Karpas is traditionally a green vegetable. The seders that follow my mother's family line use a piece of celery to dip in the salt water. On the other hand, my wife's family's tradition uses a potato for karpas. (I haven't wanted to potentially create a family feud over this, so I haven't checked the halachah (religious regulations) on this issue.) My mother-in-law explains it this way: "Back at home in Poland, who had vegetables at this time of year? We had only potatoes. Besides, this way you won't be so hungry all the way to the meal."
The common interpretation of the traditional green vegetable is that Pesach is a spring holiday. The green vegetable suggests the renewal and rebirth that is synonymous with the end of winter applies equally to our festival of redemption. But we can also connect the green vegetable - especially a leafy green vegetable - with the laurel wreath that was worn by victors in ancient battles and competitions. Thus the humble karpas becomes a symbol of victory - the triumph of God's will and the ancient Israelites over the tyranny of Pharaoh's hardened heart.
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Washing and Trusting
After Kadesh - the b'racha over the first cup of wine - comes U'rchatz, washing the hands without saying a blessing. (Why don't we say the blessing, you ask? Because we're not eating bread (matzah) yet.) Interestingly, the Hebrew word that comes from the root rachatz (washing) has another meaning when read in another ancient language: u'rchatz means "trusting" in Aramaic.
Pesach is a holiday of miracles, but miracles that occurred millennia ago. In our own time, it is often difficult to believe in miracles because we often substitute faith and trust with a belief in the power of modern technology. This is not to completely dismiss the power (and benefits) of technology, but rather to observe that our current emphasis and focus on technology often prevents us from seeing the miraculous around us, and hence erodes faith and trust.
U'rchatz - we wash the hands immediately before eating the simple sustenance of a lowly ground vegetable (Karpas). In noting the Aramaic translation, we are reminded not to take even the simplest things for granted, but to observe and trust in the miraculous processes through which we can enjoy them.
Pesach is a holiday of miracles, but miracles that occurred millennia ago. In our own time, it is often difficult to believe in miracles because we often substitute faith and trust with a belief in the power of modern technology. This is not to completely dismiss the power (and benefits) of technology, but rather to observe that our current emphasis and focus on technology often prevents us from seeing the miraculous around us, and hence erodes faith and trust.
U'rchatz - we wash the hands immediately before eating the simple sustenance of a lowly ground vegetable (Karpas). In noting the Aramaic translation, we are reminded not to take even the simplest things for granted, but to observe and trust in the miraculous processes through which we can enjoy them.
Sunday, March 21, 2004
We Are Moshe
There is an age-old question that arises from the Haggadah: Where's Moshe (Moses)? Moshe is the putative hero of Pesach, the one called on by God to challenge Pharaoh and lead the Children of Israel out of Egypt. He is clearly the "star" character in the biblical book of Exodus. But he is conspicuous by his absence from the Haggadah. Not a single mention anywhere throughout the prescribed readings. Everyone else is there - Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (and his rival, brother Esau.) Evil Laban is there, as is the Pharaoh himself. All sorts of rabbis and sages from throughout history are mentioned, with all their strange commentary on fingers, hands and the actual number of plagues (more on this later). But Moshe? Nowhere to be found.
Why?
It was always explained to me that featuring Moshe in the Haggadah would convey celebrity that could border on placing Moshe's role in the Exodus above that of God. This, of course, would never do, so the sages chose to eliminate Moshe entirely from the Pesach ritual so as to circumvent a potential "Moshe cult." Besides, my teachers told me, it would teach us humility - if a person as great as Moshe did not receive such recognition, why should any of us expect it? (If he blogged, I wonder if Moshe would be one of the A-list bloggers... )
Such an explanation always seemed to come from the "avoid the evil eye" school of thought - that if you were too full of yourself, the evil eye would come and cut you down to size. While I could understand the lesson being taught there (and there are those who would say that I didn't actually learn the lesson being taught) it was a very unsatisfying dismissal of Moshe. Finally, thanks to the Bratslavers, I have an insight.
The Haggadah's exclusion of Moshe emphasizes that it was God's power, not Moshe, that delivered the Israelites. But the Torah teaches us that God required Moshe to effect the redemption. That, in itself, is an interesting dynamic. Surely God could have appeared to Pharaoh directly, brought the plagues, or merely swept up the ancient Hebrews in a wind storm of some sort and deposited them on the far side of the Red Sea. But God needed Moshe to express the Divine Manifestation and actualize it by confronting Pharaoh, calling for the plagues and actually leading the Israelites upon their being granted freedom. God was always present, and indeed, was the power that delivered the slaves from bondage, but was never actually seen: Moshe was the vehicle for all the miracles that were Divine Manifestation.
In our own life, we accomplish miracles, although often of a less dramatic sort than the ten plagues. Life springs from our bodies. Children learn to read under our tutelage. We build enterprises that create livelihoods, wealth and prosperity for thousands. We create art and music that survives for centuries and evokes incredible ranges of emotion. That we have elevated ourselves from a base, animalistic nature to accomplish wondrous things is truly a miracle. (And yes, I realize there are those among us who are closer to animalistic in their behaviour than to angelic.) All of these miracles are, for those of some faith, Divine Manifestations, for which we are the vehicle.
The Haggadah tells us that, during the Pesach celebration, we are each to consider ourselves as if we, personally, were brought out of the land of Egypt. But the absence of Moshe throughout the text of the Haggadah tells us something even more important. It is we, individually who fill in that absence. Not only are we to feel as if we were delivered from Egypt; we are to consider ourselves as personally playing the role of Moshe during the celebration. The Haggadah is reminding us that each of us has the personal responsibility to realize Divine Manifestation in our world throught our acts and works. But we must not forget that Moshe Rabbeinu achieved awareness of this role by speaking "face to face" with God, first at the burning bush, and later at Mount Sinai. Before we can truly fill in for Moshe in our own celebration of redemption, we must equally achieve the requisite awareness of our individual roles in our world. What we do matters. What we accomplish for good in the world contributes to collective miracles.
Why?
It was always explained to me that featuring Moshe in the Haggadah would convey celebrity that could border on placing Moshe's role in the Exodus above that of God. This, of course, would never do, so the sages chose to eliminate Moshe entirely from the Pesach ritual so as to circumvent a potential "Moshe cult." Besides, my teachers told me, it would teach us humility - if a person as great as Moshe did not receive such recognition, why should any of us expect it? (If he blogged, I wonder if Moshe would be one of the A-list bloggers... )
Such an explanation always seemed to come from the "avoid the evil eye" school of thought - that if you were too full of yourself, the evil eye would come and cut you down to size. While I could understand the lesson being taught there (and there are those who would say that I didn't actually learn the lesson being taught) it was a very unsatisfying dismissal of Moshe. Finally, thanks to the Bratslavers, I have an insight.
The Haggadah's exclusion of Moshe emphasizes that it was God's power, not Moshe, that delivered the Israelites. But the Torah teaches us that God required Moshe to effect the redemption. That, in itself, is an interesting dynamic. Surely God could have appeared to Pharaoh directly, brought the plagues, or merely swept up the ancient Hebrews in a wind storm of some sort and deposited them on the far side of the Red Sea. But God needed Moshe to express the Divine Manifestation and actualize it by confronting Pharaoh, calling for the plagues and actually leading the Israelites upon their being granted freedom. God was always present, and indeed, was the power that delivered the slaves from bondage, but was never actually seen: Moshe was the vehicle for all the miracles that were Divine Manifestation.
In our own life, we accomplish miracles, although often of a less dramatic sort than the ten plagues. Life springs from our bodies. Children learn to read under our tutelage. We build enterprises that create livelihoods, wealth and prosperity for thousands. We create art and music that survives for centuries and evokes incredible ranges of emotion. That we have elevated ourselves from a base, animalistic nature to accomplish wondrous things is truly a miracle. (And yes, I realize there are those among us who are closer to animalistic in their behaviour than to angelic.) All of these miracles are, for those of some faith, Divine Manifestations, for which we are the vehicle.
The Haggadah tells us that, during the Pesach celebration, we are each to consider ourselves as if we, personally, were brought out of the land of Egypt. But the absence of Moshe throughout the text of the Haggadah tells us something even more important. It is we, individually who fill in that absence. Not only are we to feel as if we were delivered from Egypt; we are to consider ourselves as personally playing the role of Moshe during the celebration. The Haggadah is reminding us that each of us has the personal responsibility to realize Divine Manifestation in our world throught our acts and works. But we must not forget that Moshe Rabbeinu achieved awareness of this role by speaking "face to face" with God, first at the burning bush, and later at Mount Sinai. Before we can truly fill in for Moshe in our own celebration of redemption, we must equally achieve the requisite awareness of our individual roles in our world. What we do matters. What we accomplish for good in the world contributes to collective miracles.
On Ritual and Practice
I have to admit that most of our extended clan aren't that religious (that's putting it mildly), but they are traditional. There are other families who observe the rituals to the last detail, "ayn maf'tirin acher ha'pesach afikoman" - that "one may not eat dessert after the final taste of the Passover offering" (symbolized by the hidden piece of matzah, the afikoman.) There are others who insist that a modern seder is incomplete without reference to modern-day abuses of human rights and a call for the liberation of those who may not be enslaved as Pharaoh enslaved the Israelites, but are still living under the yoke of injustice. Neither view is incorrect, as far as they go, but neither should they be imposed as an injunction.
A disciple of Rebbe Nachman, one Reb Noson, reminds us,
So this raises a question: What is it that we are supposed to do, among all the rituals and variants that are available to us at the seder celebration? There are, as I understand it, four obligations at the seder:
A disciple of Rebbe Nachman, one Reb Noson, reminds us,
Sometimes, because a person tries excessively hard to perform a mitzvah in the very best way possible, he ends up not performing the mitzvah at all.The Rebbe himself told us to perform the mitzvot "with simple sincerity," noting that the Torah was given to imperfect mortals to embrace, not to "ministering angels."
So this raises a question: What is it that we are supposed to do, among all the rituals and variants that are available to us at the seder celebration? There are, as I understand it, four obligations at the seder:
- You must eat matzah
- You must eat maror (bitter herbs)
- You must drink four cups of wine
- You must tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt in a way that everyone present understands
A New Haggadah
At our seder, we use a wonderful haggadah from the Artscroll Mesorah Series - The Family Haggadah. I quite enjoy the translation and commentary in all of the Artscroll editions of prayer books and the Tanach, and their Family Haggadah is no exception. But to develop some other thinking, and to bring stories and parables that will enhance the seder experience, I turn to others. I have a gorgeously illustrated edition called The Passover Haggadah - Legends and Customs, published by Adama Books. It has many such parables and thought-provoking commentary. A sample:
Once the Seer of Lublin said: "I prefer a wicked person who knows he is wicked, to a righteous person who knows he is righteous."Last year, just before Pesach, I happened to find The Breslov Haggadah, published by The Breslov Institute whose mission it is "to serve as an introduction to the teachings of the chassidic master Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (1772-1810)." I've always been drawn to the joy of celebration that embodies chassidut, although I am very far from a "black hat" in my own practice, such as it is. Still, Rebbe Nachman brings a wonderful, simple and life-affirming approach to Jewish philosophy and practice. In browsing the pages, I can immediately see that "Rebbe Nachman mi Bratslav" will be joining us, both in this blog and at our seder celebration.
Misplaced Mouse Click Leads to a Recollection
As I was about to set up this blog, my mouse pointer slipped, and I inadvertently went to the Sitemeter referral log for the McLuhan Program weblog. By some "coincidence" (you don't actually believe that there are any real coincidences, right?) the top referral was a Google search for haggadah "blood fire and columns of smoke". Funny, I thought, I don't remember writing about Pesach or the haggadah in the McLuhan blog. But, Google rarely lies, and indeed, a year ago, I had these thoughts (and a Laws of Media tetrad) about liberation, the war in Iraq and the obligations of freedom.
This blog, however, is decidedly not about politics. At holiday time, I prefer to be a little more philosophical, theological and non-partisan in my thinking. Your personal Pesach journey may (probably will) differ, to which I say, "Kol hakavod!" (Loosely translated as, "more power to you!")
This blog, however, is decidedly not about politics. At holiday time, I prefer to be a little more philosophical, theological and non-partisan in my thinking. Your personal Pesach journey may (probably will) differ, to which I say, "Kol hakavod!" (Loosely translated as, "more power to you!")
Why is this Blog Different From All My Other Blogs?
Some readers who happen upon this blog will know me from my usual musings on McLuhan-related themes and the goings on at the McLuhan Program. Others might know me from the course blogs we keep for some of our course offerings. Others might not know me at all. This last group has the advantage, I suppose, since you won't be coming here with any preconceived notions. This blog is different than all my other blogs.
I have, for a number of years now, been called to lead the family seder, at least in one half of our clan. This is, I suppose, the continuation of a tradition that has spanned three generations now. My grandfather, Ben Steinberg (of blessed memory), led the seders for the extended family when I was a boy. I remember vividly the joy and pride he felt when my aunts - both blessed with beautiful voices, one of whom is now a professional singer - chanted the Shochayn Ad in heavenly harmony. I always sat immediately to his left... and never once was able to spy his hiding of the afikomen.
My father conducted, and still conducts, the second seder, although the numbers at my parents' seder have dwindled over the years to include immediate family only. My father's is a participatory, if scripted, affair, with each person's part being indicated in the carefully marked up Haggadot. Everyone reads in turn - mostly in English - but, of course, one of the obligations is to tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt "so that everyone will understand," and for those who attend my parents' seder, English is the language of understanding.
So here am I, the third generation of seder-leaders. In my view, the admonition to ensure that "everyone will understand" takes on an interpretive obligation. The challenge for me is to find some deeper meaning to the story of the redemption in a way that, through the evening, everyone will be touched or inspired with at least one new idea or insight that might inspire them along the way to their own redemption from whatever enslaves them. So each year, a couple of weeks before Pesach, I continue my annual study, contemplation and thinking about fusing ancient traditions, centuries of thought, philosophy and scholarship, and application to modern life in the celebration of the seder.
This weblog - as an outering of private mind and an amplification of voice - are the collection of my thoughts as I embark on this year's journey from ancient Mitzrayim to modern time.
I have, for a number of years now, been called to lead the family seder, at least in one half of our clan. This is, I suppose, the continuation of a tradition that has spanned three generations now. My grandfather, Ben Steinberg (of blessed memory), led the seders for the extended family when I was a boy. I remember vividly the joy and pride he felt when my aunts - both blessed with beautiful voices, one of whom is now a professional singer - chanted the Shochayn Ad in heavenly harmony. I always sat immediately to his left... and never once was able to spy his hiding of the afikomen.
My father conducted, and still conducts, the second seder, although the numbers at my parents' seder have dwindled over the years to include immediate family only. My father's is a participatory, if scripted, affair, with each person's part being indicated in the carefully marked up Haggadot. Everyone reads in turn - mostly in English - but, of course, one of the obligations is to tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt "so that everyone will understand," and for those who attend my parents' seder, English is the language of understanding.
So here am I, the third generation of seder-leaders. In my view, the admonition to ensure that "everyone will understand" takes on an interpretive obligation. The challenge for me is to find some deeper meaning to the story of the redemption in a way that, through the evening, everyone will be touched or inspired with at least one new idea or insight that might inspire them along the way to their own redemption from whatever enslaves them. So each year, a couple of weeks before Pesach, I continue my annual study, contemplation and thinking about fusing ancient traditions, centuries of thought, philosophy and scholarship, and application to modern life in the celebration of the seder.
This weblog - as an outering of private mind and an amplification of voice - are the collection of my thoughts as I embark on this year's journey from ancient Mitzrayim to modern time.
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