April 15th: Pesach
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Since Passover coincides with Shabbat this year, the Tradition postpones the weekly Torah reading and prescribes a special Passover passage: the actual story of that fateful night, Exodus 12.21-51. God’s instructions to Moses were read a few weeks ago. Now Moses relays God’s instructions to the Israelites, and they obey. They choose a lamb, slaughter it, and paint the doorposts and lintels of their homes with the blood. They roast the lamb and eat it with bitter herbs and matzah, and they do so in a state of acute anxiety, in Hebrew b’chipazon.
We usually think of the night as triumphant. “The length of time the Israelites lived in Egypt was four hundred and thirty years; at the end of the four hundred and thirtieth year, to the very day, all the ranks of the Lord departed from the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 12.41-41). Imagine the sense of relief and happiness that must have prevailed. Or not.
According to the Torah, this first Passover—the original Passover—is not a night of happiness. All around the homes where the Israelites huddle, screams pierce the night. “In the middle of the night the Lord struck down all the first-born in the land of Egypt, from the first-born of Pharaoh who sat on the throne to the first-born of the captive who was in the dungeon, and all of the first-born of the cattle…there was a great cry in Egypt, for there was no house where there was not someone dead.” (Exodus 12.29-30). Though the Egyptians have been cruel to the Israelites for centuries, their suffering does not fall on deaf ears, and we know intuitively that our ancestors’ hearts are breaking for the punishments their neighbors’ sins have provoked.
Add to this the doubts and fears the Israelites have for themselves. Will God really deliver us? Will the Egyptians just let us go? What will our freedom provide us? How will we respond to whatever God has in mind?
It is a night full of anxiety, and the instructions from God make sure it is not fun. Notice the cooking instructions: “They shall eat it roasted over fire—roasted with the head, legs, and entrails.” (Exodus 12.9) Apparently, one of the reasons slaughtered animals are gutted is that cooking causes innards to explode and fill the meat with all sorts of unpleasant aromas and tastes. Thus, this purposely un-gutted lamb is not a gourmet feast but a bitter source of nutrition. God also instructs a less than comfortable posture: “This is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly.” (Exodus 12.11)
The first Passover night is not a celebration. The celebration must wait for next year. “You shall observe this as an institution for all time, for you and for your descendants. And when you enter the land that the Lord will give you, as has been promised, you shall observe this rite. And, when your children ask you, ‘What do you mean by this rite”’ you shall say, ‘It is the Passover sacrifice to the Lord, because God passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt, smiting the Egyptians but saving our houses.’” (Exodus 12.24-27)
The transition from the event to the commemoration of the event is interesting to consider. Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi used to describe ritual as peak experience domesticated—domesticated things being similar to wild things but not identical. Something really special happens, and we seek to remember it by crafting various memory-inducing techniques: songs, stories, foods, discussions, etc. We want to create enough of the drama to set up the miracle and inspire appreciation, but we do not want to make it so tenuous that we miss the celebratory purpose of the ritual.
When we transition from the original Passover to our Seder, we move from eating in anxiety to reclining and relaxing, from eating bitter meat to enjoying gourmet Seder meals, and from eating with loins girded, sandals on our feet, and staffs in our hands to beautiful tables, set with delicate family heirlooms. While our ancient ancestors huddled together while the Angel of Death went through the neighborhood, our anxiety is of a different kind: we worry whether the matzah balls will be right, whether the food will be tasty, and whether the family members will get along.
This is not to say that our Seder celebrations are less holy; it is just that they are a different kind of event—one in which we try to remember our ancestral experience in Egypt, learn its lessons, and appreciate the blessings we have. It is a peak historical experience domesticated.
One additional thought: there is an interesting tension when it comes to teaching about traumatic events. One school of thought wants the learner to feel the terror and despondency of those who actually suffered the trauma. Any retreat from “showing the true horrors” does the actual sufferers a disservice—and renders the learning inadequate. This is also the case with news coverage. Some believe that readers should themselves be plunged into the horror and suffering of the victims—else the story/learning is incomplete and not respectful enough. The other school of thought sees no reason to traumatize learners—or readers. It is possible to “learn the lessons” of dramatic and tragic events without plunging into the depths of horror and despair themselves. Granted, people who have experienced horrific events may appreciate the stories (or Seder) in a different way than those whose lives have been easier, but is suffering the idea—or is learning the lessons the goal? As we consider the various lessons of the Exodus story, we face an interesting spectrum of learning and spiritual possibilities.
The main thing with the Seder is that we put ourselves into the story. “Not only our ancestors alone did the Holy One redeem but us as well, along with them, as it is written, ‘And God freed us from Egypt, so as to take us and give us the land sworn to our ancestors.’” (Deuteronomy 6.23) And “Had not the Holy One brought our ancestors out of Egypt, we and our children and our children’s children would still be slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt.”
When we gather for Passover, there are many experiences to celebrate. There is the original story which we remember and commemorate. There are the family celebrations that have enhanced our lives with beautiful customs and loving relationships. There are the social justice obligations that the Passover story invokes. And there is the appreciation for freedom and blessings that should flow in our hearts and minds. May we enter the Seder wholeheartedly and appreciate its many gifts.