK HALAKHA IN BROOKLYN. HE RECIEVED HIS M.A. IN JEWISH HISTORY FROM THE BERNARD REVEL GRADUATE SCHOOL (YU), WHERE HE IS CURRENTLY WORKING TOWARDS HIS DOCTORATE.

All of these ideas allow us to appreciate some of the importance of the mitzva of afikomen, but they still do not explain the fact that this matzah had to be tzafun, hidden, during the course of the Seder. Why must we go out of our way to hide this matza, before uncovering it and eating it at this point in the Seder?

Perhaps there is yet a fourth dimension here as well. As we go through the Seder, we undergo a transformation. We start out as idol worshippers and slaves in Egypt and emerge as a free people, thanking Hashem for bringing us along that journey. We begin with matzah as lechem oni, the bread of affliction, and we end with the Afikoman, the matzah of freedom. We eat the first kezayit of matzah while starving, and we eat the last piece on a full stomach, enjoying our freedom. It would seem then that the deeper goal of consuming matza at this point has nothing to do with eating food, as we are already full. Rav Kook in his commentary on the Haggadah explains that the consumption of the Afikoman, is designed to take the physical activity of eating, the last time we do so at the Seder (at least of solid food), and transform it into a spiritual experience. The afikoman aims to bring out the deepest and most hidden parts of who we are, and use them to transform our physical activities into the service of Hashem. This is the reason why it is called Tzafun, as it aims to bring out the hidden more spiritual parts and infuse all of our physical activities with them.

Part of our goal at the end of the Seder, in addition to remembering the Korban Pesach and the matzah that accompanied it, is to consider how we can extend the lessons and feelings of the Seder night into the rest of the year.

We can start by incorporating some of the ideas of tzafun, the Maharil, and Rav Kook into our daily lives. If we can demonstrate our love of serving Hashem, and allow our hidden spiritual elements to emerge and influence the rest of our physical activities, then we can succeed in transforming every part of our lives to a higher existence.

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