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.
Showing posts with label passover. Show all posts
Showing posts with label passover. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Friday, April 4, 2014
Making the Seder Memorable
On Tuesday night I presented a class for kids at the Young Israel of Hollywood, entitled "Making your Seder MEMORABLE." There were about 25 kids there, along with their parents and/or grandparents.
Technically savvy participant Jon Garber had the foresight to take pictures of some of the more expressive moments.
The kids had a great time. I had a great time. And we even ended up singing the song that was parodied here (video after the photos).
Thursday, April 14, 2011
The Relevance of a Tangent
Acharei Mot - Aharon's Dead Sons - Part II?
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Aharon's sons died three parshas ago, in Parshat Sh'mini, and nary a word has been said about them. Our parsha opens mentioning their deaths, seeming to pick up exactly where the Torah took a break in its narrative to discuss other things.
Is there any significance to a multi-chapter tangent from the regular narrative of the Torah?
Only if the Torah doesn't view the tangent as a disruption of the narrative.
Shortly after his sons died, Aharon received one of his rare personal revelations from G-d in Vayikra 10:8-11. In addition to laws specific to their situation as mourners, he and his remaining sons were informed of "how to distinguish between holy and mundane, between tamei and tahor, so they may teach the Israelites the laws G-d had taught through Moshe."
The two and half parshas which followed those words were a blur of adherence to this code. Through Moshe and Aharon, the Israelites were then taught of the laws of what makes an animal tahor or tamei, fit to be used in the Temple, for sacrifices, offerings and for consumption, versus unfit and undesired by G-d.
Then Moshe and Aharon received divine instruction about the different kinds of tumahs that will come about, whether on account of tzara'at of the flesh, on clothing or of the home, or on account of a bodily emission.
What is the connection between all the discussions of tumah and taharah that follow the deaths of Nadav and Avihu? How is this five-chapters-long tangent significant to their story, causing the Torah to continue its narrative in our parsha beginning with the words "G-d spoke to Moshe after the deaths of the two sons of Aharon?"
I think it is because Nadav and Avihu served as an incredible study in contrasts. They tried to achieve holiness and purity, and ended up dying and becoming the greatest form of tumah a person can become in death.
Humans have a choice in terms of what animals they will eat. The Torah gives two options: will a person choose the route of taharah (spiritual purity), or will a person choose animals that are tamei, not preferred by G-d to be sources of human consumption?
People have a choice in terms of how they will conduct themselves, in deed and in certain behaviors, to possibly bring tumah upon themselves. Tzara'at, most often caused by lashon hara, was an affliction only a kohen could diagnose. It was accompanied by requisite tumah, which could only be purged with a unique isolation and subsequent sacrificial rite. Perhaps many people were afflicted with the ailment on account of their speculation over what caused Nadav and Avihu to die.
For other tumah circumstances, the kohen was on hand to help the person achieve taharah once again.
In all these discussion of tumah and taharah, it soon becomes highly significant that Nadav and Avihu are missing from the equation. Forty percent of the original kohen work force disappeared in an instant, leaving only three kohanim to do the job on behalf of the people.
Nowhere is this felt more significantly than in the Holy Temple on Yom Kippur, the topic addressed in Acharei Mot's opening, the day when the kohanim were the focus, and all kohanim stood to assist and facilitate the efforts of the High Priest in his attempt to achieve atonement for the people on the holiest day of the year.
Our lives are a delicate balance between tamei and tahor – being unfit to serve and correcting ourselves to be able to serve G-d appropriately. The holiday of Pesach, which took place two weeks after the deaths of Aharon's sons, stood as a pivotal moment for many who were looking to partake in the Korban Pesach.
How do we get past the devastating downside of the past few weeks - the marking of Aharon's sons' deaths on the calendar, and the notable uncertainty that prevails in our own times - in order to celebrate the Festival of Freedom? We learn about the delicate balance of our lives, and make every effort to recognize the good in others and purge our homes of the kinds of food which don't belong.
Now that we have achieved personal holiness, we read about Yom Kippur, the highlight of national holiness. And we understand what we strive to attain in our lives, whenever our minds are focused on our true priorities: God, Torah on the bein adam lamakom (between man and God) side, and Family and Friends on the bein adam lachaveiro (between human beings) side.
May we never lose sight of these focii as we reach great heights in the mountain-climb that is our lives.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Aharon's sons died three parshas ago, in Parshat Sh'mini, and nary a word has been said about them. Our parsha opens mentioning their deaths, seeming to pick up exactly where the Torah took a break in its narrative to discuss other things.
Is there any significance to a multi-chapter tangent from the regular narrative of the Torah?
Only if the Torah doesn't view the tangent as a disruption of the narrative.
Shortly after his sons died, Aharon received one of his rare personal revelations from G-d in Vayikra 10:8-11. In addition to laws specific to their situation as mourners, he and his remaining sons were informed of "how to distinguish between holy and mundane, between tamei and tahor, so they may teach the Israelites the laws G-d had taught through Moshe."
The two and half parshas which followed those words were a blur of adherence to this code. Through Moshe and Aharon, the Israelites were then taught of the laws of what makes an animal tahor or tamei, fit to be used in the Temple, for sacrifices, offerings and for consumption, versus unfit and undesired by G-d.
Then Moshe and Aharon received divine instruction about the different kinds of tumahs that will come about, whether on account of tzara'at of the flesh, on clothing or of the home, or on account of a bodily emission.
What is the connection between all the discussions of tumah and taharah that follow the deaths of Nadav and Avihu? How is this five-chapters-long tangent significant to their story, causing the Torah to continue its narrative in our parsha beginning with the words "G-d spoke to Moshe after the deaths of the two sons of Aharon?"
I think it is because Nadav and Avihu served as an incredible study in contrasts. They tried to achieve holiness and purity, and ended up dying and becoming the greatest form of tumah a person can become in death.
Humans have a choice in terms of what animals they will eat. The Torah gives two options: will a person choose the route of taharah (spiritual purity), or will a person choose animals that are tamei, not preferred by G-d to be sources of human consumption?
People have a choice in terms of how they will conduct themselves, in deed and in certain behaviors, to possibly bring tumah upon themselves. Tzara'at, most often caused by lashon hara, was an affliction only a kohen could diagnose. It was accompanied by requisite tumah, which could only be purged with a unique isolation and subsequent sacrificial rite. Perhaps many people were afflicted with the ailment on account of their speculation over what caused Nadav and Avihu to die.
For other tumah circumstances, the kohen was on hand to help the person achieve taharah once again.
In all these discussion of tumah and taharah, it soon becomes highly significant that Nadav and Avihu are missing from the equation. Forty percent of the original kohen work force disappeared in an instant, leaving only three kohanim to do the job on behalf of the people.
Nowhere is this felt more significantly than in the Holy Temple on Yom Kippur, the topic addressed in Acharei Mot's opening, the day when the kohanim were the focus, and all kohanim stood to assist and facilitate the efforts of the High Priest in his attempt to achieve atonement for the people on the holiest day of the year.
Our lives are a delicate balance between tamei and tahor – being unfit to serve and correcting ourselves to be able to serve G-d appropriately. The holiday of Pesach, which took place two weeks after the deaths of Aharon's sons, stood as a pivotal moment for many who were looking to partake in the Korban Pesach.
How do we get past the devastating downside of the past few weeks - the marking of Aharon's sons' deaths on the calendar, and the notable uncertainty that prevails in our own times - in order to celebrate the Festival of Freedom? We learn about the delicate balance of our lives, and make every effort to recognize the good in others and purge our homes of the kinds of food which don't belong.
Now that we have achieved personal holiness, we read about Yom Kippur, the highlight of national holiness. And we understand what we strive to attain in our lives, whenever our minds are focused on our true priorities: God, Torah on the bein adam lamakom (between man and God) side, and Family and Friends on the bein adam lachaveiro (between human beings) side.
May we never lose sight of these focii as we reach great heights in the mountain-climb that is our lives.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Chametz: The Bread of Freedom
This article appears in the Jewish Star
Parshat Tzav and Pesach
A child looks at the holiday table that always has a plump centerpiece with an ornate cover. The cover is lifted to reveal… three matzos. Bummer. Where is the bread?
The first of the four rhetorical statements in the Mah Nishtanah is, “Tonight we eat only matzo.” One can argue this observation is not motivated simply due to the innocent questions of a child. Rather, there is a real contradiction in that on the evening when we are supposed to be celebrating freedom, we are only eating poor man’s bread. (I think matzo is called poor man’s bread because once you’ve bought matzo made under the strictest conditions, you become a poor man who can’t afford bread anyway.)
Interestingly, there is only one korban (offering) in this week’s parsha that includes a series of breads. Usually the bread used for a korban is matzo. But in chapter 7, we find that the Korban Todah — the thanksgiving offering — includes real bread along with the matzo.
What is the significance of including bread in the offering?
According to Rashi, the reasons one would bring a Korban Todah are the same reasons one should nowadays say Birkat Hagomel (the blessing recited over personal miracles): being saved from the sea, crossing the desert, imprisonment, or a major health decline — all of these are alluded to in Psalms 107.
[A brief aside: Should one recite the blessing when traveling by plane across an ocean? The literalists argue: If you cross the ocean you say the blessing. The realists say the difficult part of the journey is trying to sleep while seated upright in a 1.5 cubic foot area. A plane crash is highly unlikely and physical needs are otherwise met. Surviving a car crash is a bigger personal miracle than stepping off an El-Al flight at Ben Gurion airport — especially if you travel business or first class.]
Following Rashi’s interpretation, it would be appropriate to bring the Korban Todah for events which would cause one to sponsor a Seudat Hoda’ah — (a meal of thanksgiving) for real moments when G-d deliberately intervened to save you.
At such a moment, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explains, “[Chametz] represents man in control of all that is his, with nothing to impede him. He was delivered from some difficulty that had inhibited his step. He emerged from dire straits and attained broad independence. This full independence… has no means of expression more fitting than ten chametz loaves… [Ten] is the quantitative expression of qualitative perfection.”
This is a beautiful concept. But Rabbi Hirsch is well aware that the 10 bread loaves are accompanied by thirty matzos. That is a ratio of three to one, matzo to chametz, an offering the individual is comfortable with, says Hirsch, due to how he understands and perceives his state of well-being.
“What appears as chametz from the standpoint of his position in the world appears to him as ‘matzo’ when he stands before G-d… only by G-d’s grace does he regain chametz — independence. Thus, as he regains worldly independence, his sense of dependence on G-d is renewed and he commits himself anew to dedicate his whole life and all his independent powers to the service of G-d. He brings matzo in the same measures in which he brings chametz, and only this law of matzo opposite chametz makes his offering a todah.” (The thirty matzos had the same amount of flour as the ten loaves of bread according to the list of ingredients from Parshat Emor and Korach and the Talmud Menachot 77-78).
Perhaps the first statement in Mah Nishtana is really a question. “We have all the trimmings of a Seudat Hoda’ah. We should really have matzo and bread. Why only matzo?”
And the answer is that we are celebrating a kind of freedom and independence that is not about our physical survival. “Had G-d not taken us out, we’d still be slaves,” we declare in the Haggadah. But we would have survived!
Chametz and matzo are brought together when we celebrate what might have otherwise been our death. But when we celebrate our complete dependence on G-d on the evening of the exodus from slavery, we are not yet at a point when chametz and matzo can be rejoined. Therefore only matzo has a role in the holiday, until complete independence is established at the splitting of the sea on the last day of the holiday. Only then can chametz be reintroduced to our diets, when we are completely free once the holiday comes to an end.
Parshat Tzav and Pesach
A child looks at the holiday table that always has a plump centerpiece with an ornate cover. The cover is lifted to reveal… three matzos. Bummer. Where is the bread?
The first of the four rhetorical statements in the Mah Nishtanah is, “Tonight we eat only matzo.” One can argue this observation is not motivated simply due to the innocent questions of a child. Rather, there is a real contradiction in that on the evening when we are supposed to be celebrating freedom, we are only eating poor man’s bread. (I think matzo is called poor man’s bread because once you’ve bought matzo made under the strictest conditions, you become a poor man who can’t afford bread anyway.)
Interestingly, there is only one korban (offering) in this week’s parsha that includes a series of breads. Usually the bread used for a korban is matzo. But in chapter 7, we find that the Korban Todah — the thanksgiving offering — includes real bread along with the matzo.
What is the significance of including bread in the offering?
According to Rashi, the reasons one would bring a Korban Todah are the same reasons one should nowadays say Birkat Hagomel (the blessing recited over personal miracles): being saved from the sea, crossing the desert, imprisonment, or a major health decline — all of these are alluded to in Psalms 107.
[A brief aside: Should one recite the blessing when traveling by plane across an ocean? The literalists argue: If you cross the ocean you say the blessing. The realists say the difficult part of the journey is trying to sleep while seated upright in a 1.5 cubic foot area. A plane crash is highly unlikely and physical needs are otherwise met. Surviving a car crash is a bigger personal miracle than stepping off an El-Al flight at Ben Gurion airport — especially if you travel business or first class.]
Following Rashi’s interpretation, it would be appropriate to bring the Korban Todah for events which would cause one to sponsor a Seudat Hoda’ah — (a meal of thanksgiving) for real moments when G-d deliberately intervened to save you.
At such a moment, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explains, “[Chametz] represents man in control of all that is his, with nothing to impede him. He was delivered from some difficulty that had inhibited his step. He emerged from dire straits and attained broad independence. This full independence… has no means of expression more fitting than ten chametz loaves… [Ten] is the quantitative expression of qualitative perfection.”
This is a beautiful concept. But Rabbi Hirsch is well aware that the 10 bread loaves are accompanied by thirty matzos. That is a ratio of three to one, matzo to chametz, an offering the individual is comfortable with, says Hirsch, due to how he understands and perceives his state of well-being.
“What appears as chametz from the standpoint of his position in the world appears to him as ‘matzo’ when he stands before G-d… only by G-d’s grace does he regain chametz — independence. Thus, as he regains worldly independence, his sense of dependence on G-d is renewed and he commits himself anew to dedicate his whole life and all his independent powers to the service of G-d. He brings matzo in the same measures in which he brings chametz, and only this law of matzo opposite chametz makes his offering a todah.” (The thirty matzos had the same amount of flour as the ten loaves of bread according to the list of ingredients from Parshat Emor and Korach and the Talmud Menachot 77-78).
Perhaps the first statement in Mah Nishtana is really a question. “We have all the trimmings of a Seudat Hoda’ah. We should really have matzo and bread. Why only matzo?”
And the answer is that we are celebrating a kind of freedom and independence that is not about our physical survival. “Had G-d not taken us out, we’d still be slaves,” we declare in the Haggadah. But we would have survived!
Chametz and matzo are brought together when we celebrate what might have otherwise been our death. But when we celebrate our complete dependence on G-d on the evening of the exodus from slavery, we are not yet at a point when chametz and matzo can be rejoined. Therefore only matzo has a role in the holiday, until complete independence is established at the splitting of the sea on the last day of the holiday. Only then can chametz be reintroduced to our diets, when we are completely free once the holiday comes to an end.
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