The holiday of Passover is full of imagery of redemption and freedom. We talk about the idea of going "me'avdut l'cherut" (from slavery to freedom) and "mi'geulah li'geulah" (from redemption to redemption). While much of the discussion of the seder occurs in the Maggid, or telling, section, there's a ton of wonderful symbolism to be found in the sections with food. The layout of the eating sections, and the reasons why we eat, or ate, certain foods, was carefully designed to inspire both discussion and a sense of freedom and redemption. So too, many of the blessings, as well as the prayers after the meal, were designed to foster that feeling. And at the end of eating, and blessing the foods we've eaten comes the most disturbing passage of the haggadah, which I will attempt to transform into a redemptive message, as well. So join me as I discuss the middle sections of the seder: Rachtzah, Motzi Matzah, Maror, Korech, Shulchan Orech, Tzafun, and Barech, as well as a bonus look back at the Karpas section, covered in Navy Vet Terp's diary.
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No seder would be complete without something going on out of order; the Maggid section is full of it. And as such, we'll start with a digression, and a return to Karpas, the first food section of the seder.
Karpas is, for many, one of the most perplexing parts of the seder. It occurs early on, is preceded by ritual washing without a blessing, and generally consists of dipping a green vegetable into salt water. Like all Jewish things, practices diverge here: I've heard of people using parsley, celery, radishes, potatoes, and for South Africans, bananas (actually, I know of a rabbi who also uses bananas, in order to emphasize that the blessing on a banana is "ha'adamah," used for food grown on plants, rather than "ha'etz," used for food grown on trees). The way this is usually done, however, loses at least two messages of redemption and freedom, trading them for a commentary about spring.
The washing beforehand, as Navy Vet Terp noted, is used to wash away impurity before touching wet vegetables. It's not often done today by most Jews in the course of the year, even by observant ones, and in ancient times would've been more of a priestly thing. But it commemorates the idea of the Temple, which is linked to freedom throughout the seder. The Temple is commemorated in Dayenu (the last line talks about the building of the Temple), in any of the sections talking about the Pesach (Paschal Sacrifice), in the blessings after the meal, and at the end, where people sing about a rebuilt Jerusalem. This message is something that's been lost by most Jews, and it's important to remember.
The other part of Karpas that has been lost relates to the structure of the seder in general. The seder is modeled largely on a Greek symposium. The rabbis would have had their initial food as something of an appetizer course, as seen in (warning, direct link to pdf) the Dropsie Haggadah. Salads, fruits, sausages and other meats, and rice dishes would've been eaten at this time, and the rabbis would not have been hungry when they got around to telling the story and discussing its implications. This is a custom my wife and I would like to bring back once we start hosting our own seders: it allows for a longer Maggid section and encourages a feeling of freedom and luxury, rather than a feeling of hunger as one hurries through the rabbinic debates. Later on they would have eaten a full meal (as at a symposium). We'll see, though, that the after dinner entertainments of the symposium are replaced by something else entirely, Judaising the high-end meal of the time.
Skipping past the Maggid section (discussed in other diaries from the Passover Diary Series), we get to rachtzah (washing; the same root as the earlier urchatz section) and motzi matzah (blessing the matzah). As with the washing before wet vegetables, the washing before bread washes away impurity and remembers the Temple. It is accompanied by a blessing, and this washing is done much more often by observant Jews:
Blessed are you, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who has sanctified us with his commandments and commanded us on the washing of the hands
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Incidentally, that blessing is only 13 words long in Hebrew. It is then followed by not one but two blessings on the matzah. The first is the standard blessing on bread:
Blessed are you, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the ground
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And then:
Blessed are you, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who has sanctified us with his commandments and has commanded us on the eating of the Matzah
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The matzah is then eaten, which brings me to a digression:
The initial discussion of matzah in the Bible, in Exodus 12:39, discusses "ugot matzot" (literally, cakes of matzah). Those who have seen most matzah today, whether it's machine made or handmade, may have noticed that it doesn't look much like a cake or a loaf. That's because, when you not only bake dough within 18 minutes of mixing it but also roll it extremely flat and bake it at a ridiculously high temperature, you end up with something with the consistency of balsa wood. This is done in an attempt to ensure that all the flour is baked and that there cannot be any more rising. Certain Sephardic groups (with origins in Spain and Portugal), as well as Mizrachi ones (Levantine) and the Temanim (Yemenites) bake a soft matzah, as discussed here (apologies for the link to a sales site, but it's a pretty good description of what we're talking about). As we'll see in just a moment, this has a profound impact on later sections of the meal. It also makes much more sense as a bread both of affliction and of freedom than does the Ashkenazi variant. For those observant Ashkenazim (Jews of European descent) wanting to try the stuff, I will note that, among others, R' Hershel Schachter holds that soft matzah is acceptable for ashkenazim both to eat and to fulfill the blessing.
The next section is Maror, or bitter herbs. It's one of the three major foods of Passover, the others being the Pesach (Paschal Sacrifice, no longer done) and the matzah. It's designed to represent the bitterness of slavery, and to remind us of freedom. Many people have the custom to use horseradish, though romaine lettuce is another popular choice. For those without the constitution to eat anywhere from an olive's worth to a shot glass' worth of horseradish (depending on whose opinion you follow), I'm going to suggest endive. Romaine and endive are both mentioned by the ancient rabbis as things used for maror, but modern romaine has had much of the bitterness bred out of it. The blessing used is:
Blessed are you, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who has sanctified us with his commandments and commanded us on the eating of the maror
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The maror is mixed with charoset, a fruit based compote of sorts, which represents both slavery (in the consistency of mortar) and freedom (in the sweet taste). Again, the idea is to remind us of the ancient affliction as well as of the redemption. There are many recipes for maror, and I'd encourage folks to try new ones for their seders; many Ashkenazim use an apple based approach, often with nuts, cinnamon, and wine, while other Jews may use dates or other sweet fruits.
The next section is Korech, also known as the "Hillel sandwich." It commemorates Hillel, perhaps the greatest rabbi of the Talmudic period, and his custom of eating Pesach, Matzah, and Maror together. Today it's typically done only with matzah and maror, and is often misunderstood. Drop the idea of cardboard matzah and bitter herbs in a Western style sandwich from your mind. Picture instead: soft matzah, rather like a pita or laffa, the Pesach, or roasted lamb, and the bitter herbs, all wrapped together (Korech means "wrap"). Those of you who have visited Israel or who are simply familiar with Israeli or Middle Eastern cuisine may know this as schwarma (lamb, cooked on a spit) with charif (hot stuff) on a pita or laffa. Thus, it's not a difficult to consume sandwich but rather a delicious wrap appetizer. A much better symbol of freedom, right?
Following this comes Shulchan Orech, or the meal. At this point, people put away their haggadot and begin eating. In many households this is a huge meal, and is designed to represent us as free people (remember the symposium from earlier, although that's not in the minds of most people today). Ashkenazim frequently will eat matzah ball soup, so long as they don't keep the custom of gebrokhts, or not eating matzah with wet things; some other Jews have a custom of leek soup. Gefilte fish is also popular, and is a ground combination of fish, often eaten with either sugar or horseradish, depending on your area of origin. Other foods may then come into play, particularly meats, which throughout time have represented freedom and luxury. Ashkenazim traditionally do not eat lamb, because it's too close to the Paschal Sacrifice; Sephardim and Mizrahim, on the other hand, often have a custom to eat lamb, in commemoration of the same thing. Ashkenazim won't eat kitniyot, which consists of legumes and other vegetables which may look like, be grown in proximity to, or be processed or stored with grains, including corn, chickpeas, and rice, and according to some evil folks, quinoa (trust me, I'll be eating quinoa). Sephardim and Mizrahim do generally eat kitniyot, though certain communities have a custom not to eat rice. If you need a good example of 2 Jews, 525600 opinions, look no further than the package of quinoa I bought on Thursday. It includes 3 hechsherim (rabbinical markings): one from the rabbinate of Kiryat Gat, which says it's acceptable for Passover only for those who eat kitniyot, one from HaRav Ovadiah Yosef (a Mizrahi ultra-Orthodox decisor), who says it's acceptable for Passover, and one from the Eidah HaChareidit (an Ashkenazi ultra-Orthodox council), which rules that it is kosher for the year but not for Passover.
At the end of the meal comes Tzafun. In this section, kids search for the afikomen, or the broken part of the middle matzah, which is the last thing eaten at the seder. They then ransom it back so that the seder can continue. It's a way to keep the kids engaged, but it also represents the Pesach, which is no longer eaten. In some ways, it also represents the difference of the seder from the symposium: the rabbis rule that after the Pesach, there is to be no afikoman. They're probably referring to the "epikomon," or Greek after-dinner entertainment. Instead, the Jews will continue with prayers and blessings, twisting the Greek meal for the well-off into a uniquely Jewish representation of freedom.
The next section is Barekh, or Blessing, in this case meaning the after-dinner grace after meals. It's not that different from the everyday one said by observant Jews after eating bread, but it is chock full of messages of redemption. It starts with Shir HaMaalot (A song of ascents) , which, as you can probably tell from the title, is a rather joyous psalm. For those wishing to look it up, it's from Psalms 126. This is then followed by a call to prayer, done by Orthodox Jews when more than 3 men eat together, with a special addition for 10 or more, and by others with 3 adult Jews and 10 adult Jews, respectively.
The structure of Birkat HaMazon (this blessing), is unusual. Most Jewish prayer structures begin with praise, move to request, and end with thanks (the Amidah, the centerpiece of the prayer service, is that way). Here we start with praise ("Blessed are you, Lord, who sustains everything). We then move to thanks, thanking God for sustenance and the land ("Blessed are you, Lord, for the Land and the sustenance). Note that I've capitalized Land here; it's clear from the context that it's talking about the land of Israel, which is a deep part of the traditional idea of Jewish redemption. As the prayer moves on, we reach an addition acknowledging God's greatness and praying for the Messiah, Jerusalem, the Nation of Israel, and for goodness, blessing, and life. The same theme is continued with the third of four blessings: one praying for the rebuilding of Jerusalem (implying the messianic redemption). This structure was a bit odd: it starts with praise, then thanks, and then requests, which would seem rather rude. Because of this, the rabbis added one more prayer, a general combination of praise and thanks. This is the end of the formal bentsching (blessing), but it continues with a number of requests that are technically separate (the "Harachamans"). There's a standardized set, though various movements have added requests for peace and other things over the years.
The blessing is concluded with the third cup of wine. This serves a double purpose: it's the third of the four cups of wine, representing various elements of redemption, but it's also used to unite the bentsching, as the leader says the prayer while holding the cup and using it, in some fashion, to also pray for redemption.
This is nearly the end of my section (Shaviv will be taking Hallel and Nirtzah), but there's a bit more before the section of Barech closes. A cup is poured for Elijah, and the door is opened for him. Elijah is linked strongly with redemption in the Bible, and there's an implication that he will be involved in the final judgment, as seen in Malachi 3:
"Here I send to you Elijah the Prophet, before the coming of the Day of the Lord, great and awesome. And he will return the hearts of fathers to sons, and the hearts of sons to their fathers, lest I come and destroy the world
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Obviously a bit threatening, yet in some ways it's a message of hope, that is, that we will have people turned to peace and agreement to prevent such a fate.
The problem is that this isn't what we say when we open the door. Nor, as my cousing did at one point, do we scream "Elijah!" out to passers-by. Instead, we say the most troubling passage of the seder, "Shfoch Chamatcha":
Pour out your wrath upon the nations who do not know you, and on the kingdoms that do not call upon your name. Because they have eaten Jacob and destroyed his living-place. Pour out your indignation on them and let your wrathful anger hold upon them. Pursue them and destroy them angrily from under the heavens of the Lord
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For many reasons, this is troubling to a modern Jew. Are we praying for death and destruction along with our redemption? Who is this targeting? Why here? Why now? It's clearly linked to the idea of redemption from Egypt, and the plagues, but nevertheless, calling on God to destroy whole nations (including innocents) is rather problematic).
There has been a push in recent years to discuss another prayer with this, "Shfoch Ahavatcha" (Pour our your love). That's a prayer that has appeared in various modern haggadot, with the idea that it was sometimes used in the past and that it limits the damage. But it's an unsatisfying answer: Shfoch Ahavatcha doesn't appear until the early modern period and then is rarely used. It can't explain away the passage in modern terms, because despite pulling slightly from tradition, it's really a recent innovation. Instead, I'd like to propose an alternative idea:
Roughly one month ago, just before the holiday of Purim, we read Parshat Zachor. In this short section, we pray for God to wipe out the memory of Amalek from under the sky, and it is, in its own way, as disturbing as Shfoch Chamatcha. Amalek shows up several times in the Bible, with the last time being in the story of Esther (Haman is a descendant of Agag, king of Amalek). Later on, the rabbis realized there was an issue: Amalek, as a nation, no longer existed, as it had assimilated into other groups. So they identified two Amaleks: a lineage of Amalek, which no longer exists, and a voluntary joining of Amalek, that is, people who wish to destroy the Jews. According to the rabbis, one can only be a part of the second group today, and it does not extend to descendants or relatives. This is why you may hear people refer to Hitler as being from Amalek; no one thinks he's descended from them, but rather, he chose to join them. As a prayer, then, Shfoch Chamatcha may be thought of in this way: not to wipe out entire nations of people, but to destroy those who would do harm to the Jews, for no reason other than that they are Jews. Moreover, with the prayers for the redemption throughout, and the linkage with Elijah here, Shfoch Chamatcha in some ways becomes a self-defeating prayer: with the final redemption, baseless hatred and Anti-Semitism will presumably cease to exist. Instead of being embarrassed about the prayer, perhaps it should be seen as a request for obsolescence: just as Amalek will cease to exist when Anti-Semitism ceases to exist, so too will the need for the prayer cease to exist when the final Redemption comes.
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