Passover Offerings 5782 by Ramaz School

PASSOVER OFFERINGS

‫מילי דפסחא‬

Pesach Insights by Ramaz Upper School Faculty

2022 ‫תשפ״ב‬

This publication is dedicated in loving memory of our dear father & grandfather

‫יהודה לייב בן ישראל ז״ל‬ J. Leonard Spodek z"l

Our dear brother in-law and Uncle

‫חיים יוסף ז״ל בן אפרים העניך נ״י‬ Gary Turkel z"l

And in loving memory of our grandparents & great-grandparents

‫ישראל בן דוד ושרה בת דוב באר (בערעש) ז״ל‬ Israel and Sarah (Elbaum) Spodek z"l

‫יצחק בן אברהם ולאה בת חנוך ז״ל‬ Irving and Lillian (Bernheim) Tyras z"l

‫שמואל בן אהרון ועליזה בת ג׳מילה ז״ל‬ Samuel & Alice (Setton) Franco z"l And

‫ישעיה בן יצחק ז״ל‬ Stephen Shalom z"l

They loved their family and aspired to build generations grounded in the tradition of Torah Avi, Evelyn, Isaac, David & Jack Spodek

Table of Contents Rabbi Kenny Schiowitz

Introduction

Rabbi Dani Ritholtz

Our Insincere Invitation: Ha Lachma Anya

Rabbi Dov Pianko

The Importance of Washing Before Eating Bread

Ms. Tammie Senders

Maror with Matzah: Slavery Enhancing Freedom

Ms. Tamar Benus '10

That's the Way the Matzah Crumbles

Rabbi Kenny Schiowitz

How Many Cups Do We Drink on All Other Nights?

Ms. Miriam Gedwizer

From Fish in the Pitchers to Babies in the Field: Understanding a Strange Piece of Maggid

Rabbi Moshe Stavsky

Why is it so Important to Remember Yetziat Mitzrayim?

Rabbi Ben Greenfield

Don’t Call it Passover, Call it “Hangover”: Seder Night as a Form of Korban Chatat

Rabbi Aviad Bodner

The Four Sons

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

Introduction We are very excited to share this publication with you. It contains essays written by faculty members of the Ramaz Upper School about the Pesach holiday and the Seder night. While they were not designed as a commentary on the Seder, they are arranged in the order in which they relate to the order of the seder. You might notice that all of the topics refer to the foods of the seder or to the story that is told in the Magid section. This is because these are the two main aspects of the night - the food and the story. In respect to the foods of the seder, we have obligations beyond “consumption”. The mishna (Pesachim 10:1) teaches that we cannot eat anything substantial in the afternoon prior to the Seder in order to increase our appetite for the Seder. Similarly, matzah may not be eaten at all on the day before Pesach, and many observe a custom to extend this ban for up to a month before Pesach. This is meant to build our appetite for the matzah and enhance the quality of this eating experience. The Talmud raises the possibility that a person may be inclined to swallow the bitter herbs whole (possibly to avoid the bitter sensation on the pallet) and concludes that this would not fulfill the obligation of maror, as one needs to taste the bitterness. The roasted lamb (sacrifice) is actually eaten on a full stomach in order to increase the quality of the culinary experience so that the rich savory flavor is fully appreciated. In sum, the eating experience is not just about consumption; it is to be a qualitatively rich experience. In the same way, we hope that the telling of the story and the study of the Pesach themes will be similarly savored. We hope that this collection of essays, written with diverse perspectives and styles, will enhance this aspect of the Seder night and the Pesach week, and will allow our hearts and minds to indulge in the intellectual and emotional dimensions of this foundational holiday. Sincerely, Rabbi Kenny Schiowitz Director of Judaic Studies & Religious Life

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Our Insincere Invitation: Ha Lachma Anya Rabbi Dani Ritholtz

Before delving into our detailed description of our redemption, we open with a curious invitation of ‫הא לחמא עניא‬, where we proclaim that “this [matzah] is the bread of affliction. All that want to come and eat can come and partake.” At face value, it makes perfect sense. Judaism places a premium on charity and especially thinking about the needy during holidays. However, there are a few perplexing issues with this offer to the poor. First, as pointed out by many commentators, the beginning of this invitation is in Aramaic. Although it was the lingua franca for Jews in the time of the compilation of the Haggadah, it is a completely ineffective language in our current times. Second, we must wonder how sincere we can be with this offer, especially in the times of the Beit Hamikdash when the meal consisted of the Korban Pesach. A prima facie rule of the Korban Pesach is that you have to be in an organized group, a “chaburah”, that chips in for a specific animal to give as their korban. No one outside the chaburah is allowed to partake in the meal. How can we invite a person to partake in the seder this late with this past reality in mind? Our group has given the korban, and there can be no late entry into the chaburah? R. Eliezer Ashkenazi, in his work Maasi Hashem, gives a somewhat sad but hopeful answer that solves both problems. The Ha Lach Maanyah is only said in the time of exile when we do not have a Korban Pesach. We are not really inviting people (although many would be happy to host). We are highlighting the sad fact that we can. We, not privileged with the Korban Pesach, can invite people to participate in our matzah because there is no fear that they will erroneously eat our absent offering. This introduction reminds us that even as happy and joyous an occasion the magnificent seder is, it is still lacking. We are missing a significant component of the night being in galut. That explains why we use Aramaic for the invitation. Aramaic is the language of exile; it highlights the point that we are speaking the language of galut in action and words. The Aramaic also leads to a hopeful message. In the middle of the invitation, we focus on the fact (still in Aramaic) “now we are here, next year we will be in Israel.” Then the text suddenly switches to Hebrew, and we state, “now we are slaves, but next year we will be free!” The change to Hebrew and the optimistic viewpoint underscores the fact that we are not in total despair for not having the Korban Pesach. On the contrary, we believe that we can leave exile on a dime and enter redemption. It is emblematic of the Seder itself, in one instant being happy about our past while also knowing we are not complete. Yes, this year we can invite others, but we have faith that we will not be able to extend this offer next year.

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The Importance of Washing Before Eating Bread Rabbi Dov Pianko "Rachtza" is the regular washing before bread that we do all year long. This is not only so our hands should be clean before we eat, but one of the many times that Jewish law obligates us to wash our hands, based on Jewish history. The Chofetz Chaim writes the background for this obligation in the Mishna Berura (158): The rabbis required us to wash netilat yadayim for two reasons: 1. To be in a good habit for terumah. When the laws of ritual purity were relevant, kohanim had to wash their hands before they ate terumah…We want the kohanim to keep this habit…so that when the Beit haMikdash is rebuilt speedily in our days, they'll keep the terumah they eat pure. Those who are not kohanim must wash before they eat bread to reinforce the kohanim in this habit. 2. For cleanliness and holiness. The rabbis found a hint to this in the verse (Vayikra 11:44) "make yourselves holy and be holy." Even though our obligation may seem one that is passive or simply as a reminder, we should not look at it as something that is not important. The Gemara in Eruvin (21b) tells a fascinating story about Rabbi Akiva and the lengths he went to wash before eating bread: Our Rabbis taught: Rabbi Akiva was once confined in a prison-house and Rabbi Yehoshua the grits-maker was attending to him. Every day, a certain quantity of water was brought in to him. On one occasion Rabbi Yehoshua was met by the prison keeper who said to him, ‘Your water today is rather much; do you perhaps require it for undermining the prison?’ He poured out half of it and handed him the other half. When Rabbi Yehoshua came to Rabbi Akiva the latter said to him, ‘Yehoshua, do you not know that I am an old man and my life depends on yours [no one else is allowed to bring me water or food]?’ When Rabbi Yehoshua told him all that had happened Rabbi Akiva said to him, ‘Give me some water to wash my hands’. ‘It will not suffice for drinking.’ Rabbi Yehoshua complained, ‘will it suffice for washing your hands?’ ‘What can I do’, the Rabbi Akiva replied: ‘for neglecting the words of the Rabbis one deserves death. It is better that I myself should die than I should transgress against the opinion of my colleagues [who ordained the washing of the hands before bread]’. It was related that he tasted nothing until the Rabbi Yehoshua had brought him water to wash his hands. When the Sages heard of this incident they remarked: ‘If he was so [scrupulous] in his old age how much more must he have been so in his youth; and if he so [behaved] in a prison-house how much more [must he have behaved in such a manner] when not in a prison-house’. Additionally, the way that we conduct ourselves while we eat or sit down for a meal, can have an impact on us as people and our service to God. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888) writes that each time we eat we have the opportunity to elevate ourselves. Eating strictly for pleasure is the way animals eat. As human beings, we should strive to elevate our physical actions and desires to a higher level. “His table is to be an altar, his bread is to be consecrated, his food is to be a meal-offering to God. The Jew elevates; the hand which is to break bread in the preliminary priestly washing in order to dedicate it to God. He realizes that his intimate relationship with God elevates him above all that is base and coarse, above bondage, and leads him into the realm of holiness, freedom, and enduring eternal purity.” (Collected writings vol.3 Shevat 2) On a night filled with holiness, where we strive to infuse all of our actions with purity, we should take a moment to understand and internalize the importance of the act of netilat yadaim when we wash our hands for matzah on this night and strive to embody each time we wash our hands for bread. 6

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Maror with Matzah: Slavery Enhancing Freedom By Ms. Tammie Senders .ּ‫ עַל מַצּוֹת וּמְרוׂרִים יֹאכְלֻהו‬:‫ לְקַיֵּם מַה שֶּׁנֶּאֱמַר‬,‫הָיָה כּוֹרֵךְ מַצָּה וּמָרוֹר וְאוֹכֵל בְּיַחַד‬ :‫ כֵּן עָשָׂה הִלֵּל בִּזְמַן שֶׁבֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ הָיָה קַיָּם‬.‫זֵכֶר לְמִקְדָּשׁ כְּהִלֵּל‬ At this point in the seder, we eat matzah and maror together as a sandwich to commemorate the practice of Hillel the Sage during the time of the Beit HaMikdash. (If you imagine what this used to look like with the actual korban pesach, though, it probably was more akin to a schwarma laffa than the sparse matzah sandwich that we eat nowadays - slightly more appetizing! )

😁

A very obvious question is: we already ate matzah and maror separately to symbolize the bitterness of slavery and to remember our exodus from Egypt! That seems to be our common practice, rather than the practice that Hillel suggests. Why do it again according to Hillel? Rav Soloveichik notes his understanding of why slavery was a necessary stage in our path to nationhood and freedom. Says the Rav: “The experience of Egyptian servitude underlies the very morality of the Jew… The fact that in Egypt the Jews were exposed to all kinds of chicanery and humiliation... engendered in the Jewish people sensitivity and tenderness toward their fellow man… Only when a person is confronted by slavery, when he feels what evil truly is, is he able to understand and truly hate evil...Had we not felt the yoke of slavery, we would not have understood the demand not to afflict the stranger” (Festival of Freedom, pp 133-134). The Rav emphasizes that it was the experience of slavery that allowed the Jewish people to develop into a nation of people who care for one another, who strike out against evil, who maintains a moral compass, and who see the good and infuses the good into every situation. Indeed, it is our struggles that have given us the character and the understanding to know how to act vis-à-vis the world around us. This Pesach, though we hope the peak of the crisis will be behind us, the Ukraine humanitarian emergency will likely continue to be at the forefront of our consciousnesses. We condemn horrible atrocities, but we also praise the incredible chasadim, acts of kindness, that the world, and the Jewish people and the state of Israel in particular, have shown the people of Ukraine. From raising money and holding supply drives, to rescuing and sheltering refugees, to organizing rallies and meetings with Congress members, we, as Jews, should recognize how we have learned from our persecuted past to ensure that others around us have help and support through their own suffering. Hillel’s message is that eating maror together WITH matzah reminds us that it was our bitter time as slaves that truly informs who we are as free people and helps us fulfill our mandate as God’s nation to make the world around us a better place. May we always have the strength and capacity to fulfill that responsibility, and may we be blessed with a world filled with good health, happiness, peace, and security.

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That's the Way the Matzah Crumbles Ms. Tamar Benus '10 There are many traditions, as well as halachot, that we closely follow in our own celebrations of Pesach. While Matzah is known throughout the world as what Jews eat on Pesach, it is also filled with immense symbolism that allows the holiday to be transformed into a rich tapestry of meaning. The meaning behind this unleavened bread is powerful: The Haggadah lists two seemingly contradictory ideas for why we eat Matzah on Pesach: The most traditional reason is stated by Rabban Gamliel in the mishna, that it is to commemorate the fact that we were chased out of Egypt and our dough had no time to rise (Exodus 12:39) ּ ַ‫ כִ ּי ג ְֹרׁשּו ִמ ִמּצְ ַריִם ְול ֹא יָכְ לּו לְ ִה ְתמַ ְהמֵ ה‬,‫ כִ ּי ל ֹא חָ מֵ ץ‬,‫ַוּי ֹאפּו אֶ ת־הַ בָ ּצֵ ק אֲ ֶשׁר הֹוצִ יאּו ִמ ִמּצְ ַריִם ֻעגֹת מַ ּצּוֹ ת‬ And they baked unleavened cakes of the dough that they had taken out of Egypt, for it was not leavened, since they had been driven out of Egypt and could not delay; nor had they prepared any provisions for themselves. This explanation is in contrast to the one found at the beginning of the Magid section of the Pesach Haggadah. There the reasoning for Matzah is different, as it states, .‫הָ א ל ְַחמָ א עַ נְ יָא ִדי אֲ כָלּו אַ ְבהָ תָ נָא ְבּאַ ְרעָ א ְד ִמצְ ָריִם‬ This is the lachma anya [literally "poor bread," could be translated "bread of affliction" or could mean a simple/unleavened bread] that our ancestorsate in the land of Egypt. How can Matzah be both the “‫ ”לַחְמָא עַנְיָא‬and the food that Bnei Yisrael made that symbolizes their freedom? Does Matzah represent the slavery or the exodus? The Netziv (Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin) offers a more nuanced understanding of why we eat matzah on Pesach; he connects the “ingredients” of bread and matzah to the way in which human beings relate to God. Bread, he states, will only become bread with the “intervention of man into nature”. If one leaves the main ingredients of bread alone, the flour and water will not rise. Bread becomes bread solely because of the human effort in mixing and kneading it with yeast. Netziv explains that bread symbolizes man’s desire to control nature, or an expression of human interference with nature. Matzah, on the other hand, is representative of the world controlled exclusively by God. Matzah is a way of showing how dependent humanity is on nature and God. Through the experience of Yetziat Mitzrayim God proved that He is in control of nature. Is matzah then really not about slavery or freedom, but about the relationship between man and God? Rabbi Yitz Greenberg (1932- Present) pulls together all three of these seemingly dichotomized ideas:

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“…to be fully realized, an Exodus must include an inner voyage, not just a march on the road out of Egypt. The difference between slavery and freedom is not that slaves endure hard conditions while free people enjoy ease. The bread remained equally hard in both states, but the psychology of the Israelites shifted totally. When the hard crust was given to them by tyrannical masters, the matzah they ate in passivity was the bread of slavery. But when the Jews willingly went from green fertile deltas into the desert because they were determined to be free, when they refused to delay freedom and opted to eat unleavened bread rather than wait for it to rise, the hard crust became the bread of freedom. Out of fear and lack of responsibility, the slave accommodates to ill treatment. Out of dignity and determination to live free, the individual will shoulder any burden.” While matzah allows one to reenact the story of the Exodus, it should also be seen as a powerful tool of transformation and connection. Matzah seems to be filled with the simplest most natural ingredients, yet it holds layers of meaning. It is with matzah that the Israelites were able to break away from their life of slavery and become a nation dedicated to God. Recalling our past slavery, makes our freedoms more of a reality.

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How Many Cups Do We Drink on All Other Nights? Rabbi Kenny Schiowitz The Ma Nishtana highlights the unique practices of the Seder Night. It is the only night of the year when we eat only matzah, bitter herbs, recline, and double dip. However, the Ma Nishtana makes no mention of the unique mitzvah of drinking four cups of wine, despite the recurring parallel number of four (four questions, four cups, four expressions of redemption, four sons, etc.). I wonder why this question did not make it to the song? I further wonder how it would have been formulated- on this night we drink four cups of wine, but on all other nights we drink _?_ cups. What is our communal norm? Fortunately, the Jewish community has been increasingly confronting the dangerous prevalence of alcoholism and addiction. We hope that increased education and decreased stigmatization will lead us towards solutions. There is no doubt that the social and (perceived) halachic acceptability of alcohol consumption has created an environment that allows this problem to grow and I think that we should take some time, especially on Pesach, to reexamine our communal relationship with alcohol. The Torah (Devarim 21) introduces the law of the gluttonous child who is so morally corrupt that he is to be put to death at an early age. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 71) asserts that this law “never happened and never will happen”. This is a uniquely theoretical concept that is meant merely to teach a lesson about excess indulgences and drunkenness. It was written in the Torah solely to “study, and become enriched”. Rav Moshe Feinstein zt”l put this into practice when he cited this law in his 1973 responsum, as part of his basis to prohibit marijuana use. Rabbi Herschel Schachter reaffirmed this position in his responsum this year, responding to the legalization of marijuana in some states. Both emphasized the Jewish values of moderation in physical indulgence and the importance of sobriety and mental focus in leading meaningful lives. Similarly, Nachmonides (Vayikra 19:2) emphasized this value when he defined the mitzvah of Kedoshim Teheyu, “Be Holy” as moderation in our engagement with physical indulgence and the consumption of wine. He pointed to the Nazir who vows not to drink wine and is called “holy” by the Torah (Bamidbar 6:5). The Ramban asserts that we must be aware of the limitations of our legalistic framework of halacha that cannot possibly proscribe every negative behavior. We must internalize the overarching values of the Torah and guide our lives by those values; it is not enough to simply follow the letter of the specific commands. Otherwise, he warned, we would become “gluttonous within the law”. We have learned through history that Prohibition, legislation, and the waging of a War on Drugs has had little effect. Similarly, the Torah did not legislate an outright ban but instructed us to become holy. The restriction of the Nazir is praised, but is not legislated. Our responsibility is to teach our children, and ourselves, the value of moderation and restraint, and to forge our paths towards holiness. The halachic leaders of our generation (and the previous generations) have strongly endorsed grape juice as a completely valid form of fulfilling the mitzvah of the four cups on Pesach and kiddush on Shabbat. This position has paved the way for our community to forge a healthier relationship with alcohol. It is now the responsibility of our community to incorporate the value of moderation in our homes, shuls and communities. Perhaps this question was omitted from the Ma Nishtana because we were not quite sure how to honestly formulate it, but perhaps it is the most important question that we can ask of ourselves.

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From Fish in the Pitchers to Babies in the Field: Understanding a Strange Piece of Maggid Ms. Miriam Gedwiser Every year in my family, when I was growing up, we would stop at the seemingly strange citation from Ezekiel 16:7 that appears in the Haggadah text: "I have given you to be numerous (‫ )רְבָבָה‬as the vegetation of the field, and you increased and grew and became highly ornamented, your breasts were set and your hair grew, but you were naked and barren." Why is there a naked woman in the haggadah? Usually, we puzzled for a while, then moved on, still confused. Last year, however, I discovered what medieval commentators knew all along (if only I had checked!): the verse is here because of its involvement in a fascinating Talmudic tale of fertility and tenacity in the face of adversity. The verse from Ezekiel appears as a midrashic commentary on Devarim 26:5: “An Arammian nomad was my father, and he went down to Miżrayim, and sojourned there with a few, and became there a nation, great, mighty, and populous (‫)וָרָֽב‬.” On the word ‫וָרָֽב‬, “and populous,” the Haggadah expands: .‫ת עֵ רֹם וְעֶ ְריָה‬ ּ ְ ַ‫ וְא‬, ַ‫ּושׂעָ ֵרְך צִ מֵ ּח‬ ְ ‫ ָשׁדַ יִם ָנכֹנּו‬,‫ ו ִַת ְּר ִבּי ו ִַתּגְ ְדּלִ י וַתָ ּב ִֹאי בַ ּע ֲִדי עֲדָ יִים‬,‫שׂדֶ ה נְ תַ ִתּיְך‬ ּ ָ ַ‫ ְרבָ בָ ה כְ ּצֶ מַ ח ה‬:‫ש ֶנּאֱ מַ ר‬ ּׁ ֶ ‫ כְ ּמָ ה‬:‫ו ָָרב‬ ".‫ ָואֹמַ ר לְָך ְבּדָ מַ יְִך חֲ יִי‬,‫ ָואֹמַ ר לְָך ְבּדָ מַ יְִך חֲ יִי‬,‫וָאֶ ֱעבֹר עָ ַליְִך וָאֶ ְראֵ ְך ִמ ְתּבֹוסֶ סֶ ת ְבּדָ מָ יְִך‬ “And populous" - as it is stated (Ezekiel 16:7), "I have given you to be numerous as the vegetation of the field, and you increased and grew and became highly ornamented, your breasts were set and your hair grew, but you were naked and barren." (Ezekiel 16:6) “When I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your blood, I said to you: ‘Live in spite of your blood.’ Yea, I said to you: ‘Live in spite of your blood.’” Recent commentaries often focus on the second verse (verse 6, which appears first in Ezekiel but second in the haggadah), and a midrash that connects the blood mentioned in Ezekiel to the blood of the korban pesach. But why make that connection specifically to the word “and populous”? Further, some historical texts of the haggadah did not even include verse 6 at all, so that verse and its blood references are probably not the only reason that the haggadah makes the Ezekiel connection. Rather, Ezekiel 16:7 is a direct midrash on the original verse, ‫ורב‬, “and populous.” Linguistically, we can see that 16:7 begins “ְ‫ ”רְבָבָה כְּצֶמַח הַשָּׂדֶה נְתַתִּיך‬- “I have given you to be numerous as the vegetation of the field.” But the connection runs deeper, through a Talmudic passage from Sotah (11b): The Talmud presents an extended account of the persistence of the Israelites in the face of their oppression. “Rav Avira taught: In the merit of the righteous women that were in that generation, the Jewish people were redeemed from Egypt.” According to this passage, when the women would draw water, God would send fish into their pitchers as well. From these small “extras,” the women created snacks that they would then bring to their husbands in the fields and eventually seduce their husbands. The women would become pregnant and, because of Pharaoh’s decrees, return to the fields to give birth. God provided supernatural caretakers for the babies there, until the Egyptians caught on and tried to kill the children. Miraculously, the children were absorbed into the ground and saved from the Egyptians. The Egyptians, the Talmud says, even tried to plow the ground, but to no avail:

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“After the Egyptians would leave, the babies would emerge and exit the ground like grass of the field, as it is stated: ‘I caused you to increase even as the growth of the field’ (Ezekiel 16:7). And once the babies would grow, they would come like many flocks of sheep to their homes, as it is stated in the continuation of the verse: “And you did increase and grow up and you came with excellent beauty [ba’adi adayim]” (Ezekiel 16:7). Do not read the verse as: “Ba’adi adayim,” “with excellent beauty.” Rather, read it as: Be’edrei adarim, meaning: “As many flocks.” The passage in Talmud Sotah, then, reads our verse in Ezekiel as a fantastical telling of how the Israelite population exploded in Egypt despite the oppression. This is why this verse appears in our Haggadah attached to the word “and populous” - because the verse alludes to an elaborate story of just how that population grew. Understanding the connection between Ezekiel and the Exodus, by way of the Talmud Sotah connection, solves a textual problem, but what does it mean for us? The beleaguered Israelite women, provided with a divine “bonus” of small fish, somehow turned those fish into babies. It was these women’s strength of will and refusal to give up that, according to the Talmud, led to the redemption. We might consider at our sedarim what the “bonuses” are in our own lives, and how we can develop the internal strength to make the most of them. Rav Moshe Amiel, further, picks up on the story of the babies absorbed into the earth, then sent forth: “So it is in all the exiles. From the perspective of the non-Jews we are as if absorbed into the earth, but between us and ourselves we are always emerging.” The Egyptians might have left the plowed fields thinking that they had shredded the Israelites, body and soul. But in fact the external appearance concealed an inner spark that would not be destroyed. For Rav Amiel, the story of the children is like the story of their mothers: a story of inner strength despite crushing external circumstances. No matter what an outsider may see, there is something inside that can keep us going. As we contemplate redemption this Pesach, let us seek not only divine gifts, but the inner strength to put them to good use.

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Why is it so Important to Remember Yetziat Mitzrayim? Rabbi Moshe Stavsky

‫ כִ ּי ִאם חַ י ה' אֲ ֶשׁר הֶ ֱעלָה אֶ ת ְ ּבנֵי‬.‫לָכֵ ן ִה ֵנּה י ִָמים בָ ִּאים נְ אֻ ם ה' ְול ֹא יֵאָ מֵ ר עֹוד חַ י ה' אֲ ֶשׁר הֶ ֱעלָה אֶ ת ְ ּבנֵי י ְִש ָׂראֵ ל מֵ אֶ ֶרץ ִמצְ ָריִם‬ )‫טו‬-‫יד‬:‫ (ירמיהו טז‬.‫שב ִֹתים עַ ל אַ ְדמָ תָ ם אֲ ֶשׁר נָתַ ִתּי לַאֲ בֹותָ ם‬ ׁ ִ ֲ‫ּומ ֹכּל הָ אֲ ָרצֹות אֲ ֶשׁר ִה ִדּיחָ ם ָשׁמָ ּה וַה‬ ִ ‫י ְִש ָׂראֵ ל מֵ אֶ ֶרץ צָ פֹון‬ “Therefore, behold days are coming, says the Lord, and it shall no longer be said, "As the Lord lives, Who brought up the children of Israel from the land of Egypt," But, "As the Lord lives, Who brought up the children of Israel from the northland and from all the lands where He had driven them, " and I will restore them to their land that I gave to their forefathers.” (Yirmiyahu 16:14-15) According to the Prophet Yirmiyahu, a time will come when the Redemption from Egypt will lose its prominence in our psyche. Hashem will be recognized as the God who redeemed the Jewish people from exile, rather than the One who redeemed the Jewish people from Egypt. Is the centrality of Yetziat Mitzrayim, reinforced by so many mitzvot throughout the year, really in danger of being downgraded in our consciousness? Is this simply an encouraging prophecy of future redemption or do these verses forecast a new spiritual landscape, which may even have halakhic ramifications? According to at least one Tanna, these verses do have halakhic impact. During Maggid, we recount the dispute between Ben Zoma (quoted by Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah) and the Chachamim as to what the word ‫( כל‬all) in the mitzvah of remembering Yetziat Mitzrayim includes, above and beyond a daily remembrance. According to Ben Zoma, it includes an obligation to remember Yetziat Mitzrayim in the evenings as well, while according to the Chachamim, it includes a requirement to remember Yetziat Mitzryaim during the Messianic era. The Talmud (Brachot 12b) cites the continuation of this debate. According to Ben Zoma, the verses quoted above from Yirmiyahu teach us that there will no longer be an obligation to remember Yetziat Mitzrayim in the Massianic era. The Chachamim respond by affirming the enduring nature of the mitzvah to remember Yetziat Mitzrayim, though acknowledging that it will be secondary to the future redemption. The additional word ‫ כל‬teaches us to remember Yetziat Mitzrayim daily in the future, an important halakha which apparently was not obvious. The prophecy of Yirmiyahu is also quoted in the context of a different mitzvah. On the verse, “This month shall be to you the beginning of months; it shall be the first month of the year to you” (Shemot 12:2), Ramban identifies the mitzvah to count the months from the month of our redemption. That month will be called “The First Month”, followed by “The Second Month”, etc. For this reason, he explains, no names appear for the months throughout the Torah. Counting the months from Nissan reminds us of Yetziat Mitzrayim throughout the year. However, Ramban then quotes the Talmud Yerushalmi (Rosh Hashana 1:2) and Midrash Rabbah (Breishit 48:9) that new names came up with us from Babylonia. It is for this reason that the books of Tanakh written after the destruction of the Beit Hamikdash reference dates with the Persian names for the months: Nissan, Iyar, Sivan, etc. He explains this change based upon the verses quoted above from Yirmiyahu! The future redemption will eclipse the redemption from Egypt and effect a significant change in how we refer to the months of the year, as a way of bringing attention to the recent redemption.

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How can a future redemption, however great, possibly diminish our focus on Yetziat Mitzrayim? Is it even appropriate to allow that memory to fade away? More shockingly, according to Ben Zoma, how can there be an expiration date on the mitzvah to remember Yetziat Mitzrayim? Finally, according to Ramban, how can this new reality seemingly change the details of the mitzvah in the Torah regarding counting months? To answer these questions, we need to ask ourselves a more basic question. Why is there such a focus in the Torah on Yetziat Mitzrayim? We remember it twice daily, celebrate it during Pesach and perform other mitzvot which serve to remind us of this defining moment in our history. Is it simply so we remember where we came from and how we became a nation? According to Ramban (Shemot 13:16), remembering Yetziat Mitzrayim is crucial because the events surrounding that moment in history affirm our core beliefs: Hashem created the world and runs the world; He is omniscient and omnipotent; He communicates to us through prophecy and the Torah is true. (See Sefer Hachinuch mitzvah 21 for a similar approach.) As Hashem does not perform overt miracles in every generation, the only way subsequent generations will know of and be transformed by these events is by performing mitzvot which remind us of Yetziat Mitzrayim, including a daily mention of it (Zekhirat Yetziat Mitzrayim), and by parents telling over the story to their children (Sippur Yetziat Mitzrayim). Based upon this idea, we can address our questions. Remembering Yetziat Mitzrayim is about developing faith, not just memorizing facts. (It is for this reason that we remember Yetziat Mitzrayim daily in the context of Kriat Shma, in which we state our principles of faith.) While the mitzvot surrounding Yetziat Mitzrayim will endure, it is conceivable that a future redemption will similarly serve to reinforce our core beliefs. As such, while the more recent redemption will not completely eclipse Yetziat Mitzrayim, it will take center stage. There will be a new moment in time from which to recognize Hashem as the Creator and Master of the world. A new redemption will reawaken and inspire within the Jewish people a profound awareness of God and that He runs the world with justice. Therefore, according to Ramban, the way we count months can incorporate elements of a future redemption. Furthermore, according to Ben Zoma, the memory of Yetziat Mitzrayim will not require daily reinforcement in the time of Moshiach. Even according to the Chachamim who disagree with Ben Zoma, there is a need for a special drasha to teach us that this mitzvah continues in the time of Moshiach. The Pesach Seder serves as a powerful forum for developing our faith in Hashem and the truths which emerge from the story we retell. This goal should guide our discussions at the Seder. May we be blessed to appreciate and internalize all that Yetziat Mitzrayim teaches us.

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Don’t Call it Passover, Call it “Hangover”: Seder Night as a Form of Korban Chatat Rabbi Ben Greenfield I. To unlock the purpose of Seder this year (2022 CE / 5778), it may be useful to reflect on the very first Seder night (1313 BCE / 2448), when Jewish slaves gathered together in their homes, and God's vengeance passed upon the Egyptians but passed over the Israelities. They didn't have a haggadah or four cups of wine or maggid – at the center of their night was the Korban Pesach, a lamb sacrificed and eaten by the family. So too in the time of the Beit Hamikdash: in place of the Seder, families would gather together over a Paschal sacrifice in Jerusalem. In our time, we continue a tradition three thousand years old not with blood and meat, but with text and tradition (and some foods). In order to better understand the Pesach of today, let’s reflect on that first fleshy korban pesach, offered some three thousands years ago in Egypt. First, we need to correct a misunderstanding about the name of our holiday. What does the word “Pesach” mean? We know that God was “pasakh” over the houses of the Israelites, sparing them from the plague of the firstborn. Many people, following the Latin Vulgate, translate this as God “passing over” the Jewish homes. However, this only makes sense, if God himself was the source of the first born plague. However, in the verses themselves, God isn't killing the firstborn; his “maskhit” or destroyer is doing it: And God will pasakh over the door, and not allow the maskhit to come into your home to smite you. Since the maskhit is doing the killing, we don't want God to pass over our homes, but to protect them, i.e. to stand guard over them, to hang over them. Indeed, this is the translation of the Tosefta and the Targum Yonaton. It is supported by how the word as used in Yishayahu 31:5 – “like the birds that fly, so too will the Lord of Hosts shield and save, pasakh and rescue.” So instead of calling the holiday “Passover”, we should be calling it “Hangover” – which is also more accurate description of how the evening ends. Back to the Korban Pesach offered on that “Hangover” night in Egypt. Here are some of its key features: Each household was commanded to take a lamb, slaughter it, and roast its meat. They took a bundle of hyssop leaves, dipped them in the lamb's blood, and spread the blood across the lintels of their doors. Staying inside as God hovered over and protected their house, they were commanded to eat the meat, and to eat it with matzah and maror. The Torah contains a number of different kinds of korbanot (olah, asham, hatat, toda, shelamim, etc.), each with their own defined procedure and purpose. If we want to understand what this Korban Pesach was all about, it would be helpful to fit it into one of these categories. But any good explanation would have to account for the following six questions: There is no altar or holy space for offering the sacrifice. It's slaughtered at home, roasted at home, eaten at home. No other Biblical korban is like this. No priestly involvement. For all other korbanot, cohanim are involved in the ritual. Who can eat it? On one hand, the family eating it was regular Israelites. Some kinds of korbanot were eaten only by kohanim or were offered entirely up to God. This is open to regular yisraelim. But on the other

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hand, it was limited to the household which offered the lamb. Every family stayed in its home and ate its own korban – no sharing between them. Not only could regular Israelites eat it, but there was a mitzvah to eat it. The Rambam considers it a mitzvah when kohanim eat of the korbanot that are reserved for their enjoyment. But he makes no mention of a mitzvah when regular Israelites eat of a korban, even one that they are allowed to eat from. Major emphasis on blood ritual. While all korbanot involve sprinkling some blood on the altar, this is most reminiscent of the hatat, where the blood is at the center of the ritual (see Vayikra 4) Why must it be eaten with matzah? I know what you are thinking, to remember how quickly we left Egypt. But that hadn't happened yet! Its still the night before the Exodus occurred! So, what category of korban best explains the korban pesach, with all these strange features? II. The standard view is that the korban pesach is basically a shelamim, or peace-offering. A shelamim is the most lenient and in some ways the most fun of the Biblical sacrifices. It is brought not because you owe a sacrifice to God or you did something wrong, but voluntarily, as an offering of peace and completion between man and God. While some of it is eaten by kohanim, the great bulk of it can be eaten by anyone. And since there is so much meat that must be eaten in a short period of time, it is expected that whoever offered it would invite friends, family, and strangers to join in the feast. Viewed in this light, the paschal lamb is a festive and celebratory offering, recognizing a wholeness and peace between man and God, a feeling we could understandably associate with the Passover holiday. However, this barely answers our questions. The shelamim ritual incorporates a kohen, who eats part of it; of the Israelites who eat it, they never have to make a formal or exclusive group of eaters; there is only minimal blood sprinkling, almost as an afterthought; and finally, the shelamim is voluntary while slaughtering the korban pesach and eating its meat are both mitzvot. III. Instead, it may be useful to think of the korban Pesach as a chatat. The chatat often gets a bad wrap, because it is usually translated as a sin-offering. This fits with the primary translation of the root h.t.a. - sin. It is brought in atonement for a sin committed. The problem is that the Torah commands certain individuals to bring a chatat even though they haven't sinned such as a woman who has given birth and a kohen who has buried a deceased family member. These people may be impure, but if anything, they have fulfilled mitzvot, not committed sins. Jacob Milgrom and other academic scholars have argued that the hatat comes from the second, totally different meaning of the Torah root h.t.a. - to cleanse, a deep abrasive cleansing. They theorize that in the Beit HaMikdash there was a theological notion of keeping God's house clean. It could get dirtied by all sorts of things, sin, impurity, an unjust society. According to Milgrom, there was a sense amongst many early Jews that if the Beit HaMikdash was made spiritually dirty, then Hashem would leave it. It is the blood of the hatat offering which cleans the various parts of the Temple, and there was a special blood sprinkling process to clean each part of the Temple. In each case, the deeper the dirtiness, the deeper the clean – with a sprinkling made on the corners of the outdoor altar or, in some cases, on the gold altar inside the kodesh. On Yom Kippur, when the Kohen Gadol would attempt to cleanse the entirety of the

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Jewish people's sins, he would bring the cleaning hatat blood all the way into the Holy of Holies, to cleanse this most sacred spot of God's dwelling. Rabbi Michael Wyschograd a’’h, argued that as Orthodox Jews we can accept this basic academic view of the korban chatat, but with one important theological twist. We don't cleanse the Beit HaMikdash because we are worried that Hashem will otherwise leave it, but because we know He won't. It is because we are confident that God dwells amongst his Chosen People no matter what, no matter our impurity or sin, that we insist on performing the chatat. It is God's constant presence which demands the highest levels of righteousness and sanctity from us, a confidence that He dwells with us both in Israel and in exile, that demands we respect His presence in our lives. IV. With that in mind, we can begin to unravel the purpose of the original korban Pesach and, with it, the purpose of seder in our time. Recall that Pesach shouldn't be translated as Passover but hangover. It is the night when God's presence first dwelled amongst the People of Israel, when the Divine presence surrounded each Jewish home to protect if from the maskhit. Here, then, is the punchline. The korban pesach is a chatat, a cleaning offering in preparation for God to dwell amongst the homes of his people. So, of course there is no Beit Hamikdash, no altar, no kohanim. The house is the mikdash, the lintel of the doors becomes the corners of the altar, the family are the kohanim – all paving the way for God to choose this space to hang over and protect. And the matzah has nothing to do with leaving Egypt quickly. All korbanot are brought with a mincha, a grain offering made into unleavened bread. Like a chatat, only the special kohanim – i.e. this household! – can eat of the meat. Like a chatat, there is a mitzvah to eat the meat. Like a chatat, it is an expression of the Jewish recognition of God's presence dwelling uniquely in his people. And so now, on our Seder night, the korban is gone but the symbolism remains. We gather together as a united family and household, with sons and daughters in tow, to together conduct the Seder. Through it, we remind ourselves of the first night God chose to dwell amongst His people and of His promise to never leave His special family: to dwell with them in their slavery, to travel with them in their Exile, and to return with them again one day to His land. We believe that tonight, this home becomes a Temple and this family again becomes priests. We believe that tonight, around these walls, Hashem's presence hovers yet again, protecting us from the Destroyers that pursue and the plagues that befall. We believe that today, within each home, Hashem again visits His people and that we, in respect and awe of his presence, spend an evening debating our past, our future, and just how we – as God's people – can continue to live up to that Divine Presence dwelling in our midst. -Rabbi Greenfield is indebted to his Tikvah Fellowship studies with R. Meir Solovotchik, for some of the above sources and ideas.

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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. I would like to focus and discuss the following depiction of the Four Sons from the Chicago Hagadah printed in 1879.

In this image, we see the parents (center) dressed in white with their four children. The wise (far left) is dressed similarly to the parents in white, has a traditional kipa on his head and is following the haggadah open before him. The Wicked son (far right) is sitting at the head of the table, leaning back comfortably on his chair while smoking a cigar. His dress is modern, very different if not the exact opposite from his traditional observant parents. He is not embarrassed to sit at the table with his head uncovered and seems to be attacking his parents with an accusatory finger as if to say: "what is this service to you!" The other two children, the Simple and the One Who Does Not Know How to Ask are both looking at the Wicked son, are dressed like him and similarly do not wear a head covering. The Wicked Son seems to have control of the family, he is seated at the head of the table, in comparison to his parents and Wise brother who are not even looking at the other participants at the seder.

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This image portrayed what was happening in many families at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries. Jewish immigrants, mainly from Eastern Europe were arriving to the United States with traditional Jewish values, but passing them on to the next generation proved to be a great challenge. Many if not most of their children rejected their Jewish heritage and quickly assimilated into the general American society. The future of the Jewish people in America did not seem bright and those who rejected our faith seemed to be in control of the next generation. How different is the family portrayed in this image different from our own? Are we not still challenged with the same issues more than a century later? How do we ensure that our next generation resembles the Wise son and not the others who have chosen a path, taking them away from Jewish observance? At our Sedarim this year, I urge us all to ask our families these questions, and perhaps even come up with answers to ensure our future here in the United States and beyond.

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