Passover 5769: The Bread of Affliction?

As I was driving home last week I saw a sign on a synagogue that disturbed me. On one of those outside announcement signs that usually say something like “JUF FUNDRAISER APR 1” or LEVY BAR MITZVAH AUG 30 I read the following: HAVE AN EASY PASSOVER.
I don’t normally get angry at signs, but this one really bothered me. It read too much like another sign which you sometimes see around Yom Kippur: HAVE AN EASY FAST. Now I’ll be the first to admit the fast of Yom Kippur is not an easy one, but for the observant in the northern hemisphere, it’s a piece of cake (so to speak) compared to the longer fast of Tish B’Av. Passover is far from a fast, indeed for two Seders and all those leftovers one could easily be stuffed. Many a Seder I feel like God’s angry retort to the people complaining manna isn’t enough, they will be so stuffed it will be coming out of their noses. [Numbers 11:20] To be honest I’m very happy I’m that stuffed.
I’ll also admit there is one very difficult task that happens before Passover: getting ready for Passover. Cleaning the house, preparing the food for the week and changing the dishes is not an easy task by any means. For me that means cleaning a small studio apartment, paper plates and preparing my Yemenite Haroset, and that is hard enough compared to what family households have to do. But the sign did not say Have an easy preparation for Passover. It was implying Passover is hard. Eating Passover foods and prohibiting the seven species of grains for one week is some kind of affliction on our lives according to that sign. I have a problem with that.
Right at the beginning of the Seder, we read about Matzah as an affliction in the Haggadah:

This is the bread of affliction that our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. All who are starving come to eat. All who are needy come to the Passover meal. This year here. For the year to come in the land of Israel. This year as slaves, for the year to come as free men.

As one of the Aramaic passages in the Haggdah, I expected to find the passage quoted in Talmud Balvi. In looking up this passage, I could find no Talmudic mention of the passage. Medieval sources such as the Rambam and Ramban quote it completely. Wherever its original source, It is based on a biblical passage indicating the procedures for Passover:

3. You shall eat no leavened bread with it; seven days shall you eat unleavened bread with it, the bread of affliction; for you came out of the land of Egypt in haste; that you may remember the day when you came out of the land of Egypt all the days of your life. [Deuteronomy 16]

While the Talmud did not explicitly mention the haggadah passage, the idea of such a passage does come from a Talmudic source

Samuel said: Bread of [‘oni] [means] bread over which we recite [‘onin] many words. It was taught likewise: ‘Bread of [‘oni]’ means bread over which we recite [‘onin] many words. Another interpretation: ‘Bread of [‘oni]’: ‘ani [poverty] is written: just as a beggar generally has a piece, so here too a piece [is taken]. Another interpretation: just as a poor man fires [the oven] and his wife bakes, so here too, he heats and she bakes. [Pes 115b-116a]

In a series of word plays on the word for affliction,’oni, the rabbis note that the word for affliction could also mean poverty and recitation. They made the conclusion it could mean both. We are to recite many words over the matzah to tell its story and why it is so significant. Read another way, we are to not bless over a whole matzah like a rich man but like a poor man. We are to have only a piece, which is why we break the middle matzah in two. Finally a poor man has little wood and has to bake very quickly, so too we need to bake in haste as though we are poor men.
The Talmud also mentions another passage which I find instructive. To answer the four questions, the Talmud instructs to so in the following way:

According to the son's intelligence his father instructs him. He commences with shame and concludes with praise; and expounds from ‘a wandering Aramean was my father’ until he completes the whole section.[Pesachim 116a]

The text tells us to use a passage from Deuteronomy, related to the first fruits offering:

5. And you shall speak and say before the Lord your God, A wandering Aramean was my father, and he went down into Egypt, and sojourned there with a few, and became there a nation, great, mighty, and populous. And the Egyptians dealt ill with us, and afflicted us, and laid upon us hard slavery; 7. And when we cried to the Lord God of our fathers, the Lord heard our voice, and looked on our affliction, and our labor, and our oppression; 8. And the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand, and with an outstretched arm, and with great awesomeness, and with signs, and with wonders; 9. And he has brought us to this place, and has given us this land, a land that flows with milk and honey…11. And you shall rejoice in every good thing which the Lord your God has given to you, and to your house, you, and the Levite, and the stranger who is among you. [Deuteronomy 26]

Today’s Haggadah not only recites this passage, but the whole story of the Exodus, with many commentaries along the way. The recitation of Deuteronomy 26:5 gets expanded but now reads An Aramean tried to destroy my father, a reference to Laban by changing the meaning of the word for wandering to destroy. But the point of the Seder and Passover is found in verse 11. We are to rejoice in every good thing in our lives. We are to remember that God blessed us. One of the most powerful of those blessings was freedom. We ate matzah because we were leaving affliction behind, not that Passover is an affliction, like that synagogue sign seemed to imply.
To say Passover is an affliction is to be like the people in the desert of Numbers 11, who were whining things were so much better in Egypt, the same ones that God wanted stuffed to their nostrils. The status quo of slavery for them was apparently better than being free and eating manna. They were saying that the freedom we were granted by God on Passover is not worth anything. That sign said the same thing. It was saying the bounty that is on our tables for Passover is not worth anything. Is a few muffins, oatmeal and a slice a bread so horrific to go without?
Through the Passover story, the bread of affliction transforms into a bread of freedom. As, the bread of affliction the passage relates, it is the transformation from slavery to freedom, from starving to full. Like the people in the desert we too can be slaves to the status quo. Like them, it is then we suffer and perish.
Passover, like the first fruit offering, is about counting the blessings we have been given. Passover is the most observed Jewish holiday. It is not the most observed holiday because it competes with other holidays, as does Hanukkah. It is not due to some deep meaning of praying for our soul like Yom Kippur. Passover is the ultimate home holiday, the one where we surround ourselves with family and friends and celebrate all that we have. Every bite of matzah is not an affliction, but a blessing of having all of this around us. It is a blessing in hearing the noise of the kids, the blessing of making all that food, it is a blessing in hearing a young one saying the four questions, or belting out Dayenu off key. It is a blessing in trying to stuff too many chairs into too little space for all those people to be there. It is the blessing of having that first Hillel sandwich, and chicken soup with matzo balls. While the seders may go on for two evenings, Passover goes on for seven days, which might seem a lot, but each one has its blessing. Everything that is traditional for Passover, even refusing foods, is a celebration. Freedom is not just that oppression had ended but that we can now choose what we do. To choose not to eat hometz is a choice we can make that is demonstrating our freedom. We show that we will not give to the oppression and slavery of craving or habit.
It is also a reminder not everyone does have those blessings in their lives, and our responsibility to help those who need the help, to bring those people blessings as well. Maybe this year is bad for them; next year will be good for them with our help. A Hasidic rabbi once stated that “Next year in Jerusalem” is not about a place but a state of mind. We are in a state of blessing, as though we were at the temple in Jerusalem. Next year in Jerusalem is not about just us, but about everyone being there, and about bringing everyone to such a state.
So when we read in the Aramaic, Ha lach-ma Anya, remember the week of Passover is not one of affliction, but of celebration.
May everyone have a joyous Pesah, filled with blessing.

Passover 5768: The Quest for the Hillel Sandwich

During the Passover Seder, the Hillel sandwich is one of the last rituals before dinner begins. Even when I was very young, when my family celebrated Passover at my grandparents or at home, this was always the good part. This was when you got to eat the haroset for the first time. In our family, it is our tradition to make the Hillel sandwich out of haroset and matzah. But as I began to really explore the Haggadah, I found something out - its not matzah and haroset, but matzah and maror, which my family did as the step before when we eat the maror open-faced. The maror you were supposed to dip into the haroset, which really bothered me: how do you dip ground horseradish into the ground haroset? During the Passover seder, the second son asks, "what is this service to you?" In modernity, it often could be reworded "why are you doing these antiquated customs?" As the story of the Hillel sandwich will show they aren't static or antiquated, but show how dynamic Judaism really is.

In the early part of the first century CE, there lived a great Rabbi named Hillel. His most famous story is about the jokester who went to both Hillel and his rival Shammai and asked to be taught all Torah while standing on one foot. Shammai beat him with a T-square, and Hillel taught him the golden rule. The judgments, discussions, and stories of these two, their contemporaries and their students, were eventually written down and became the Mishnah, the foundation of the Talmud. But not all of what they did was written down in the Mishnah either. Some was orally transmitted for hundreds of years from student to teacher in what is known as a Baraita.

One finds a Baraita in the second part of the Talmud, the Gemara. The Gemara is again the discussions, judgments and stories of the later generations of rabbis, based on what was said in the Mishnah. These Rabbis lived after the destruction of the second temple. On page115a of the Talmud tractate Pesachim, the Hillel sandwich gets discussed, opening in a surprising way: "Said Hillel in the name of a tradition: A person should not wrap matzah and maror and eat." Hillel is saying not to eat a Hillel sandwich? What is going on? It turns out we have two different Hillels here, the Hillel speaking is Hillel II, a fourth century CE rabbi. His reasoning for no Hillel sandwich is that by his time, there's a missing ingredient. The Torah states in Exodus 12:8 "and they shall eat meat in that night, roast with fire, and Matzah; and with maror they shall eat it." In Numbers 9:11, we read "they shall keep it, and eat it with unleavened bread and bitter herbs." with the destruction of the temple, there are no more sacrifices, and thus no usable meat. This creates a second dilemma. Outside of this sacrificial use, which we cannot do, maror becomes a rabbinical precept, not one from the Torah. All we read about maror and bitterness in our Haggadah is actually written in the Mishnah. And if a rabbinic precept and Torah precept are together, Hillel II maintains the Rabbinical nullifies the Torah's precept. So by eating them together, you kill the Torah based mitzvot of eating matzah, which is obviously a bad thing. Hillel II points Hillel the elder did put them together substantiated by Numbers 9:11. Hillel believed "it" is in the singular, so therefore the foods must be put together in one package. But, Hillel's companions disagree; it must be eaten with the Passover sacrifice separately, once with Matzah and once with maror.

Another Rabbi, Hillel II contemporary R. Ashi objected, that the real issues, isn't annulment of one mitzvah or another, but eating one sandwich may not fulfill all obligations for matzah and maror, nor may eating them separately, given the sacrifice situation. So he comes up with a compromise by changing from sacrifice to blessing. Now the obligation comes from the blessings and not the Passover sacrifice. The way to set up this procedure is to first bless the matzah and eat that, then bless the maror, and eat that. Each then has separate obligation. Finally take lettuce, wrap the matzah in it and without a blessing eat that, to remember Hillel, the temple and our missing third ingredient. This is why on many seder plates there are a space for both maror and lettuce.

So it would seem that R. Ashi has solved the problem. Today's Haggadah does use R. Ashi's procedure. First we eat matzah, then maror with haroset together, and finally matzah and maror. But this brings me back to my original question: why does my family use a different sequence: Matzah, Maror on matzah, and Haroset on matzah. I think a lot of it has to do with what we use for maror. Maror today can be one of three things: Lettuce, endive, or horseradish. We always use grated horseradish, as do many people. But the other two type of maror, lettuce and endive, are not eaten that way, but as whole leaves. In the agriculturally rich areas of the Mediterranean, it was probably rather easy to get these by spring. If that were so, then dipping endive into haroset or wrapping a piece of lettuce around a piece of matzah makes sense.

I'm guessing here, but in the Ukraine and Russia, fresh endive or lettuce in late March to early April were probably near impossible to get, or very expensive. The only viable alternative for the poor Jewish household was horseradish, and that was grated so a small piece went a long way. So traditions in eastern Europe arose once again on a people's best way to handle the current situation. When my great-grandfather came to this country, he probably had one tradition from the old country*, grated horseradish, which could only be dispensed easily on matzah. Similarly, to make sure the haroset was eaten, Hillel sandwiches were made with haroset and matzah. These traditions were passed down to my grandfather and my father. Of course, even if the books say otherwise, my Hillel sandwiches will be made with haroset too.

What excites me about this journey, is that we have a desire to perform a mitzvah, and when we cannot, we find a way regardless, even if we have to tweak a rule. We no longer have a Temple, so sacrifices are difficult to come by, but we change the rules so a matter of Torah, eating matzah and maror, can be performed. When living in a place where those rules cannot be followed, because no one can afford the maror necessary to do the mitzvah, those rules once again change.

At Passover we celebrate freedom, that there is no Pharaoh over us, no theocracy, no king. There is only God. Our tradition tells us that God gave us every rule at Sinai, and while the framework was written down as Torah, much of it then, and still today, we are unable to understand until the need is there- and its up to us to find it once the need arises. Even though the words never change, the Torah is not a Pharaoh, and ideas can change and adapt as we need to. We are not stuck doing exactly what they did in Egypt that first Passover, or at Sinai, or in the time of Solomon, because it's impossible for us to do so. Judaism is never antiquated as long as we are willing to take the time to adapt past Halakah to new situations. As I eat my Haroset and matzah this Passover, while remembering the temple in the name of Hillel, I will remember our beautiful dynamism as well.

(*) There is also a possible theory that the grated horseradish tradition actually creeped into my family in this country, via the Gold's horseradish company and bottled grated horseradish. If that is so, it probably started in my Grandfathers generation. However, how the traditions adapted still hold.

Shabbat Ha Gadol:The World History of Haroset

The Passover Seder is full of tradition and mitzvot. According to the NJPS 2001 demographic survey, it is one of the most observed holidays out of all of the Jewish calendar, with two thirds of all Jews attending a Seder. Only lighting Hanukkah candles comes close. Sociologists believe that much of this has to do with home traditions. Home traditions have a deep link to history, especially family history and tradition, often remembered in the kitchen.

One of the most beloved parts of most Passover Seders is eating haroset, the sweet combination of fruits, wine nuts and spices. Everyone has their own recipe, handed down through generations. Many people come for the Seder just to have this sweet condiment. Most know about the symbolism of haroset as the clay of the bricks, which the Israelite slaves made for the Egyptian building projects. But what is the real history of this part of the Passover Seder? Where did it come from and why is it really there? It is a commandment or something else? And why are there so many different recipes and customs about how to eat this?

There are no references to haroset in all the biblical text. The Torah never mentions eating it. Its first mention is in the Mishnah, the early part of the Talmud, where it instructs dipping the maror into it, but the rabbis argue whether it is a mitzvah or not:

Mishnah. They then set [the Passover foods] before him. He dips the lettuce before yet he has reached the aftercourse of the bread. They set before him matzah, lettuce [bitter herbs], and haroset and two dishes, though the haroset is not a mitzvah. R. Eleazar son of R. Zadok said: it is a mitzvah. [Pes. 114a]

In the later Gemara, the rabbis puzzle over this debate. If it isn't a religious requirement why do it? One answer by R. Ammi is to remove something else known as kappa. There are ways to remove kappa, which the rabbis list:

R. Assi said: The kappa of lettuce [is counteracted by] radishes; the kappa of radishes, [by] leeks; the kappa of leeks, [by] hot water; the kappa of all these, [by] hot water. And in the meanwhile let him say thus: ‘Kappa kappa, I remember you and your seven daughters and your eight daughters-in-law.’[Pes. 116a]

The Talmudic rabbis don't tell us what Kappa is, but the 12th century commentator Rashi tells us that it is Aris. This is a loan word from the Greek word which is also is the root of our contemporary word Virus. Aris is something that makes you sick. One of the ways The Rabbis state one way to get rid of kappa is to recite an incantation. Incantations in the Babylonia of Talmudic times were a common method for dealing with demons, and several such incantations can be found in the Talmud. There is a tradition among to name demons in the opposite of is function so as to avoid invoking the demon. Kappa in Aramaic means to congeal, which does describe the process of making bricks. However, its opposite would therefore be to make liquid. If this were true then kappa could have been a case of diarrhea. As the Rabbis do mention sour liquids and in association with haroset, it may be bacteria which die under Hot water or under acidic conditions. There is one, Clostridium perfringens that would fit this bill, commonly found in vegetables grown close to the ground. The Haroset's original function was to fulfill the mitzvah of eating maror without getting ill.

Other rabbis thought differently. Some believed it was a mitzvah, as it was a commemoration of the Exodus, but there was disagreement about what was being commemorated:

R. Levi said: In memory of the fruit-tree; R. Johanan said: In memory of the clay. Abaye observed: Therefore one must make it acrid and thicken it: make it acrid, in memory of the fruit-tree; and thicken it, in memory of the clay. It was taught in accordance with R. Johanan: The spices are in memory of the straw; the haroset is a reminder of the clay. [Pes. 116a]

R. Levi thought it had to do with the memory of a fruit tree, a reference to the Song of Songs 8:5.

5. Who is this that comes up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved? I awakened you up under the tapuach tree; there your mother was in labor with you; there she who bore you was in labor.

The rabbis tell a story that the Israelite women, to avoid the intercession by Egyptian authorities, would bear their children under fruit trees. (Gen. R. I:12, B. Sotah 11b) R. Johanan believed it had to do with the memory of the clay used for building by the slaves. R. Johanan's idea came from the root word for haroset, heres, which means clay. Much later, Abaye combined the ideas and includes both as ingredients in the finished condiment. Following the lead of R. Johanan's clay idea, it was later taught that the spices used were a reminder of the straw which the Israelites were denied by the Egyptians and had to find themselves in order to makes bricks out of mud.

7. You shall no more give the people straw to make bricks, as till now; let them go and gather straw for themselves. [Exodus 5:7]

But there was one more train of thought as to why we have Haroset on the table. We are commanded by the Mishnah to ask

Why is this night different from all other nights? For on all other nights we dip once, while on this night we dip twice.

In order to beg the question, the rabbis had this curious custom included so that we do dip twice, in the salt water with the karpas, and later the haroset with the bitter herbs. This was one of many tricks to keep the kids involved with the Seder.

By the middle ages there were several interpretations of this debate in the Talmud. Two commentators from two different parts of the word give differing perspective. Rabbi Shlomo ben Yitzchak, better known as Rashi, lived in late 11^th to early 12^th century France, whose views would parallel the regional view of northern and eastern Europe, what would eventually become the Ashkenazic world. In the Mediterranean, including Spain and much of the Southern Mediterranean, in essence what we know as Sephardic world there was Rabbi Moses Ben Maimon (1135-1204 CE) best known as either Maimonides or the Rambam. The Rambam, born in Spain, traveled throughout most of the Sephardic world, spending the end of his life in Alexandria. Both of these giants of the middle ages, Rambam and Rashi, agree that the Haroset is in accordance with Johanan's idea commemorating clay.

While Rashi and Rambam agree on the symbol, their respective parts of the world didn't agree on the ingredients of haroset. They knew where to get the ingredient list: The Song of Songs, since it was mentioned in the Halakah. R. Levi's ingredients based on the Song of Songs however gets lost in translation. The word for fruit tree is tapuach. Most who know Modern Hebrew will recognize this as apple. This comes from the northern and eastern European translations of this word. Rashi, the French and eastern European Jews used apples, assuming this was a tapuach. On the other hand, the Mediterranean basin, where the Rambam lived, apples are rather uncommon, as they are not a native species. The Tapuach of the Song of Songs some have speculated may have been a Chinese import to the Persian courts: peaches and apricots. In Egypt, Spain and most of the Islamic controlled Mediterranean, apples were near impossible to come by, so Tapuach was interpreted to mean Dates. Sephardic haroset is usually Dates and other dried fruits and nuts.

Throughout the word there are amazing regional differences in the recipes for haroset. The traditional Ashkenazic variety is a variation of apples, chopped almonds, cinnamon, red wine, and matzah meal. Sephardic traditions have ingredients available in ancient Israel: grapes, matzah meal, dates, figs, olives, apricots, pomegranates, and almonds. Yemenite Jews will add julienne Chili peppers to resemble the straw, and also add ginger and sesame seeds. North African Jews will add Eggs pines nuts and ginger to the Sephardic recipe. One Italian recipe even included chestnuts. Iraqi and Indian Jews will make date syrup and add nuts. While the mitzvah of Haroset continues, its implementation is indeed all over the map.

As I look at the myriad of observances and opinions about some little condiment, eaten on a few consecutive days a year, I am in awe. What started as a folk food safety practice for eating certain kinds of vegetables has evolved through two millennia as a point of deep spiritual meaning for many Jews today. What was probably just a sweetened dish of vinegar has inspired hundreds of recipes, and inspired traditions to be handed down for close to two thousand years. But what awes me the most is the dynamic nature of the practice of eating Haroset. While the commandment hasn't changed, the observance and ingredients varied widely. As I went through the Talmud, Maimonides, Rashi, and the Shulchan Aruch about haroset, I am reminded how dynamic, flexible and resilient Judaism can be.

For those looking for a good resource for recipes, check out this website:

http://www.cyber-kitchen.com/rfcj/category.cgi?category=PESACH-haroset

For those interested in the original texts in English translation, and some selected recipes from a variety of sources, check out the handout I wrote for a Haroset workshop at Beth Emet in Evanston IL a few years ago.

http://www.shlomosdrash.com/haroset_class.pdf

Parshat Passover 5767: Story

This week we read a special reading for Passover. However, in this week's Drash I want to talk about one aspect of the holiday, and its role in Judaism.

The Jewish religion is known by most as a religion of law. The 613 mitzvot and countless halakah definitely lend credence to that view. This view has continued into modernity, but isnt quite true. Laws require enforcement, yet there really is no word for enforcement in biblical Hebrew. The modern Hebrew word for enforcement comes from a root which means to ride a donkey in Rabbinic Hebrew, and has the meaning of oppressive burdens in paltry number of appearances in Tanach, such as Proverbs 16:26. It's clear that the Biblical mind did not have a good view of the idea of enforcement. The biblical law did not use enforcement, it used prophets. Prophets didn't go around arresting anyone not following the law, but instead told the whole nation of their mistakes.

Yet the first Mitzvot given to Israel is the mitzvot surrounding the holiday of Passover, the when and how it is observed. This occurs in Exodus 12 and 13. For a book of mere law, why all the "fluff" before, the stories of Genesis and the early history of Moses? Why have stories interspersed into the laws, Like the one of Nadab and Abihu in next week's reading, or of Miriam's slander and leprosy? Why do we need them?

In terms of Passover, we read as one of those mitzvot found in Exodus 12:

You will observe this matter as an ordinance to your descendants forever. When you come to the land which the Lord will give you as he spoke, then you will observe these services. When your children ask you: What is this service to you? You will answer: This is the Passover sacrifice to the Lord when he passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt when he smote Egypt but our houses he saved... [Ex 12:24-27]

It was from this and similar passages that the four sons of the Passover haggadah were derived. What is critical in all four passges is the mitzvah that we are to do when we hear that question - tell a story, a tale of the Exodus from Egypt. The word haggadah actually means story. It is derived from the Hebrew verbal root NGD (נגד) which means in its simple tense to be opposite, or facing someone or something. Yet in the causative tense known in Hebrew as the hiphil, this verb hagid (הגיד) means to tell a story, more literally to cause to be opposite someone. The word itself gives a shade of meaning: To tell a story is to make another person sit opposite you. But such a meaning for story presents us with an interesting question: Does this means there is a requirement for there to be a listener for a story, or that telling a story brings people together to listen?

Exodus 13:8, using our word as a command reads

8. And you shall tell (higgadta) your son in that day, saying: This is done because of what the Lord did to me when I came forth out of Egypt.

Notice at first the story is commanded here to be told in the first person, as though each person came out of Egypt personally, and telling the story in a way that the next generation will do the same. By telling the story, we transmit the story to others, to the next generation, who will tell the story to their descendants. It is for this reason we gather at Passover to recite the story of Passover. The youngest at the table traditionally asks the four questions to begin the storytelling process and continuing the tradition of transmitting the story to the next generation.

Story and the explanation of story, known in Hebrew as aggadah, needs the listener not to just transmit the story, but also act on it. Story itself is a very special message; it is the missing part of the enforcement issue. In Judaism we have storytellers instead of enforcers, both of the past and of the future. We have the stories and exclamations of the prophets telling of what would or could happen if the people do not change. But we also have story which helps us to remember why we do the things we do. We eat maror because the Egyptians made the live of the Egyptians bitter. We eat haroset as a remembrance of the clay used for bricks. Story is bound by practice. The theology and ethics, the part missing from the laws and mitzvot, are found in the Aggadah. Theology and ethics are the driving force that moves us from studying law to action. The Tamudic sage Rabbi Gamliel made many Halakic rulings, including mandating we tell of the three things at the Passover table: Passover sacrifice, Matzah and maror. Yet, it is in the Aggadah, he says something even more significant:

Excellent is the study of the Torah together with a worldly occupation, for the energy by both of them keeps sin out of one's mind; as for all study of the Torah where there is no worldly occupation, the end thereof is that it comes to naught and brings sin in its train;[Avot 2:2]

His son, R. Shimon noted:

All my days I grew up among the sages, and I have found nothing better for a person than silence. Study is not the most important thing, but deed; whoever indulges in too many words brings about sin. [Avot 1:17]

One can get too bogged down in the details of law, and how to do them. Story on the other hand takes us to the motivation of the law. For Passover it tells us a story, not just of an event millennia in the past, but of our own participation in being free to observe the mitzvot. The Baal Shem Tov even notes that the evil inclination tempts people to sin not by asking them to directly sin, but by getting them to study too much Gemara.

The Baal Shem Tov's disciple, HAsidHYaacov Yosef of Polonnoye was at first a staunch opponent of Hasidism, advocating a very strict acetic life. When R. Yaacov Yosef was the Rabbi of Szarygrod he was very punctual about the time for the Morning Prayer. One morning he goes to the synagogue to find it lock and abandoned. When he finds out that everyone is listening to some stranger telling stories in the marketplace he gets very angry. About ready to flog this man, he goes to the market place to confront him asking him:

"Are you the one who interrupted the communal prayer?" He answered; Rabbi, I am the one." The Baal Shem continued: "I request his eminence not be angry with me. Let me tell him a story." Rabbi Yaacov Yosef listened to the story and was deeply moved by it. He regained piece of mind and was no longer angry. The Besht continued: "If his eminence would like I shall tell him another story" "tell it to me" he replied. When the Besht had finished, still a third story then Yaacov Yosef entered into conversation with him and immediately was joined to him.

The Besht attracts a whole town and converts an opponent by mere story. Interestingly there is a parallel story found in the Talmud:

R. Abbahu and R. Hiyya b. Abba once came to a place; R. Abbahu expounded Aggada and R. Hiyya b. Abba expounded legal lore. All the people left R. Hiyya b. Abba and went to hear R. Abbahu, so that the former was upset. [R. Abbahu] said to him: 'I will give you a parable. To what is the matter like? To two men, one of whom was selling precious stones and the other various kinds of small ware. To whom will the people hurry? Is it not to the seller of various kinds of small ware?'[Sotah 40b]

Aggadah is cheap. It is easy to absorb on any level of understanding. It is also useful, and that makes it very attractive to the casual observer, bringing them closer. As a teller of story I note how people respond to story compared to a fact. They often listen, not even realizing they are absorbing the information they never would have had I lectured it. Not only that but they remember it long after we part ways. When I mention a story about R. Gamliel and or the rabbis of B'nei B'rak during our Passover Seder, it comes alive at times where people have troubles pronouncing all those rabbis names. When telling a story I am reminded of the Hasidic student who said he was not interested in learning Torah from the Maggid of Metzrich, but how he ties his shoelaces. Yosi. b. Yotzer gives a similar thought when he says in the Perkei Avot [1:4] to cover yourself in the dust of the feet of the sages. Both are discussing the Aggadah of living. Despite a Jewish tradition of nicknaming authors by the names of their works, people are not soulless books. Compare this to the writing on a Torah scroll, there are only consonants there. The vowels are from the human soul: they are the actions and speech of real people when reading the Torah. When we understand those people as people, when we understand how holy even tying your shoelaces are or where a sage get his feet dirty, we understand the person behind it and can model their behavior to be holy -- and get the whole Torah.

Aggadah brings the words of Torah to life, to the frame in which we live our lives, and thus we do both parts of the verb Nagad. We are attracted to Mitzvot that we may not have known of or were reluctant to observe. We are also motivated through Aggadah to actual practice and observance of halakah and mitzvot we may not otherwise do. At Passover we tell a story, the story of the beginning of mitzvot. We tell it because it is a mitzvah to tell the story, to remember the Exodus from Egypt as though we were there. When our families gather together singing Dayeinu or dipping our fingers into the cups of wine for the ten plagues, we tell a story of slavery in the tight place, to the freedom of Torah.

Passover 5767: Illustrating the Five Children

As a special treat before Passover, I have composed a piece on Illustration of the Four children of the Passover Seder, and a fifth child which some contemporary sources including Irving Greenberg and the Lubabvitcher Rebbe (z"l) came up with. I compiled a family Haggadah a few years ago and this was one of my original contributions.

You can read several articles about my work in the Haggadah on my holidays page.

HAG Sameach!