Everything Can Wait Shabbat Chol HaMoed Pesach 5777

We Jews seem to do things backwards! We read and write the Hebrew language right to left instead of left to right.  We open a book from the back cover. We remember the day of a person’s death not the day of a person’s birth. A few years ago I spoke about why our High Holidays seem to be backwards. First we celebrate New Year’s Day, and only after, we observe the Day of Atonement. I argued that, on the face of it, it makes more sense to atone for our sins first, and then celebrate the New Year, when we have been cleansed of our sins.  But that seems backwards, too. Tonight, I want to examine another ritual that seems backwards.

This ritual is described in the Torah. It is the ritual of the very first Passover. As you know, while we are still slaves in Egypt, G-d commands us to have a Passover Seder. On the evening of the day we are to leave Egypt, G-d commands the Jewish people to gather with their families, in their homes for a Passover feast. We are to eat of the Passover sacrifice, and we are to eat Matzah and Maror.

What is backwards about that, you may ask. But if we think about it, doesn’t it make more sense for us to have the Passover feast AFTER we have been liberated from Egypt? Should not freedom and independence come first, THEN the celebration? Take the American example. On July 2, 1776, Congress formally adopted the Declaration of Independence. The Philadelphia Evening Post published the full text of the Declaration of Independence four days later. It wasn’t until July 4, 1777, a full year later, that Congress declared a formal celebration by the adjourning and celebrating with bonfires, bells, and fireworks. This is the principal – act first, celebrate later!

That is why it appears that we got the celebration of the first Passover backwards. The Exodus from Egypt had not yet happened, yet the Jewish people have been commanded to sit down to a family meal to commemorate their upcoming freedom from bondage. Think of all the other things they could have been doing! For one, they could have been home packing in preparation for the journey they would soon undertake. They could have been gathering in their communal halls planning the logistics needed to move hundreds of thousands of newly freed people out of Egypt. They could have been putting the final touches on their own Declaration of Independence. Instead, they are home cooking! They are deciding what kind of barbecue sauce they will use for the roasted lamb. They are chopping herring and making matzah ball soup. They are going house to house, making sure that everyone in the neighborhood has a seat at a Seder somewhere, since nobody can be left out.

Why hold a family dinner before the Exodus?  One reason is that we learn about the importance of the family unit in Jewish life. The central task of passing on the Jewish faith  from one generation to to the next generation lies upon the family. We all know that Religious school can help, as can Jewish summer camp, as can participation in Jewish Youth groups, as can trips to Israel. All of these build Jewish identity, give us a sense of solidarity with and a love for the Jewish people.  But the family is the cornerstone upon which all else rests. And when does the family convene most regularly? It is at the dinner table, around meals.   Eating meals together is of such monumental importance in Jewish family life that the Talmud states that now that the Temple has been destroyed and we can no longer offer sacrifices for atonement, it is the family dinner table that atones for our sins!

Unfortunately, these days, I hear from far too many people that families are too busy to eat together, even for a weekly Shabbat meal. Rabbi Moses Birnbaum tells the story of Rabbi Abraham Besdin, of Brooklyn. A couple approached Rabbi Besdin with marital problems. After meeting with them, he suggested that they commit themselves to having Shabbat dinner together every Friday night. While they were at odds with each other they were of one mind regarding the rabbi's suggestion. How dare he foist his religious fanaticism upon them? They came for marital counseling, after all!

Some years later Rabbi Besdin was at a simkhah. A man approached him and reintroduced himself as the husband who had angrily rejected Rabbi Besdin's advice about Shabbat dinner. The man began to apologize. "You see, rabbi, my wife and I went to a therapist after talking with you. We spent many years and a lot of money. In our last session he finally gave us some expert counsel: 'Why don't you reserve at least one night a week for a romantic meal together by candlelight with a bottle of wine?' We should have listened to you at the outset"

Now we understand that the Torah did not have it backward at all. One might now ask, “What better thing did the Jewish people have to do than sit down with their families for a meal the night before the Exodus from Egypt?” Everything else could wait. That is a message for us as well. Everything else can wait. Make dinner time, especially Shabbat dinner time, a priority for your family. If the Jewish people, anxious to leave the land of their bondage, and with so much else to do, could find time to do this, so could we!

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach

Passover and Parash Tzav: It's No Shame

 Monday evening Jews around the world will gather with families, friends and neighbors for our Seders to tell the story of Passover. The word “seder” is related to the word we use for our prayer book, “siddur”. Both come from the Hebrew root meaning “order”. Just as the Siddur presents our prayers in a particular order, so the Seder rituals must be performed in a particular sequence. The sages of the Talmud said that when we tell the story of the Exodus, we must start with “shame” and end with “praise”. One of those sages, Samuel , suggested that we start with the shameful fact that, “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt”. The sage Rav suggested we start our story of liberation even further back in history, when our ancestors worshipped idols. In starting with slavery, Samuel was referring to the physical shame of subjugation and exploitation by others. In starting with idolatry, Rav is referring to the spiritual shame of worshipping that which is naught. The Haggadah incorporates both of their opinions, starting with the story of our physical bondage in Egypt, then doubling back to tell of shame -- that Abraham’s father worshipped idols.

I find it intriguing that in telling of the story of our people, we begin with shame. Usually, we want to hide the things we are ashamed of. We do not want to talk about them, we do not want to remember them and we certainly do not want them exposed to the public eye. We usually want to avoid the humiliation that is associated with shame. One of the worst things that one can do in the Jewish tradition is to shame another in public. This week’s Torah portion teaches a profound moral lesson about this. It speaks of two sacrifices that are brought to the priests. There is the normal, everyday sacrifice called the “Elevation Offering”. This is the most common type of sacrifice that can be brought by an individual, and it is brought when a person seeks spiritual elevation and closeness to G-d. The Torah also speaks of the sacrifice called the “sin offering”. This, as its name implies, is brought only when a person has committed a transgression and is asking for atonement. The Torah says that the “Elevation Offering” and the “Sin Offering” are brought to the priest at the same place. This is not merely a matter of geography.  In this The Torah is being exquisitely sensitive to the issue of shame. If there was one entrance marked “For Elevation Offerings” and one entrance marked, “For Sin Offerings” the public would then know who was in need of forgiveness by which door the person entered. They might be subject to gossip, as people speculate about what the person bringing the sacrifice had done wrong!  Therefore, the Torah legislates that both the Elevation Offering and the Sin Offering are to be brought to the same place. One could say it is a way of guarding the individual’s dignity.

Of course, we no longer have a Temple and we no longer offer sacrifices as a way of worship. But our Sabbath table reminds us of the worship in the Temple. The white tablecloth represents the priestly garb. The candlesticks represent the Menorah that burned continually in the Temple. The Challahs on our table represent the show-bread that was baked weekly and placed in the Holy of Holies. The wine represents the wine libations that were performed each morning at the altar.  There is the story of 19^th century Rabbi, Israel Salanter, who once accepted an invitation for Shabbat dinner at the home of a prominent member of his synagogue. When he and his host were about to sit down, the husband grew angry at his wife for failing to cover the two loaves of Challah on the Shabbat table. The wife broke into tears and fled to the kitchen. 

Rabbi Salanter turned to the man. ‘Excuse me,” he said, “But I am getting older and have recently been having problems with my memory. Can you explain to me again why it is important to cover the two loaves of Challah at the Sabbath table?”

The host explained to Rabbi Salanter that the Challahs are covered as a way for them to be spared the shame, so to speak, of being exposed while all of the ritual attention is being paid to the wine. After he finished, Rabbi Salanter said to him, “You are meticulous about the custom of not “shaming” a mere loaf of bread. Yet how quick you are to embarrass your wife over her oversight of not covering the Challahs. I cannot eat with you.”

The man hurried to the kitchen to plead with his wife to forgive him. Afterwards, Rabbi Salanter consented to remain at the meal.

A number of reasons have been suggested as to why we begin our Passover story with shame. Some say it is important to remember our shame because it makes us more sensitive to those who are oppressed in our own day. By recalling our slavery, not only do we remember what it is like to be a slave, but we are reminded how not to treat others. Others say that recalling our slavery enables us to be that much more thankful to G-d for bringing us out of Egypt. By recalling the shame and humiliation of slavery we increase our gratitude for freedom. These are undoubtedly valid reasons for remembering the disgrace associated with enslavement. However there is never a good reason for shaming others, or recalling their most embarrassing moments. With our Passover holidays are coming up, families will soon gather around our tables for Seders.   I would like to suggest that we ask ourselves,  should we retell the “funny” ,  cute” but shaming  stories that go around the Seder table year after year, while the person  about whom the story is about sits there squirming in mortification?  Are we, ourselves, guilty of telling these stories?  Or, are we the subject of the story, and forced to sit there and endure them?  Is it time to retire those stories? ...... And how can we go about doing that?

I want to leave you with a little poem about the difference between shame and guilt. I am not sure where I got this poem, or who wrote it but it is worth listening to:

SHAME AND GUILT

Shame is not the same as guilt.

When we feel guilt, it's about something we did.
When we feel shame, it's about who we are.

When we feel guilty we need to learn
that it's OK to make mistakes.

When we feel shame we need to learn
that it's OK to be who we are!

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach

Some Reflections on "Chad Gadya"

In 1947, in the wake of the United Kingdom’s decision to relinquish their Mandate for Palestine, the United Nations formed the Special Committee on Palestine. The purpose of the commission was to investigate the conflict in Palestine and to make a recommendation on future governance of the area. David Ben Gurion, the future Prime Minister of Israel, testified before the committee. In part of that testimony, Ben Gurion compared the Exodus from Egypt with another historic exodus. Speaking before the committee he said:

“300 years ago, there came to the New World a boat, and its name was the Mayflower. The Mayflower’s landing on Plymouth Rock was one of the great historical events in the history of England and in the history of America. But I would like to ask any Englishman sitting here on the commission, what day did the Mayflower leave port? What date was it? I’d like to ask the Americans: do they know what date the Mayflower left port in England? How many people were on the boat? Who were their leaders? What kind of food did they eat on the boat? “More than 3300 years ago, long before the Mayflower, our people left Egypt, and every Jew in the world, wherever he is, knows what day they left. And he knows what food they ate. And we still eat that food every anniversary. And we know who our leader was. And we sit down and tell the story to our children and grandchildren in order to guarantee that it will never be forgotten. And we say our two slogans: ‘Now we may be enslaved, but next year, we’ll be a free people.’”

In this statement Ben Gurion seems to be suggesting that it is our capacity to remember that accounts for the longevity of the Jewish people. Perhaps as well it is a subtle warning to the great powers of the time that held Israel’s fate in their hands that they would do well to heed that lesson. Many civilizations have come and gone, yet, the Jewish people, with our prodigious memory, remain. This is the essential meaning of the final song of our Haggadah, Chad Gadya that Jewish families around the world will be singing as we conclude our Passover seders in ten days. There have been many interpretations of what appears to be a typical children’s song.  I’d like to share one of those interpretations with you this evening. 

The song begins with the verse “Chad Gadya” - One kid, which Father bought for two zuzim,” or coins. The kid, or goat, represents the Jewish people. The “Father” who gives two coins, or zuzim, for the kid represents G-d, who gave the Jewish people the two tablets of the law, the Ten Commandments. There follows a series of verses introducing animals, objects and people who in turn slaughter, devour, burn, hit or bite one another. These represent the powerful nations of the world who achieve ascendancy in their time, only to eventually lose their power. The final verse of the song, where the Ruler of the Universe makes His appearance, represents the final judgement and the redemption of the Jewish people.

There has been much speculation about how this beloved song entered the Haggadah. Its first appearance in a printed Haggadah was in 1590 in Prague. Some say that it was based on a familiar German nursery rhyme of the era. Others say that German nursery rhyme is based on Chad Gadya! 

Natan Alterman, one of the most prominent Modern Hebrew poets of the 20^th century, has his own theory about how this song entered our Haggadah. He wrote a charming poem about it, which I would like to share with you this evening.

He stood there in the market, among the she-goats and Billy goats /swinging its tail/as small as a pinkie/a kid from a poor home/a kid for two zuzim/without adornment/without bell or ribbon.

No one paid him attention, so no one knew/not the goldsmiths not the wool combers/that this kid/will enter the Haggadah/and become the hero of a song.

The poem begins with a scene in a marketplace. A plain baby goat, unadorned, unnoticed and unremarkable is for sale. The kid, however, is destined to be famous.

But father approached, his face glowing/and bought the kid/and caressed its forehead/this was the start of one of the songs/that will be sung forever.

The kid licked Father’s hand with its tongue/and touched it with his wet nose/this, my brother, was the first rhyme/of the verse “dezabin aba”.

The father of the narrator approaches the kid. There is an immediate bonding. The father strokes the kid. The kid licks the father and nuzzles up to him. The song has begun.

It was a spring day and the wind was dancing/Girls were laughing with winking eyes/And Father and the kid entered the Haggadah/ And both just stood there.

That very same Haggadah was already full/With wonders and great miracles/Therefore they stood on the last page/hugging and pressed to the wall

They enter the Haggadah, but there is already so much going on. Like a shy couple entering a room brimming with activity, the song does not know what to do. The simple song is intimidated by the majesty of the Haggadah. So the song waits quietly, taking comfort in itself, biding its time on the back page.

That very same Haggadah then silently said/Good, stand there kid and Father/In my pages walk smoke and blood/I am talking of greatness and secret things.

Yet I know that the sea will not part in vain/That there is a reason for splitting through walls and deserts/If at the end of the story/Stand a Father and kid/Waiting for their turn to shine.

The Haggadah, full of its own importance, takes notice of this simple song waiting at the back of the book. It then does something surprising. It acknowledges that it tells its story for the sake of this little song. The song may seem like an insignificant child’s ditty, but it is for its sake that the Haggadah tells the story of the Exodus.

I am sure each of us will have their own interpretation of this poem. To me, it means that as grand and epic the Passover story told in the Haggadah is, if it doesn’t move us, if we cannot relate to it, then it is merely a great story. All of the majestic symbols and concepts of the Passover seder are for naught if they do not reach down to the human level and touch our hearts.

Shabbat Shalom