Inviting the Uninvited

Pesach

by Rabbi Avi Billet


I remember the first time I taught a class about Passover to a group of Jewish adults of very mixed Jewish backgrounds, and I mentioned that the Korban Pesach ritual (Paschal Lamb offering) that was so essential to the holiday of Pesach in Temple times could only be eaten by Jews who believe in God, and that the males of said populace had to b circumcised.

 In fact, so closely is the Korban Pesach related to Bris Milah (circumcision) that they are the only two mitzvot in the Torah that, when not fulfilled, carry with them the punishment of “karet” (Biblically prescribed excision from the Jewish people – a punishment carried out by God).

 I was unprepared for the reaction. “You mean a non-Jew cannot participate in the Seder?”

 One who googles the phrase “how to run a Passover Seder” must put much care into what one clicks, because a number of the top search hits will point to Christian websites dedicated to teaching people of their faith how to run an authentic Seder. So it’s not just Jews who have non-Jewish friends who need to be concerned, but non-Jews themselves! And with even the President of the United States hosting Seders over the past few years, it clearly is an important concern and consideration.

 I assured the questioner that as we don’t have a Temple now and no Korban Pesach, we don’t adhere to such a restriction, because the meat that we eat, while delicious, is not the required lamb that has limitations on who may eat it. And while I don’t know what goes on at too many Seders other than those that I’ve experienced, I hope that all Seders do an adequate job of focusing on the concept of the Israelites’ switch from slavery to freedom, the role God played in bringing that goal about, and a hope that the freedom we speak of metaphorically can be experienced for the Jewish people again when anti-Semitism is eliminated from the world. This is a message that needs to be spread widely and clearly.

 One of the themes of the Seder is the number four. Four questions, four sons, fours cups of wine. I once heard Rabbi Kenneth Hain of Congregation Beth Sholom in Lawrence ask the question, “Why three matzahs? Shouldn’t we have four matzahs?”

 There is a tradition that each matzah represents a different kind of Jew – the Kohen, the Levite, and the Israelite. Rabbi Hain suggested the 4th matzah, the one that doesn’t make it to the table, represents the Jew that is so far removed from Judaism, this Jew doesn’t even make it to the Seder.

 It should come as no surprise that Bris Milah and the Passover Seder are the two most widely practiced Jewish rites. I highly doubt it is because of the karet-connection I mentioned earlier. But it is telling that they share this and so many other connections: the significance of blood, the concept of a covenant, a tribute to Elijah the Prophet, how you can’t do one without the other, etc. These connections give a strong indication that most Jews do make it to a Seder of some kind, and that not too many Jews who affiliate are missing. 

But what do we do about the missing Jew – the 4th matzah?

 First of all, I hope that all those who are bringing non-Jewish guests to their Seders have plenty of seats filled by Jews who might not otherwise attend one. As for those of us who are not inviting non-Jews to our Seder, are we doing our part to fulfill the words of “Ha Lachma Anya” – “let all those who seek come and eat, and all those who need come and do Pesach”? We live in a world when it is increasingly harder to invite people we do not know. We can’t simply invite strangers off the street without an introduction, or without having someone vouch for them. It is a terrible reality of the times in which we live.

 But if there are people we know, people in our offices, or people we have connections with, who might not have a Seder to attend, perhaps we can reach out and invite them for the first Seder, and give them a little taste of how we celebrate and commemorate our collective journey from slavery to freedom.

 Who knows? Perhaps this gesture will be the first positive one the invited may have had in a while. And maybe, next year, we need not be concerned that this person is the 4th matzah, the Jew who doesn’t even make it to the Seder.

When Judaism Meets Mother Goose

Parshat Bo

by Rabbi Avi Billet

There are a number of mitzvot associated with the Korban Pesach – the Paschal Lamb sacrifice which was first commanded in Egypt and eaten the night before the Exodus, which apply anytime the Korban Pesach is offered and eaten.

            

One of them concerns how it is to be prepared: "Do not eat it raw or [very] cooked in water, but only roasted over fire, its head, (on) its legs, and (on) its internal organs." (12:9)

            

The term translated here as "[very] cooked" appears in the Torah in the oft-called "double language" of "Vashel m'vushal" – which indicates a more severe degree of having been cooked than what Mother Goose might call "just right."

            

In the Sefer Luach Erez, the author suggests the Torah here is telling us how a person should conduct oneself when eating. Don't be so impatient that you'll eat the food raw (as is perhaps suggested in Eisav'sasking Yaakov to "halitayni Na" – give me the stew in its raw (red = uncooked lentils) stage), but don't be so lazy that you'll wait until it's overcooked before you take it off the fire.

            

As anyone who roasts meat knows, undercooked is worthless, overcooked is burnt: it has to be "just right."

            

The Luach Erez notes, that one who follows eating it "only roasted over a fire" merits (in a homiletical sense) to achieve having "his head on his legs and on his internal organs." In other words, his head – which governs his thought process and emotions, will have control over his legs and his organs – the sources of his desires.

            

While this interpretation is certainly not to be understood as the simple understanding of the Torah (the Torah is talking about different parts of the animal that will be eaten), the lesson is quite compelling.

            

What does it take to get a person not to be an extremist, to come to his senses, and to do what is mandated of him? Answer: Following a middle path.

            

Eating something roasted – in a manner in which it is "just right" – is a metaphor for doing any activity just right. Of course, such a definition is relative, and people will have different understandings of what is considered the best way. Maimonides spoke of the Golden Mean – not to be extreme in either direction – and his instructions in Hilchot De'ot, when followed, could be extremely helpful.

What is considered extreme?

            

Heaping stringency on top of stringency is one extremity.Tearing apart the fabric of our society for the sake of liberalism is a different extreme.

Running to a rabbi for every question, putting absolute faith in rabbis at all times, defending rabbis who are fallible humans when their actions prove they are not beyond reproach, is one extreme. Calling rabbis fools or other ad-hominem names, just because you disagree or think they are not fit to have an opinion on a matter, is also an extreme. Dialogue is good. Making it personal is not.

Saying kashrus certification is corrupt and can't be trusted is one extreme. Saying you can look at ingredients and decide for yourself what is OK is another extreme. Unfortunately there is a lot more to every food prepared for consumers than meets the eye.

            

Defining modesty in dress – which applies to everyone, though is more often a discussion regarding women, whose acceptable options in society are so much more varied – in terms of lengths of sleeves, skirts, slits, shorts, collars, pants, etc. is one extreme. Because these set-in-stone or objective definitions are different depending on the society and local culture. And, quite frankly, people can follow all the guidelines and still be immodest. Skin-tight clothes, ten thousand dollar sheitels, hip boots, gaudy fur coats are all anything but modest.

            

Even in spring and summer time, or year-round at the gym, men and women make choices that can either be extreme in one direction (sleeveless – men and women, shirtless – men, really short shorts – men and women, what does the top cover – women), or in the other direction, such as wearing clothes that do not fit the activity at all (such as a suit and tie when playing basketball).

            

Even Torah learning can be taken to an extreme. One can neglect one's hygiene, health, or responsibility to provide for a family on account of extreme Torah learning. One can also neglect Torah learning and growth as a Jew altogether, which is the opposite extreme.

            

Some choose to write off those who practice Judaism differently from their own little box as outside of what they consider mainstream Judaism (the left and the right are very fond of this). This is extremism.

            

Some choose to push the envelope beyond the very large fence that includes adherence to halakha as defined by the Shulchan Arukh and Maimonides (which have been accepted as the main Codes of Jewish Law) to either go outside the box, or to include stringencies which were never intended. Both of these are also extremism.

            

Are you familiar with the image of the family around the fireplace, perhaps roasting marshmallows, sitting and enjoying one another's company? That feeling that things are just perfect, and everything is just right? You know, the same way Goldilocks felts about Baby Bear's soup, chair and bed?

            

That is what it means to roast one's Korban Pesach to perfection, and to have one's "head on his legs and on his internal organs," when sechel (common sense), guided by adherence to a halakhic system, dictates how one controls one's desires, yes, but also helps make proper choices that are not guided by extremism. 

Our challenge is to avoid negatively imposing one hashkafa (Jewish outlook) on our Jewish brethren, who may look at things differently, while encouraging a way of life that is fulfilling and meaningful.

            

May we be so lucky to achieve such perfection.

               

Divine "Changes"?

An outsider's (perhaps naive) commentary on some of the activism going on in Israel (and perhaps in the US as well). I have purposely chosen not to take a specific stand for either side here because the ultimate lesson the dvar Torah brings out is the point upon which I am focusing. If you'd like to have the dialogue, feel free to comment (or email me!), and we can have a conversation. For a slightly different perspective, see this thought quoted in the name of HaRav Yehuda Amital, Z"L, the founding Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Har Etzion

Parshat B'haalotkha

by Rabbi Avi Billet

In the first Nissan month following the Exodus, the Torah tells us that the Israelites observed Passover, bringing the Korban Pesach (Paschal lamb offering) at its proper time. (Chapter 9)

The tale that follows is of a group of people, who were unable to participate in the Korban Pesach on account of their being in a state of "tumah" (a spiritual state of impurity).

"But why should we lose out and not be able to present God's offering at the right time, along with the other Israelites?" they ask.

"Wait here," Moshe replied. "I will hear what orders God gives regarding your case."

He is told, "Speak to the Israelites, saying: If any person is tameh (ritually impure) from contact with the dead, or is on a distant journey, whether among you [now] or in future generations, he shall still have the opportunity to prepare God's Passover offering… He shall prepare it on the afternoon of the 14th of the second month and shall eat it with matzahs and bitter herbs." (9:7-14) This is the Torah's account of the mitzvah of "Pesach Sheni" – the makeup date for missing the Korban Pesach.

Rashi says, "These impure (tameh) people were privileged to have this mitzvah (of Pesach Sheni) be attributed to their question, as opposed to coming directly from Moshe, because we bring about something which is worthy through someone who is worthy." Three of the opinions as to their identity are those who carried Yosef's bones, Mishael andEltzafan – who took Nadav and Avihu out of the Mishkan after their tragic end, or people who buried others who had no family. All of these possibilities are people who are very worthy to perform the mitzvah were it not for the "tumah" factor holding them back.

In his exploration of Rashi's commentary, Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrachi notes that those who were tameh were tameh that day, but were to become tahor (pure) that evening. As such, they would have been fit and could have partaken of the Korban Pesach on time – not in the day of the 14th of Nissan, but in the evening of the 15th, during their "Seder," when the Paschal Lamb "is to be eaten and not leftover until morning."

Were their question not asked "that day" (9:6) when there was still time, we would be able to wonder who would have the audacity to suggest that despite missing the opportunity to do the mitzvah in its proper time, they should have a do-over! There is a halakhic principle that once a specific time for a mitzvah has passed (particularly a korban) – the opportunity is lost (avar zmano batel korbano).

Their circumstance was unique, their position, as Rashi notes, one of tremendous worthiness, and their opportunity, to have a previously undisclosed mitzvah be taught through their story, makes their situation most noteworthy.

Mizrachi quotes the Raavad who suggests they had actually tried to bring the Korban Pesach, before being sprinkled with the requisite blood (presumably of the Parah Adumah – Red Heifer), and immersing in water to complete their purification process, and the offering was rejected. Mizrachi wonders, according to this opinion, why they were not instructed to undergo the purifying process followed by an additional attempt at bringing the Korban Pesach? Beyond saying such a notion was not in the cards, since they were instructed to bring the Korban Pesach on Pesach Sheni (14 Iyar) one month in the future, he does not answer this question.

The people in this circumstance were creating history. And with the authentic leadership of Moshe and the connection to the Divine he provided, their question was not out of place. Their timeliness in asking – on the day they should have been bringing the Korban, along with the suggestion that they did actually bring one only to have it rejected, together indicate a Divine stamp of approval to their efforts. They merited to have a mitzvah taught in their story!

Can the same always be said about those who are opportunists, who pick a time to say "Why should we lose out?" in order to stoke coals and create controversy?

There is a difference between taking up a cause for social justice and taking up a cause in the name of religion. True social justice cases, in which people are either not participating in society or are being selectively discriminated against in society, deserve a public hearing and a demand for equal rights.

But taking up a cause in the name of religion requires a very different attitude. Religion is ancient, has traditions, values, and a way which has been for centuries. And those looking to represent it must be humble, and must come across as standing on the shoulders of precedent.

Sincerity is relative. The people who were looking to perform the Korban Pesach, who were held back by a technicality, were sincere. They got their makeup date, which was not a new idea, according to Mizrachi, but was only taught at this time because of their sincerity.

What really drives the people behind both sides of the latest demonstrations at the Kotel? What drives those involved on both sides of drafting the Charedim into the Israeli army?

While there is a time and place for everything, the reverse is not true: not everything belongs in every place at all times.

The issues are complicated, emotions run high, some people are sincere, while some are driven by an agenda that is far less than sincere. A Divine response would be most helpful in achieving peaceful solutions. But without it, humility is the key ingredient that could keep everyone grounded and help reach appropriate compromises.

A Sign For YOU

Parshat Bo

by Rabbi Avi Billet

When one reads through Shmot Chapter 12, it becomes quite clear that blood will play a significant role in bringing about the salvation of the Hebrew slaves at the midnight hour when Egypt will be struck its most devastating blow.

Verses 7, 13, 22 and 23, when run together, read something like this.
"They must take the blood and place it on the two doorposts and on the beam above the door of the houses in which they will eat [the sacrifice]. The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are staying. I will see the blood and pass you by (pasach). There will not be any deadly plague among you when I strike Egypt. {Instructions to the elders are to tell the people to] 'Take a bunch of hyssop and dip it into the blood that [will be placed] in a basin. Touch the beam over the door and the two doorposts with some of the blood in the basin. Not a single one of you may go out the door of his house until morning. God will then pass through to strike Egypt. When he sees the blood over the door and on the two doorposts, God will pass over that door, and not let the force of destruction enter your houses to strike.'"

The Ktav V'Hakabalah asks a seemingly obvious question. Does God really need the blood as a sign? If He wants to distinguish between the Egyptians who suffer in the plague and the Israelites who are spared, could He not just say "My wonders will be proven by the fact that Egyptians will die and Israelites will not"?

Ibn Ezra rejects the notion that the blood was a derivative of a public process aimed at showing the Egyptians who is boss. Were it so, he argues, the blood would have been put on courtyard gates instead of on the doorway of homes recessed from the street, and the slaughtering of the lamb would have taken place in the daytime, instead of closer to nighttime when people are already in their homes. Ibn Ezra even derives from "The blood will be a sign for you" that you, who cannot go outside all night, will be able to see the blood because it will be on the inside of your home.

But the Ktav V'Hakabalah has an entirely different perspective, which introduces much deeper symbolism than a mere "sticking-it" to the Egyptians. The Israelites had many obstacles to their own redemption. They were idolators! They needed to achieve a spiritual purity (taharah) that had eluded them for a very long time.

The Korban Pesach (Paschal offering) was meant to serve as a first step in their stepping away from and rejection of Egyptian idolatry of the sheep. The second element of their return to God was a complete rejection of their former fears of their Egyptian masters. And the last element of their return to God was the public nature of their actions.

He brings four examples of the how they publicized the deed: First, the animals were led through the street, before the slaughtering was done publicly (#2), while the gathering of families providing the third ingredient in drawing attention. The nail in the coffin, so to speak, was placing the blood on the doorpost for all to see.

Didn't the Ibn Ezra say the blood was placed inside the home, as a sign for the Israelites alone? He did. But the Ktav V'Hakabalah is one step ahead when he quotes the Mechilta who says the blood was placed on the outside. This public display of the blood of the lamb was another step in the rejection of the sheep-as-god mentality.

All this is very nice insofar as the process through which the people go. But it does not answer whether God needed a sign! The answer is that of course God did not need a sign. If God could distinguish between which animals were Egyptian-owned and which animals were Israelite-owned, He could surely distinguish between Egyptians and Israelites.

The reason for the blood, then, is that it is through blood that covenants are forged. A blood oath involves the mixing of bloods, "The process usually provides a participant with a heightened symbolic sense of attachment with another participant." (Wikipedia, "Blood Brother")

The Shakh claims that as males who are not circumcised may not participate in the eating of the korban pesach, a major circumcision festival needed to take place (based on 12:50). As such there were ample samples of blood available to be mixed together – blood from the lamb, from the circumcisions, and from the removal of the mucosal membrane (not from metzitzah!)

The blood, therefore, becomes highly symbolic. Putting it on the door is an indicator that those in the home fulfill the will of God. But the placement of this particular mixture of blood, stands to serve as a "reminder," so to speak, to God, of the mark of the covenant that connects this people to Him for eternity. This reminder is what prevents the death force from making its way into the homes of the Israelites.

In this respect, the sign-on-the-door for humans is significant for them because their own blood is in it. But it really is for God, who reminds the people over and over that each plague was meant to make His name well known in the land. This goal is further represented by the blood on the door, a mark which is fresh, which will last long beyond when the Israelite's leave town, and will be seen by those who explore the ghost town of Goshen.

It is the symbol of God's dominance over the Egyptian deity, combined with the covenant He forged with Abraham, that brought about the creation of the nation that left Egypt with a strong hand.