Passover Offerings: Pesach Insights by Ramaz Upper School Faculty by Ramaz School

PASSOVER OFFERINGS

‫מילי דפסחא‬

Pesach Insights by Ramaz Upper School Faculty 2021 ‫תשפ״א‬

This Publication is dedicated in loving memory of Yehuda Leib ben Yisroel Spodek

‫יהודה לייב בן ישראל ספודק‬ And Chaim Yosef ben Ephraim Henoch Turkel

‫חיים יוסף בן אפרים העניך טורקל‬ By The Spodek Family

Table of Contents

Mr. Jonathan Cannon

Pre-Seder Preparation

Dr. Edith Honig

My Fathers Seder

Ms. Miriam Krupka

Magid:Telling the Story

Rabbi Dov Pianko

Ma Nishtana: The Children Ask

Rabbi Kenny Schiowitz

Ms. Tammie Senders

Rabbi Akiva’s Table: Looking Towards the Future

Ms. Miriam Gedwiser

Out of the Narrow Places

Rabbi Ilan Schimmel

The Role of Moses in Our Redemption

Rabbi Aviad Boder

The Four Sons

Rabbi Nuriel Klinger

The Ideal Child: The Tam

Rabbi Eli Stern

My Rebbe’s Teaching

Ms. Gabby Rahimzada

Pesach: How Free Are We?

Rabbi Moshe Stavsky

Why were Bnei Yisrael not Prepared?

Ms. Tamar Benus

Korech Sandwich

Rabbi Haskel Lookstein

L’Shana Haba'ah B'Yerushalayim: WHY US?

11 Avadim Hayinu: The Bad Old Days

Cover Art: The seder scene in a Passover Haggadah, with German translation p. 42. (copied by Eliezer Sussman Mezeritsch, decorated by Charlotte von Rothschild · 1842 ) Zürich, Braginsky Collection, B314, e-codices.ch

Pre-Seder Preparation Mr. Jonathan Cannon

On Erev Passover April 14, 1865 Abraham Lincoln was shot. He died of his wounds on April 15, and worshipers learned of it on their way to synagogue the following morning. How poignant it must’ve been to celebrate the end of slavery that year. We have learned that in many homes that year, the white tablecloths were replaced by black tablecloths and parts of the seder were replaced by liturgy from Yom Kippur and Tisha B’Av. In New York’s oldest synagogue Congregation Shearith Israel, the memorial prayer was said for the first time for a non-Jewish person. The current Rabbi of Shearith Israel, Rabbi Meir Solevechick, writes very powerfully on this event for the Washington Examiner. It is intriguing to note that even though the Seder (order) of the service remained the same, the content and style adjusted itself to a unique set of circumstances. Similarly, last year, much was written about Seder during Covid and many guidelines were developed both Halachically and educationally that framed Leil haSeder in a very different way. These examples serve as a reminder that we can keep the core components and direction of the Haggadah while also structuring an experience that can make the evening compelling and memorable for something other than just the food! In that context, the question that I am frequently asked is. “Given that Seder night is supposed to be about educating the children, why is it so boring?” The best answer I can give is that like any lesson that we teach as educators, clarity as to the goals, make up of the class and variety of methodologies will create success. Like for any curriculum, while the content may be predetermined, the way in which the Seder is planned and executed is key. The Seder is not an easy lesson to plan. The ages of participants range from one to over 100 years old; opinions are different; tunes are varied; customs differ and every participant believes in the absolute rightness of their approach. (A bit like my life as head of school really!). I would like to share with you some educational suggestions that might help engage a broad community of learners.

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Have a goal and articulate it- although you want to incorporate participation from everybody, it is good to be clear as to some of the key emphases that have driven your preparation. Are you primarily focusing on the youngest members of the family in which case there will be a lot of Q&A and fun activities based around knowledge recall? Are you trying to re-create the Seder that your grandfather and grandmother hosted? Are you primarily focused on content? Are you more committed to discussion? Likely, it is some combination of all of the above and therefore it is good to explain that rationale.

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Participation- as with any education experience, there is an absolute relationship between participation, experience and memory. As Benjamin Franklin famously said, “Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn.” This thinking has been applied to the Haggadah by Rabbi Dr. Ari Berman who is both a leading Torah scholar and a Chief Investment Officer. The literal meaning of Hagaddah is,“telling” which is the least effective form of educating per Benjamin Franklin. However, Rabbi Berman teaches that haggadah relates an event that happened in the past, and “draws” it into the present by demonstrating its relevance to today. He arrives at this by comparing the Hagaddah of Pesach to hagadat eidut,”(witness testimony.) In the same way that a witness speaks to events in the past in such a way that they become relevant to a current situation, so too, the commandment of vehigadata  requires us to recount the story of the Exodus, in a way that creates relevance for today. In other words, “involve me and I will learn.” Some suggestions as to how to accomplish this include:

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Asking participants to prepare contributions in advance that require them to do their own research and share, obviously based on developmental appropriateness.

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For younger children, preparing puzzles/challenges that are immersive can make a big difference. The Escape Room challenges are everywhere and re-creating the Exodus as an escape room with clues drawn from Maggid can be both fun and educational.

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Asking some of our more elderly family to recount their own Seder experience by preparing it ahead of time can be very impactful especially if they bring old haggadot and other examples of items from the Seder.

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Anything that involves manipulatives can be fun for different ages. Kids enjoy the, ”10 plague packs.” Kids of all ages enjoy the game whereby a bag is filled with random household objects. Parts of Maggid are recited as a narrative and the person telling the story has to pull one of the objects out of the bag and include it in the story. (A stuffed giraffe showing up in the middle of the crossing of the Red Sea can certainly add to the atmosphere.)

Location - I will finish with one that was suggested by our synagogue’s senior rabbi, Rabbi, Nissan Antine. He suggested, and I’m sure others have as well, beginning the Seder in the lounge/sitting room and having it decked out as a tent or palace and then moving into the dining area for the meal. On a very practical basis, this changes the atmosphere from the sense that everybody is already around the dining room table and ready-to-eat from the moment kiddush is recited, to an environment that separates the first sections of the Seder from the meal and encourages a focus on freedom versus slavery.

These are just a few suggestions and I suspect that most of you have multiple other ideas that are successful. The most important point that I want to reiterate is that for Seder night to be successful it is like any other educational endeavor needing clarity of goals, advance preparation, varied methodologies, engaging activities and perhaps most importantly, time set aside afterwards (doesn’t have to be the same night!) to evaluate what worked and what didn’t so that we can continuously improve.

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My Father’s Seder Dr. Edith Honig

As Pesach approaches, I would like to share with you something that is purely personal, but something that is very precious to me, and that perhaps you may find inspiring, as well—my father’s Seder. As soon as I married, I had to make Pesach and hold a Seder for my in-laws, so I was not able to attend my father’s Seder. It is difficult to capture in words the spirit of a Seder I have vainly attempted to recreate in my own home for many years now, but even the effort has value. The Seder was by no means a grand affair. The major participants were the members of my immediate family, with the addition of a few guests—one or two of the children’s school friends, perhaps a member or two of my father’s congregation. Emphasis on the word participants. There were no spectators at my father’s Seder. He simply would not allow it. Each of his six children was or would be a product of Yeshiva University, so each of us knew quite well how to read the Haggadah and how to perform each custom, as well as the reasons and symbolism behind each custom. As luck and heredity would have it, not only had we learned the tunes (in numerous variations) for the Haggadah songs, but we all sang quite well. My mother brought to the Seder her own warm soprano and her wonderful cooking ability. Clearly, fostered and nurtured by my parents, all the elements for a successful Seder were there. But it was my father who brought these elements together and made of them one, harmonious whole. Tall, handsome, and resplendent in his white kittel and white, satin kippah, leaning slightly on the pillow I would raid my bedroom for, from his seat at the head of the table he orchestrated the entire show. His Kiddush set the tone—as accomplished as any chazan’s, but without the ear-splitting volume and the pomposity. Then the Seder really began. Karpas. It was not enough to utter the brachah and crunch our celery in silence. “Why do we have karpas?” my father would ask, “and what vegetables may be used for karpas?” And so it went. At each stage of the Seder, my father would announce, do, and discuss, always putting us on the spot with his questions. We knew that we had to come to his table prepared with new answers, new questions. And we did. At Maggid, each child sang the Four Questions in turn, from the youngest to the oldest. Each one of us would try to outdo the other: One sang in Yiddish, one sang a new tune, one sang at breakneck speed. And each of us applauded the others’ efforts. Then my father, his eyes shining with pride, would say, “You asked me a question, children. Now I am going to tell you the answer. Avadim hayinu . . . .” We stopped often during that answer, posing many more than four questions, discussing other fours—four sons, four cups of wine—and many other points. At last it was time for the Passover meal—homemade gefilte fish, golden chicken soup with the Passover noodles my mother had spent hours expertly preparing, chicken fried or fricasseed—never roasted on Passover night—and a thousand other goodies, ending with one of Mother’s home-baked Passover cakes. By this time, we were all a little rosy with the glow of the Passover wine, and it was time to parade our other talents. My brothers did their imitations, juggled, and told jokes until our sides were splitting. And the one who laughed loudest, laughed until the tears, came, and sometimes had to leave the room, was Father. It was an easy transition from this festive meal to the songs that close the Seder. We sang them all in harmony, with solos for the verses and the choruses in unison. It was beautiful—each one of us singing loudly and happily, with Father assigning the parts, of course. Not a word of the Haggadah was ever skipped, but the Seder certainly never felt long to us. We were thrilled to repeat it the next night and fueled by its enthusiasm for another Jewish year until Pesach would come around again. Now that I am no longer a part of that Seder, I can only keep striving to make my home the joyously Jewish place my parents created—at Pesach and every day. I wish you the same.

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Magid: Telling the Story Ms. Miriam Krupka

It is inherent to our culture and age that libraries are quiet places. But in fact, libraries in the Middle Ages were very vocal places in which sound wasn’t a distraction - sound was part of the experience of being around manuscripts. This was because books and texts were so rare that often whole communities or groups of people only had access to one text, so when that text was read and discussed, it had to happen in a public setting. There was no such thing as silent reading or a private relationship with text. Texts and their analyses were public and communal. In fact, it is as late as mid-fifteenth century in Oxford, that a regulation is first introduced that libraries were to be silent places. As manuscripts and printed works abounded, silent reading, or the individual, private relationship with the written word was created. (Interesting note: Some scholars point to the fact that the ability to read on one’s own and create a private relationship with the text is what motivated the start of many heretical ideas. When you have the ability to read on your own and craft your own thoughts and mull over them on your own, you’re more apt to develop your own ideas and not be influenced by communal or leadership groupthink in discussion.) Of course, there are also many wonderful things about being able to think on your own. And in truth, Jewish tradition has always emphasized that these two must go together. We believe in open, vocal, communal discourse (torah sh be’al peh) as well as thoughtful reading and interaction with a text that doesn’t require a group (the existence of a written Torah as well). The Talmud is a text that can be studied on one’s own, and yet, the text itself is a dialogue; it consists of people talking to each other which stresses the importance of communal discourse. Indeed, we’ve always had a dynamic tradition of dialogue and personal connection to text. We see this most strongly in what goes on at the seder on Pesach night. The word haggada (lehagid) means “to tell” and is etymologically related to the word “neged” (across from). It connotes two people sitting across from each other and engaging each other in conversation. Sure, you can sit in a room with the text and read it quietly, but instead we all come together and discuss it communally. R’ Yitzchak Hutner, twentieth century Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Chaim Berlin and author of the well-known Pachad Yitzchak, plays on the word “lechem oni”, a description of matzah as “poor man’s bread” (oni) or “bread of affliction”(aniyah), and gives it a third definition; “la’anot” (to answer) - or “bread of response”. We are obligated to ‘talk’ to and about the bread, respond to it, be in a room and talk about it and not just eat it and understand its symbolism on our own. That’s what we do on the seder night; we get together and share a communal, vocal experience of discourse. This is what the Maharal means when he breaks down the word “Pesach” to the two words “peh sach”, a night of sach, discussion, with one’s ability to use discourse and language (peh = mouth). One final valuable aspect of oral, communal, reading is mentioned by Aviva Zornberg in her analysis of the Book of Exodus, The Particulars of Rapture. She describes it beautifully as follows: “Language is the very means by which the imprisoned heart gains freedom. Like the psychoanalytic model, speaking of many things one comes, by indirection, at the core.” This is a very modern idea of psychoanalysis; one talks and talks and talks about an experience and the speech itself is the cathartic road to freedom. It allows you to encounter your experience in a way that you could never do if you just sat in a room and quietly read or thought about it.

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In the last year, the nature and meaning of ‘community’ has shifted drastically. The conversation, the talking, the discussion - those are what has driven our ‘closeness’ when physical proximity and ritual closeness have been limited. The idea of “Talking” as a cathartic road to togetherness rings more true than ever. Here at Ramaz, the focus on community, on talking things through together, through whatever medium we have, is what the oral tradition of Pesach and the seder is all about. It is an idea that historically, psychologically, communally and religiously is quite powerful and meaningful. Thankfully, we’ve gotten lots of physical together time too and we will hopefully see a return to full community, everyone together in the building, soon! Chag Sameach!

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Ma Nishtana: The Children Ask Rabbi Dov Pianko

Children are an integral part of the Seder. There is a tremendous focus on them, and specifically within the realm of questions. However, as much as we want to pass on to the next generation, and teach them, I think an integral part of the Seder, is to also learn from them. On Seder night we strive to feel as if we are leaving Mitzraim, and I think to do so, we want to find our inner child. There are aspects of youth which are beloved by God, which we had when we left Mitzraim. One of our goals should be to tap into that potential we have within. What are the traits of youth which we want to bring out? First, is the desire to ask questions. Children are not afraid to ask. They know they aren’t expected to know much. However, as we get older, we are not as prone to continue to ask. This is typically because many often discourage questioning. However, when we stop questioning, we tend to lose interest. We don’t become bored because there aren’t any questions; we become bored because we stopped asking. We should never discourage anyone, especially children, from asking, and we should look to reinvigorate ourselves to question. In June 2010, Newsweek published a story called "The Creativity Crisis", addressing signs of declining creativity among school children. “Preschool children, on average, ask their parents about 100 questions a day. Why, why, why— sometimes parents just wish it’d stop. Tragically, it does stop. By middle school they’ve pretty much stopped asking. It’s no coincidence that this same time is when student motivation and engagement plummet. They didn’t stop asking questions because they lost interest: it’s the other way around. They lost interest because they stopped asking questions.” Richard Saul Wurman (creator of TED conference/talks) has spoken extensively about the topic of curiosity within children and adults. He writes, “In school, we’re rewarded for having the answer, not for asking a good question,” which may explain why kids—who start off asking endless “why” and “what if” questions—gradually ask fewer and fewer of them as they progress through grade school.” Dr. Erica Brown in her book Spiritual Boredom writes about the issue of boredom in our personal lives, the community, and other aspects of religious life. In her chapter on Jewish Education, she writes, “Boredom occurs when we run out of questions because it demonstrates that we have run out of interest. Combating boredom in the Jewish classroom, or any classroom for that matter, is ultimately about the stimulation of questions. Returning to the Seder table, that ancient classroom of Jewish history, we find that Maimonides encouraged us to place objects, educational props, on the table and to use the complexity of the Haggadah “to make the children ask.” The purpose of Passover is not to tell our children the story of Jewish peoplehood; it is to make the evening interesting enough for them to ask questions. Telling especially repeated telling, leads to a flat story with a dull landscape. Asking leads to exploration, further questioning, engagement, creativity. Boredom will only leave the classroom when we have done a good enough job of making “the children ask.”

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Although questioning is good, and keeps us involved, we can never let our questions (which can lead to doubts) stifle our growth. Just because we don’t have answers doesn’t mean we shouldn’t perform our obligations or deny our fundamental principles. This is another way in which we can learn from children. They ask a lot of questions, but they still do what they need to do (even if they argue the whole time before and after). This can be called Emuna Peshuta- simple faith, which despite its terminology, is not simple. Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler writes: "Why if there are no children must we still conduct our Seder in a pedagogical manner? Why say the Mah Nishtanah and not just delve into the story? Why must accomplished Talmidei Chachomim and even Gedolei HaDor who hold a Seder amongst themselves perform the Seder in this childish manner? Why must we ask ourselves the Mah Nishtanah if we are making a Seder alone? Seder night is not simply an intellectual exercise. Seder night is meant to internalize the emunah that we learn from Yetzias Mitzrayim. The lessons must be taken to heart and change the way we lead our lives and navigate the world through the prism of emunah." (Michtav MeiEliyahu 4:249) When we accepted the Torah we said (Shemot 24:7) - naaseh venishma - we will do, and we will listen. We agreed to do everything even without understanding why. That has to be our foundational and continual attitude. Not understanding the complexities, the morality, or the philosophy of the world or Judaism, does not give us the right not to perform our obligations. How can we just act if there is not a complete understanding? Without a complete understanding and while possessing doubts, can we find meaning in what we do? The Sefer Hachinuch (Mitzvah 16) provides a simple yet powerful lesson for us to create true meaning in what we do, and it starts with us, “A person behaves according to his behaviors. His heart and all his thoughts are determined by his actions--whether for good or for bad. Even if a person is completely wicked in his heart and all his thoughts are purely evil all the time, if he were to awaken his spirit and make a consistent effort towards Torah and Mitzvot, even not for the sake of Heaven, immediately he will lean towards goodness; and through the strength of his actions he will defeat the evil inclination. For, after the actions the heart will follow - Acharei Hapeulot Nimshachim Halevavot. So, through our good behaviors we become good people.” We have to take the first steps ourselves toward a meaningful life. Sometimes we have to just do what we need to do, and the meaning, the understanding, the heart follows. Pesach is a time where we want to find our inner child. Children, more often than not are acting with passion and meaning. Their questions and beliefs are often perceptive, simple and true. And as much as they can learn from us at the Seder, we have a lot we can learn from them. When we shift our focus at the Seder, to “get the children to ask” we should pay attention to what they ask, say, and think, and not lose sight of the fact that we can be children at heart. May we be able this Pesach, to teach our children, learn from our children, and reinforce our own foundations in Torah and faith in God.

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Avadim Hayinu: The Bad Old Days Rabbi Kenny Schiowitz

The Hagadah retells the greatest and most miraculous story of Jewish history, but begins with our very humble beginning as slaves. The Magid is designed this way, not only to provide context for the redemption, but because the slavery itself is a critically important story that informs our identity. Our centuries of servitude were foretold to Avraham (Bereishit 15:13), though no one was ever told why this had to be. It is unlikely that it was a punishment for a national sin, since it was told to Avraham before the birth of the nation. Why was this experience necessary and why is its memory etched into our national memory and identity? The emphasis on this memory suggests that we endured it in order to create the memory and the consciousness. We are required to remember this experience every day of our lives (Devarim 16:3) and to relive it once a year at the Pesach Seder (Shmot 13:8). We therefore mention the exodus every morning and night at the end of the Shma. Similarly, we are reminded that we were “strangers in the Land of Egypt’’ multiple times in the Torah (such as Shmot 22:20 and Devarim 10:19), often to justify our responsibility to the strangers that live among us. It is possible that the purpose for this national experience was to create a national memory and a shared sensitivity towards the “other” who is a “stranger” in any environment. Our nation became chosen for a unique destiny and a particular mission. This would elevate us and make the Jewish People unique. The prerequisite for chosenness was to experience the discomfort of being a stranger in a foreign land, powerless and subject to the whims of another ruler who enslaved us. We cannot become the “insiders” until we know the feeling of the “outsiders”. We needed to experience it and then harp on its memory every single day of our lives in order to ensure that we will maintain our sensitivity to the outsiders that we will encounter. The Rambam begins his codification of the laws of Kriat Shma by blending the mitzva to recite Shma with the mitzva to remember Egypt. This is surprising as they would seem to be two different and unrelated obligations. Nevertheless, Rambam formulated the obligation to remember the exodus as a component of the Shma, within its third paragraph. It is possible that the lesson of the Rambam is that Shma, the primary proclamation of our unique theological belief in Hashem and our particular relationship to Him, must be coupled with our national memory of our subjugation. It is precisely at this moment that we must remember that we were not always in the “inner circle” and we will always remain sensitive to the challenges of the outsiders among us and around us. This synthesis is evident in another teaching of Chazal. The Talmud requires prayer (Shmone Esrei) to be immediately preceded by the blessing of the redemption from Egypt (Gaal Yisrael). This is not merely a requirement, but the Talmud suggests that one who accomplishes this merits the World to Come. Many commentators question why it is that this simple juxtaposition is so extraordinarily rewarded. Perhaps this too points to the same principle. Our prayers begin by highlighting our privileged status, as descendants of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov. We expect that this legacy will entitle us to an audience with God in order to present our requests. It is immediately before we refer to this privilege that we must remember what it is like to be an outsider, whose God (seemingly) left us as slaves in a foreign land for centuries.

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Pesach is a celebration of the happy ending. We appreciate our miraculous redemption and we cherish our freedom. We are fortunate that the freedom brought us to Har Sinai where we were gifted the treasure of the Torah and its moral and religious responsibilities. Though that would have been “enough”, we were then showered with the blessing of Eretz Yisrael to establish a homeland. We celebrate, appreciate, and thank Hashem for all of these gifts. However, in addition, we also retell and relive our humble beginning to inform our sensitivities to others. Whether it is a new-comer to our class, a newcomer to our religion or to anyone in society who feels vulnerable, we must feel an instinctive empathy for them, and appreciate their profound challenges. This sensitivity always precedes and informs the celebration of our chosenness.

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Rabbi Akiva’s Table: Looking Towards the Future Ms. Tammie Senders

‫ְר ִּבי ַט ְרפֹון‬ ַ ‫יבא ו‬ ָ ‫ֲק‬ ִ ‫ְר ִּבי ע‬ ַ ‫ַריָה ו‬ ְ ‫ְר ִּבי ֶא ְל ָעזָר ֶּבן־ ֲעז‬ ַ ‫ְהֹוש ַע ו‬ ֻׁ ‫ְר ִּבי י‬ ַ ‫יעזֶר ו‬ ֶ ‫ׂה ְּב ַר ִּבי ֱא ִל‬ ‫ֲש‬ ֶ ‫ַמע‬ ‫ ַעד ֶׁש ָּבאּו‬,‫ְלה‬ ָ ‫יאת ִמ ְצ ַריִם ָּכל־אֹותֹו ַה ַּלי‬ ַ ‫יצ‬ ִ ‫ְהיּו ְמ ַס ְּפ ִרים ִּב‬ ָ ‫ֵי־ב ַרק ו‬ ְ ‫ֶׁש ָהיּו ְמ ֻס ִּבין ִּב ְבנ‬ ‫יאת ְׁש ַמע ֶׁשל ַׁש ֲח ִרית‬ ַ ‫יע זְ ַמן ְק ִר‬ ַ ‫ּבֹותינּו ִה ִּג‬ ֵ ‫ְא ְמרּו ָל ֶהם ַר‬ ָ ‫ֵיהם ו‬ ֶ ‫ַת ְל ִמיד‬ It happened once [on Pesach] that Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Yehoshua, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Tarfon were reclining in Bnei Brak and were telling the story of the exodus from Egypt that whole night, until their students came and said to them, “The time of [reciting] the morning Shema has arrived.” The central section of maggid at the Pesach seder opens with a most curious story about five rabbis who were celebrating a historical Pesach seder together. The story is strange for a number of reasons. To begin with, maggid is supposed to mark the point in the seder where we retell the story of our exodus from Egypt - that is the entire point of the evening! Why begin the storytelling with a story about the storytelling, instead of the actual story itself? Moreover, it is actually quite improbable that this event even happened. These rabbis (Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Yehoshua, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, Rabbi Akiva, and Rabbi Tarfon) all lived in different geographical locations, they represented two generations of teachers and students, and it is highly unlikely that the teachers (Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshua) were the ones who came to dine at the home of one of their students (Rabbi Akiva, who lived in Bnei Brak). Finally, even if one were to say that this story is a proper introduction to the evening, and that it is historically possible, what is the significance of these five figures being invited to this one seder? Is it a random list, or is there something intentional about the bringing together of each of these personalities? According to Rabbi Kenneth Brander of Ohr Torah Stone, and Rabbi Yosef Zvi Rimon of Yeshivat Har Etzion, when one looks closer at the characters, one comes to realize that in fact, it is their relationship with Rabbi Akiva, the host of the evening, that comes to teach us a very important message not only specifically about Pesach, but about our general perspective as the Jewish people. Let us start with Rabbi Tarfon. In the Talmud in Mesechet Pesachim (116b), there is a subargument between Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Tarfon regarding what parts of Hallel we bless at the seder: the pre-meal experience, the post-meal experience, or both. The pre-meal experience focuses on the past redemption and the Egyptian saga. The post-meal experience is no longer about the Egyptian experience, but the future redemption. Rabbi Tarfon says: one should only make a bracha on the first part since we should only focus on the past! Rabbi Akiva says no - we say the blessing on both parts of the meal since we must focus on the future as well as the past. As Rabbi Akiva teaches Rabbi Tarfon, and as we ourselves follow in our common practice today: a Jew needs to focus on the future, not just the past! Rabbi Tarfon is invited to Rabbi Akiva’s table in Bnei Brak to learn about this more optimistic approach.

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Next comes Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah and Rabbi Yehoshua. In the Talmud in Mesechet Makkot (24b), we are told that these rabbis accompanied Rabbi Akiva on a tour of the Temple Mount after the destruction of the Second Beit HaMikdash. Upon seeing the site of the Beit HaMikdash laid to waste, with foxes strolling upon it, they were filled with despair and hopelessness and started to cry. Rabbi Akiva, strangely, started to laugh. When they asked him how he could possibly laugh at such a horrible sight, he related to them that now that he knew the famous prophecy of Uriah that spoke of destruction had occurred, he also knew that the prophecy of Zechariah, which spoke of redemption and freedom, would come to pass as well. Once again, Rabbi Akiva’s optimistic approach is highlighted. Rabbi Akiva had the power of consolation, he understood that even during a time of Roman oppression, when all seemed dark, it was important to talk about the future redemption and the hope that would prevail. We open the section of maggid with the story of these five rabbis sitting together at Rabbi Akiva’s home in Bnei Brak to remind us of the eternal impact of Rabbi Akiva’s optimism, which is the approach that we Jews need to have as we begin our seder, but also throughout life. Even when discussing dark periods in our history, like slavery in Egypt, or, perhaps more relevant today, the ups and downs of a post-COVID-19 world, we remember that those periods of darkness are never everasting. We do not think only of our past or present sorrows, we look ahead towards the future and the promise of God’s salvation. We do not dwell only on what happened yesterday, we think ahead to the goodness and fruitfulness of tomorrow and all the ways we can hasten its arrival. May all those who are currently suffering be healed, may those who are experiencing darkness be able to see the light, and may the ultimate geulah (salvation) come speedily in our days. Chag Sameach!

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Out of the Narrow Places Ms. Miriam Gedwiser

“In Nissan they were redeemed, and in Nissan they will be redeemed in the future.” Nissan is the month of redemption, past and future (See RH 11a); the month where at the Seder we must each see ourselves as if we left Egypt, according to the Haggadah. To leave Egypt, however, we have to see ourselves as in Egypt. And that task has, for many, become increasingly difficult as we live with communal prosperity and freedom-from-oppression that many of our ancestors could never have imagined. Every year we read about how to truly experience slavery and redemption when our ordinary lives look like neither. One approach sees “Egypt” as not only a specific place, but a more universal experience. Chassidic commentators (see, e.g., Sfas Emes on Pesach, 1870) connect Mitzrayim (Egypt), to metzarim, places of narrowness. Yetziat Mitzraym, leaving Egypt, includes being extricated from a place of narrowness, constriction, or pressure, to a place of openness and space to breathe. In years past I have sought out the “narrow” places in my own life - places of external pressure or psychological distress, and tried to discover what it would mean to be redeemed from them. (In the pre-Pesach rush, I rarely succeed.) But this past year has been different. So many of us experienced an extreme narrowing of our worlds -- staying home, away from school, work, shopping, transit, or all the other places we used to meet people without even realizing we were meeting people. We were left with a stripped-down version of our lives, stripped of normal routines, and of in-person interactions with friends, colleagues, or extended family. For many of us, this is how we spent last Pesach as well. So we can relate to the constriction, the metzarim. How do we relate to the geulah, the opening that is supposed to come after? Comparing last Pesach to this, perhaps many of us are anticipating a return to some level of normalcy, the gradual re-widening of our world as our elders receive vaccines and travel restrictions have eased. Others (like my family) will still be celebrating with only those who live in our own homes, but have less difficulty imagining that freedom from constriction will be here soon. So while in some years we need to turn both our “constriction” and our release into allegories to relate them to our own experience, this year for many it may feel more literal. And yet, perhaps the experiences of the last year can encourage us not to simply return to business as usual when it is safe to do so. Last Pesach, for example, I found that many friends were surprised at how positive and meaningful their nuclear-family-only Pesach sedarim proved to be, without minimizing the great hardship this posed for some others. Is there something to carry with us from the narrowness as well? The Sfas Emes (id) wonders about the question of the chacham, the wise child, who asks: “What is the meaning of the decrees, laws, and rules that the Lord our God has commanded you?” (Devarim 6:20). How can a wise child ask about the reason for a “chok,” a law that is traditionally understood to have no reason we can understand? The Sfas Emes answers that by accepting laws without understanding them, we can actually come to understand a reason, a ta’am. The Pesach food that exemplifies this, he says, is Matza. Matza has no taste (ta’am), we think, but if we isolate it by removing other foods, and eat it, we can experience its ta’am. Eating matza is like accepting a chok, a rule that we do not fully understand. If we do it, fully and wholeheartedly, we will find meaning/taste in it. Perhaps this message of Matza can guide us. If we accept a minimalized existence for what it is, we can find meaning in what remains: the basic building blocks of our lives and our families. Stripped of a lot of pomp and circumstance, we are left with the subtle taste of the matza. The basics are where we find, and make, meaning. PASSOVER OFFERINGS

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The Role of Moses in our Redemption Rabbi Ilan Schimmel

“I remember that when I was a small child, I asked why Moses is not mentioned in the Haggadah, and all the answers my father gave me-which were similar to the explanation I have given here-were futile. Simply, I cried. Finally, my father, in order to placate to me, found the name of Moses in the Haggadah. It is not in the Haggadah proper but in a proof-text: “They believed in the Lord, and in His servant Moses”(Ex. 14:31). This calmed my mind somewhat, but I still felt that we were committing an injustice against Moses.” (Festival of Freedom,159 ) The conspicuous absence of Moses in the Haggadah, as Rabbi Soloveitchik notes in this moving passage is a particularly interesting problem to consider in preparation for the Seder. When we read the Torah’s depiction of the unfolding of the makkot, it is difficult to not be surprised by this fact, given the highly significant role that Moses had in performing the miracles. Could the events have transpired in the same way had another prophet been sent to redeem the Jewish people? Would we have experienced the same disruption of the natural order under the guidance of a different leader? Maimonides in his Guide to the Perplexed (2:35) answers these questions in the negative. Commenting on the last verses in the Torah, Maimonides develops a fascinating thesis that attests to Moses’ irreplaceable role in the exodus: “And there has not arisen since in Israel a prophet like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face, in all the signs and the wonders, which the Lord sent him to do in the land of Egypt to Pharaoh, and to all his servants, and to all his land (Deut. 34:10-11).” Maimonides notes that a close reading of these psukim suggests that the miracles and wonders that were performed in Egypt by Moses were intertwined with the prophecy that he experienced. Only as a result of his intimate relationship with God and unparalleled understanding of His actions is Moses able to perform the miracles that are inscribed in the Torah. The Torah characterizes Moses’ relationship with God as “face to face” and juxtaposes it with the miracles that occurred. The implication is that while there most certainly would have been a yetziat mitzrayim had it been orchestrated by a different prophet, it would have looked different. At first glance, the correlation between the individual prophet and the miracles that he performs is strange. Why should there be any relationship at all? Do we not believe that God is ultimately the source of the miraculous events that occur? Why is a prophet even involved in the performance of miracles? The answer to these questions is important because it reveals something fundamental about the Judaic worldview: the primacy of knowledge and education in transforming people. Miracles can only impact a person on a shallow and superficial level if not accompanied with educational instruction and the imparting of knowledge. Spectacular, awe-inspiring events that are only grasped by the senses, will fail to leave a lasting imprint on the soul. There must be an educational component which frames the experience of the miraculous event, directing man to the religious-ethical meaning that underlies the historical moment. In this regard, the significance of the plagues can be best understood through the messages that were communicated regarding moral responsibility as well as God’s dominion over the natural world. And this is precisely where Moses’ role became so critical. He was the master pedagogue who communicated divine wisdom to the nation, allowing them to perceive a deeper meaning behind the unusual phenomena that they witnessed. He was not imbued with a form of supernatural strength that enabled him to perform the

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miracles. Only God has sovereignty over the natural world that He created. R Soloveitchik emphasizes this point when he depicts Moses in the following manner: What, then, is Moses’ role in Jewish history? Is he completely forgotten and erased? To the contrary, from the time his birth is recounted in parshat Shemot, he is mentioned in every sedrah but one. He was not immortalized as a political hero or a strategist. Moses was immortalized as a teacher. We do not say Moshe Go’alenu, or Moshe Moshi’enu; we say Moshe Rabbenu. Calling him Moshe Go’aleinu, Moses our Redeemer, would be blasphemy. Man cannot usurp God’s attributes power (Festival of Freedom,157). In light of this approach, we can return to our original point regarding the absence of Moses at the Seder and suggest as follows: despite the essential role that Moses had in educating the nation as well as in transforming their religious-philosophical understanding of the world, we should never make the mistake of attributing the redemption itself to Moses. The desire to do so can, at times, be powerful and is certainly dangerous, lest it distort our perception of man’s place in this world. Even the greatest of prophets who was responsible for changing the destiny of the Jewish people was still a human being with physical limitations.

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The Four Sons Rabbi Aviad Bodner

The rabbis included the famous Four Sons midrash in the beginning of the Maggid section of the Haggadah, to remind us that not all children are the same, and every child needs to be taught in a way that he or she will understand and internalize the messages of this night. While traditional images of the Four Sons portray them as four different individuals, in this image, we chose to use one child for all sons, in four different circumstances. This serves as a reminder that while the four sons are models of different types of people, in reality, all of us can be at times wise, wicked, simple or without the ability to ask.

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The Ideal Child: The Tam Rabbi Nuriel Klinger

What does the Tam say? “’What is this?’ (Exodus 13:14)” And you will say to him, “’With the strength of [His]hand did the Lord take us out from Egypt, from the house of slaves’ (Exodus 13:14).’” The third son we meet in the Hagaddah is the Tam. Typically we understand the Tam to be an unintelligent child. The Tam asks simply, “What is this?” and we give the Tam a short answer, presumably, because we want to keep it simple for the simple child. However, I would like to share a different perspective on the Tam based on a derasha given by Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm z”l in March of 1964. Rabbi Yitzchak Arama, a 15th century Rav from Spain analyzed the Tam by looking at verses in Tanach that utilize this word in some form. In Chapter 11 of Proverbs it states, Tumat Yesharim Tanchem v’selef bogdim yeshadem - the integrity of the upright shall guide them but the perverseness of the faithless shall destroy them. Here the word Tumat means integrity, not simple or anything that suggests simplicity.

In addition, Yaakov is described in the Torah as an Ish Tam. Vayigdalu HaNearim, vayehi Esav ish yodeah tzaid, ish sadeh; v’Yaakov ish tam, yoshev ohalim When the boys grew up, Esau became a skillful hunter, a man of the outdoors; but Jacob was a Tam man who stayed in camp.

The context of this description would suggest that Yaakov being an Ish Tam is opposite of Esav being described as a skillful hunter. This seems to be a defining characteristic of Esav and so Tam would seem to be a defining characteristic of Yaakov. The defining character of Yaakov being simple doesn’t quite seem to fit the stories we know of him that follow in the Torah. Rav Yitzchak Arama seems to suggest that Tam means wholesome. Yaakov was a wholesome person. Rabbi Lamm claimed that the Tam may, in fact, be as wise if not wiser than the Chacham. However, the defining characteristic of the Tam is not wisdom. The Tam values wisdom but as Rabbi Lamm put it, “Religion cannot be grasped only by reading and debating, although that is necessary for any intelligent person. Religion must be tasted and tried.” The Tam is looking for something more. He is looking to discover how the Exodus story affects him and why this is meaningful. The Tam is looking to get beyond the intellectual realm to have a full experience, a wholesome experience. This can be further understood by analyzing a story about Yaakov where he himself asks the question of Mah Zot. After Yaakov is fooled by Lavan and he marries Leah instead of Rachel he confronts Lavan and says Mah Zot Asita Li, What is this that you have done to me? Yaakov fully understands what has happened to him but Yaakov seeks to understand the rationale behind Lavan’s actions. He seeks to understand the depths of the Lavan’s personality that led to this trickery. Similarly, the Tam’s question isn’t merely “what’s going on and what are we doing here”. The Tam is aware of all the laws about Korban Pesach, Matzah, four cups of wine etc. He knows all the ins and outs of how to properly fulfill the mitzvot as described by the Gemara and Shulchan Aruch. The Tam is seeking something more than just how to do the mitzvah. Just like Yaakov was seeking to understand the rationale behind Lavan’s actions, the Tam is seeking to understand more about these rituals of Pesach than PASSOVER OFFERINGS

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what is on the surface. He seeks to understand how this all affects him and what it means in his life. Perhaps we might even suggest that the Tam’s question is what the Chacham, this wise child, will ultimately ask with more maturity. It is not really enough to have a wholesome Torah experience where one only focuses on how to fulfill the laws. We must seek to find spirituality and a deeper connection to God in all of the laws if we are to have a wholesome Torah experience. That is not definable and is not quantifiable like a law but it is vitally important to our experience as Torah observant Jews. The seder has so many halachot, measurements and details that are necessary to fulfill all the mitzvot of the night. This is one aspect of passing on our sacred traditions to our children on Seder night. However, it is also a night that we spend with families and it is very experiential. We tell it as a story, use props, we sing songs and kids are cued to ask questions. This is equally important to our spiritual wellbeing as the details of each halacha. On Seder night we aim to pass on a certain feeling that is not quantifiable or measurable to our children and grandchildren. We want to share an experience with them in which we feel God’s hand. Perhaps this is exactly the answer we give to the Tam, b’chozek yad hotzianu Hashem mi’mitzrayim mi’beit avadim, that with the strength of His hand God took us out of Egypt. We teach our child looking for a wholesome and meaningful experience that we must always try to feel the chozek yad, the mighty hand of God in our lives. Let us not underestimate the wisdom and ways of the Tam. Everyone is different and what helps each of us feel God’s hand in our lives will be different, but let us emulate the Tam in our lives and constantly ask ourselves Mah Zot as we seek to deepen our connection to our Torah, our traditions and to God.

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My Rebbe’s Teaching Rabbi Eli Stern

Rav Yaakov Perlow, the “Novominsker Rebbe” z"l passed away from Covid on the 13th of Nissan 5780. His loss was felt by the entire Klal Yisroel. The Rebbe was not only an eloquent speaker and a leader of Klal Yisrael, but he was also a listening heart, a shoulder to cry on and a source of Torah guidance. He offered his time and wisdom to everyone who developed a relationship with him. My personal connection to the Rebbe goes back more than 50 years. He signed my Semicha and on a personal note he was our Shadchan. I retained my relationship and regularly attended his lectures in Washington Heights. I would like to share one of his insights that was recently published in “The Novominsk Haggadah” (Artscroll, 2021). In the Magid section, Raban Gamliel taught that our obligation is not fulfilled unless we speak of the Pesach, Matza and Maror. Meaning, it is not sufficient to just eat them, but they must be discussed. One must explain the purpose of these mitzvot. We rarely encounter an obligation to verbalize the reason for performing mitzvot; most obligations are framed by required actions. Why are these different? Rav Perlow explained that the essence of Seder night is hakarat hatov, our expression of appreciation to Hashem for the kindness that He bestowed upon us by taking us out of the bitter exile of Egypt. This expression cannot be left to the imagination; it must be expressed verbally. In a similar manner when the Jewish farmer brought his first fruits (bikurim), to the Bais Hamikdash, he also had to read a declaration where he uttered his gratitude to Hashem. In conclusion, symbolic actions are not sufficient for gratitude; appreciation and thanks must be articulated.

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Pesach: How Free Are We? Ms. Gabby Rahimzada

I always wondered about the following statement that we read in the maggid section of the haggadah on Pesach night: “Bekhol Dor V’Dor Chayav Adam Lirot Keilu Hu Yatza MiMitzrayim.” (In every generation, a person must view himself as if he personally experienced the slavery in Egypt and was redeemed.) One can only attempt to understand and internalize the oppression and subsequent redemption by reading the story of Exodus and going through the motions at the seder. The obligation to internalize it to a point where one is supposed to feel and see himself as if he were actually there seems like a tall order that I never thought I could actually fulfill. How can Chazal expect us to achieve this duty without having any real sense of what the exile and redemption was? Rav Dessler (Michtav Me’eliyahu) and Rav Soloveitchik suggested that there was a dual redemption: freedom from the treacherous physical slavery, as well as a redemption from an equally opressive spiritual slavery, a slavery of the soul. Rav Soloveitchik read this into the words of the pasuk: “Ve’ered lehatzilo miyad mitzrayim uleha’aloto min ha’aretz hahu el eretz tova urechava…(And I will go down to save them from the hands of the Egyptians and bring them up from the land into the good land...”, Shemot 3:8). The double language alludes to this dual redemption: The physical freedom is referred to in the words describing our exodus from Eretz Mitzrayim into the promised land; Eretz Yisrael. However, the reference to our freedom from the “hands of the Egyptians’’ includes the Egyptian culture and all that it represented: their culture, ideas, philosophy, and their way of life. Hashem here is expressing to Moshe that his mission will assume the role of both a political leader and the Rebbe of the Jewish people. The redemption will require him to not only lead them out of the physical land, but to inspire the people and lift them from their faulty philosophy with hopes of becoming a “mamlechet kohanim ve’goi kadosh - a kingdom of priests and holy nation” (Shemot 19:6). Slavery can take on many forms. When it becomes a way of life, the slave loses sight of his own servitude. We are people who often become slaves to our desires. Each day we are faced with many forces that pull on our body and cloud us from recognizing the desires of our soul. When a person loses sight of what is truly meaningful, he no longer experiences true freedom. Rav Dessler continues that Pesach, also known as “zeman cheruteinu”, is not only a commemoration or celebration of a historical event. More importantly, it’s a spiritually auspicious and opportune time to fight for the freedom of our souls. This idea can be reflected in the requirement that each Jew has leading up to Pesach to rid his home of all chametz. Rav Papo writes in the Pele Yoetz that the proper intentions we should have when removing chametz from our homes is that we aim to remove all of the impurities and evil inclinations in our hearts. He continues that the more one introspects to free oneself of those influences, the more praiseworthy. The essence of idolatry is attributing importance to something insignificant that has no independent existence. This idea is symbolized by chametz, which in effect is ‘inflated matzah’. There is a story said of Rabbi Aryeh Levin, a great tzaddik of the 19th century. “Reb Aryeh Levin was known for his compassion and concern for every Jew. his kind words and easy smile engaged all who saw him. In the 1940’s, when the Jews were imprisoned by the British authorities who ruled Palestine, Reb Aryeh was one of the rare individuals who had permission to visit them. The prisoners loved and revered him.

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One Chol HaMoed Pesach, Reb Aryeh visited the prisoners. “How was your seder?” he asked, genuinely interested in their welfare. One of the prisoners smiled and quipped, “Everything was fine, we were able to fulfill all the Halachic requirements of the Seder except one. When we came to: ‘Pour out Your anger on the nations that do not want to know You’, they wouldn’t let us open the door!” (Customarily Jews open the front door of their home prior to reciting this part of the Haggadah as an affirmation of trust in God’s protection on the first night of Pesach.) Reb Aryeh returned the inmate’s smile and said, “You are mistaken. You do have the key to freedom - they key to your heart, which can give you spiritual freedom.” He continued, “We are prisoners in our own bodies, but we can be freed on the bondage of our materialistic desires. By opening our hearts and allowing ourselves to gain control, we become truly free.” With this we can understand our obligation on Pesach night to view ourselves as if we experienced the Exodus. Each one of us experiences slavery and confinement of the soul. Pesach is our opportunity to recognize what it is that weighs us down, and to unearth those burdens, in hopes of living more meaningful and purposeful lives.

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Why were Bnei Yisrael not Prepared? Rabbi Moshe Stavsky

After Bnei Yisrael leave Egypt, we discover that they seemingly neglected to bring along adequate food provisions for themselves. We read: “They baked the dough which they took out of Egypt into matzah cakes, for it was not leavened, for they were driven out of Egypt and they could not tarry, and also provisions they did not prepare for themselves” (Shemot 12:39). Not only did they not leave enough time for the dough to rise, we are told that they did not even prepare other food to take along. This is shocking! Why were Bnei Yisrael not prepared? There are a number of psukim that prove that they knew in advance that they were leaving. Immediately prior to Makkat Bechorot, Hashem tells Moshe to direct Bnei Yisrael to ask their Egyptian neighbors for silver and gold items. The unambiguous reason given is that the impending final plague will cause the Egyptians to drive them out of Egypt and they need to start packing (11:1-2). In addition, we are told Bnei Yisrael packed weapons for the journey and future military conflict (13:18) and the women took drums for anticipated celebration (15:20; see Rashi). Finally, Hashem explicitly commands the nation to eat the Korban Pesach that night with their loins girded, shoes on their feet and staff in hand and that they should consume the Korban Pesach in haste (12:11). True, Bnei Yisrael were instructed to not leave their homes that evening. However, these directions convey the impression that this would be the final evening in Egypt. We are, therefore, perplexed: if Bnei Yisrael knew they were leaving and presumably started packing, why did they not prepare food and why did they not bake the bread earlier? There is another surprising twist in this historic moment. Remarkably, the matzah which Bnei Yisrael ended up baking in haste, due to a lack of preparation, becomes one of the most prominent and symbolically laden foods Hashem commands us to eat on Pesach. Why should this be? At best, the matzah seems incidental to the story; at worst, it reflects a seeming lack of faith in and preparation for redemption. Yet, matzah remains today a primary mitzvah of the night of the Seder! In fact, according to Rabban Gamliel (recited in the Hagaddah), if one does not articulate the connection between eating matzah and its place in the Exodus narrative, one has not completely fulfilled the mitzvah of either eating matzah (according to Ramban) or of retelling the story of the exodus (according to Rambam). This all begs the question: what was running through the minds of Bnei Yisrael at this moment? Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch (in his commentary to 12:39) amazingly suggests that Bnei Yisrael were caught off guard. They knew they would leave the day after Makkat Bechorot and eating the Korban Pesach, but they had no idea Pharaoh and the Egyptians would start driving them out already at night. They expected to spend at least part of the next day preparing food provisions for the journey. But, alas, “they were driven out of Egypt” (12:39). Indeed, one chapter later, we read: “And it was when Pharaoh sent the nation out” (13:17). Bnei Yisrael did not leave on their own accord, at their own set time. As Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah comments (Brachot 9a), the haste the night prior to Yetziat Mitzrayim (referred to in 12:11) emanated from the Egyptians, who feverishly endeavored to get rid of Bnei Yisrael. They did not leave on our own terms and, therefore, they were not totally prepared. Hashem deliberately orchestrated the moment of redemption in such a way to make it crystal clear that Yetziat Mitzrayim was His action alone. “And I (Hashem) will take you out” (6:6). Bnei Yisrael did not just muster the courage, wait to grow in strength and numbers and devise a strategy to escape

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Egyptian bondage after many years of oppressive slavery. They were almost fully passive. Hashem inflicted the plagues upon the Egyptians without their involvement and ultimately took them out in a way which surprised them. If it were up to them, they would have wanted to bake bread and pack some food the day after eating the Korban Pesach! The Rambam begins his Haggadah with the words, “Biv’hilu yatzanu mi’mitzrayim,” In haste we left Egypt. From the very start of the Seder night, we recognize that Hashem surprised us – we were rushed out – and He exclusively effected our Exodus by way of all the events leading up to our departure from Egypt. Matzah is, therefore, not incidental at all. It is central to the story because it highlights the haste with which we left Egypt and crystalizes the enduring truth that Yetziat Mitzrayim was the work of Hashem alone.

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Korech Sandwich Ms. Tamar Benus

This is to remember the practice of Hillel from the time of the Beit HaMikdash: He would fold the matza and maror together to fulfill the verse “upon matza and maror you should eat it (the Korban Pesach).” One of the more obscure moments of the seder is where we repeat the custom of Hillel the Elder, who would place the pesach offering with matzah and maror and eat it as a sandwich. This was his interpretation, literally fulfilling the verse “it shall be eaten on matzot and maror”. The Rabbis debate about how to properly fulfil this commandment. Why did Hillel combine these mitzvot together? In order to potentially understand the perspective of Hillel the Elder it is imperative to understand the symbolism behind both matzah & maror. Matzah is the symbol of freedom. According to Rav Abraham Isaac Kook “Freedom does not mean sitting idle and unoccupied. True freedom means the opportunity to grow and develop according to one’s inner nature and natural gifts, without interference or coercion from outside influences. This freedom is symbolized by matzah, a simple food consisting solely of flour and water, unaffected by other ingredients and chemical processes’’. Maror, on the other, hand symbolizes servitude. The bitter herb is supposed to parallel the bitterness of the slavery the Israelities suffered through. Ms. Leah Rosenthal, Israeli Talmudic scholar and a beloved teacher of mine, describes Hillel as being most known for qualities of tolerance, and pursuit of peace/ justice. Rosenthal states “The quality of being a rodef shalom (pursuer of peace) requires the ability to recognize the value of different perspectives and the skill of unifying conflicting truths into a harmonious whole. It requires the recognition that individuals perceive only a portion of the complete truth.” The personality of Hillel allows us to gain insight into his methodology of understanding, and how he strives to bridge two seemingly opposing sides. Hillel recognized that the true redemption of Passover was the shift from slavery to freedom. It is not one without the other but rather the combination of the two experiences that formulate the identity and components of the holiday as well as Bnei Yisrael. The most climactic moments of the Exodus journey are those in which Bnei Yisrael struggle between their natural tendency of feeling enslaved and that of learning to become a free nation. This custom of mixing the sweet and sour, of bringing sadness into the joyous occasions is thread throughout many jewish ritual moments such as breaking of a glass at a Jewish wedding, it reminds us that even during the happiest moment of beginning a new life and journey we are still plagued with the sadness of the destruction of the Temple. Hillel brought his full personality to the mitzvot he performed. It was his own perspective that allowed him to connect two polar opposites into one cohesive unit. The message of The Hillel Sandwich is about visualizing the crossover between the spiritual and physical as well as internalizing, and consuming, the true message of the Holiday of Passover. This practice suggests that part of the challenge of living is to taste freedom even in the midst of oppression, and to be ever conscious of the oppression of others even when we feel that we are free.

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In memory of Sharon Wahba - ‫שרה בת ויויאן‬ Josheph, Rachel ’17, Judah ’20, and the Wahba family

L’Shana Haba'ah B'Yerushalayim: WHY US? Rabbi Haskel Lookstein

The verse in Shir Ha-Shirim (2:8) says, “Kol dodi hineh zeh ba, medaleg al he-harim m’kapetz al ha-geva’ot - the voice of my Beloved (God) approaches, skipping over the mountains, jumping over the hills”. On this, the Midrash comments: “When God said to Israel, ‘In this month you will be redeemed,’ Israel responded: ‘But didn’t you tell Avraham Avinu that we would be enslaved and afflicted for 400 years (Genesis, 15:13), and we have been enslaved for only 210,’ God responded: ‘Since I wanted your redemption, I am not focusing on numbers, but rather skipping over mountains and jumping over hills (i.e. numbers) in order to carry out my plan.’” Rav Soloveitchik zt”l, based on this Midrash and others, explains that the 400 years of suffering that was communicated to Avraham Avinu, was reduced to 210 according to the Divine Will because the Israelites in Egypt were being utterly crushed by the bondage and the servitude and that they were also assimilating into an idolatrous culture. The redemption came prematurely, not because of the merit of Israel, but because had it not come when it did, there might not have been any Jewish People left. We would have disappeared into the dustbin of history and God’s overall plan would have been thwarted. The Rav applied this Midrashic analysis to the miracle of the reestablishment of the State of Israel in our time (or, at least, in mine!). He asked a fascinating question. The Jewish People has prayed for centuries for the return to Jerusalem and to Jewish sovereignty in the Holy Land. Why was that prayer answered only in our generation? Were there not other generations, far more worthy than ours, which merited such a redemption? Rabbi Akiba’s generation? Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi’s? Rav and Shmuel’s? The Rambam’s? The Vilna Gaon’s? The Ba’al Shem Tov’s? Why us? What was our special merit? The Rav responded: It wasn’t our merit at all. God hastened the redemption because, after the decimation of the Jewish People in the Holocaust, we were so depressed as a people, so disillusioned, so mired in hopelessness, that we could very well have disappeared from the stage of history. God, literally, had no choice. He had to answer our prayers now. The miracle of Israel’s rebirth and survival as a thriving Jewish State, against all odds, was wrought by God, not because of the merit of our generation, but because God decided that we needed it. Without this redemption, the Jewish People and Judaism might not have survived. Because of it, millions of Jews in Israel and around the world will say at the end of the seder on Pesach night:

L’SHANA HABA'AH B'YERUSHALAYIM!

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