Parshas Behar-Bechukosai: Be a Mentch

 Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, Sharon bas Shoshana, and Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah

 

Bein adam l’chavero, the mitzvos between one person and another, are the bedrock of civilization. More than that, these Torah’s mitzvos are – to be blunt – fascinating in their constant application to every aspect of life.

 

This week’s parsha, Behar-Bechukosai starts with the laws of Shmittah, during which the Jewish nation demonstrates their deep trust in Hashem and their Divinely imposed respect for the land. It then moves on to the laws of the years of Yuval, Jubilee, and through that discusses the many limitations of selling property in the Holy Land. Basically, in summary, one can really only lease land on a pro-rated scale as it must revert to its original portioning at the coming of the Yuval.

 

Through these discussions of real estate, however, comes the very significant commandment of Al Tonu Eish Et Ahav – you must not cheat one man to another.

 

From here come the laws connected to Onaas Devarim, using words to hurt another. These laws cover such subtle issues as misleading a salesman that you might have the intention to buy something when, in all honesty, you are simply price comparing. You cannot give a fellow Jew the impression that you are going to give them business on false pretext. That, of course, is just one example. The unfortunate “opportunities” for onaas devarim are…multitudinous, almost as vast as the opportunities for lashon harah and rechilus, and the primary reason for this is that most of us have an incredibly difficult time being truly mindful of our speech and actions.

 

The idea of “vexing” – of causing hardship or wrongness – is so important that it is mentioned twice in the same perek, which seems a little odd. In pasuk 14, it says: “When you sell property to your neighbor, or buy any from your neighbor, you shall not wrong one another.” Three pasukim later, in verse 17, it states: “Do not wrong one another, but fear your God; for I Hashem am your God.” This verse uses different language than Pasuk 14. It uses Lo instead of Al. Both are Hebrew words, and both share a basic word meaning foundation (indeed, they are both composed of only an aleph and a lamed), but they are subtly different.

 

In the first verse, it is an immediate command – Al Tonu – Thou shalt not. When you are in the middle of your land deal, when you are thinking about how much profit you can make or what corners can be cut, there is a mandate upon you to think of what is being done to the other person.  

 

In the second verse is Pasuk 17: “Do not wrong one another,” Lo Tonu puts that onus on the person to prepare to avoid ways of hurting others. The first verse could lead one to mistakenly think that this injunction against “wronging” is only connected to business, to real estate specifically, but Pasuk 17 comes to make certain it is clear that it is remembered throughout all aspects of life.

This might leave the question of why there are two pasukim when the second covers it all. This goes back to the subtle difference between al and lo. Al is a reminder in the moment, when an “impossible-to-resist” opportunity is sitting in front of you and you know you can make a clear profit, but that profit will be to the excessive cost to your fellow. That is when you must remember that our goal in life is to emulate Hashem, to do good in the world…not to make the most profit.

 

In the plethora of laws that are laid down in the Torah, simple statements like “Do not wrong one another” are easy to pass over. We read it and almost shrug in our conviction that this is not something that we do anyway. But in our day to day lives, amid the constant navigation of family, friends, community, and business, it is easy to focus on ourselves and our needs. We need to prepare ourselves to not be the type of person who would wrong another and also be prepared to stop ourselves when our needs or our wants push forward against those of another to the point that we might forget our fellowship with them.

 

It is significant to note that the next pasuk says: “You must carry out My rules and safeguard My ordinances and perform them. You will then live on the land securely.” The laws set down in the Torah that seem to be about land or business or rule of law are guidelines and shields to the most important laws that underline the Torah world: Think about the other person. Do not put yourself first. Be a mentch.

 

I wish you all a beautiful Shabbas.

Parshas Emor: No Nepotism…An Indirect Insight from the Parsha

Sefer Vayikra focuses on the kohanim, the sons of Aaron, but, as with all of Torah, we take the laws and information in there and see how it applies to the larger nation as well. Parshas Emor opens with the oft-discussed restrictions on the family members whose funerals a kohain may attend. For some, it seems shockingly restricted. Attending a funeral is a means of demonstrating love and true respect for the departed, and that that should be denied feels, from certain perspectives, almost cruel.

 

Something that feels cruel, however, does not, in Torah law, supersede that which is necessary. It is necessary for the kohanim to maintain their distance from death because it affects their ability to serve in their role of spiritual channel. (This is another thing that is difficult for those of us in the long diaspora to fully understand.)

 

Kohanim were meant to live their lives differently than the rest of Klal Yisrael - not better, not worse, just differently. Differently, however, can be abused. Differently can cause society to split into haves and have nots, and it seems as if, perhaps, in the first half of Vayikra 22, the Torah is making certain to guard the Kohanim from falling into an abuse of their status.

 

Vayikra 22 begins: “Hashem spoke to Moshe saying, “Instruct Aaron and his sons va’yinazaru from the sanctified donations of Klal Yisrael and not to profane My holy name; these that they dedicate to Me, I am Hashem” (22:1-2). Va’yinazru is an interesting word that is interpreted in one place as ‘to be scrupulous” and in another as “they must abstain” and in the Rav Hirsh translation (which is, of course, a translation of a translation) as “keep themselves apart from.”

 

The Kohanim received the offerings of Klal Yisrael, and it is very clear from other halachot that once an item is sanctified for donation, it holds a unique status. Some of that which is donated to the Mishkan/Beis Hamikdash is burnt up in sacrifice and some is given to the Kohanim to consume. From an outside perspective, this may seem to offer the Kohanim a rather substantial boon. After all, at the most basic level of all trade is the need to gather food, and here the Kohanim have food delivered to them.

 

Vayikra 22 protects the Kohanim from abusing their largesse. First, the parsha makes clear that a kohain in a state of impurity may not eat from the consecrated food. Although it did not take long for a kohein to purify himself, it is still a reminder that he is at this table purely because of his unique role. More significantly, the Torah delineates that the sacred donations may not be eaten by a layman, by a non-kohein who is residing with the kohein, or by a hired worker of the kohein. A slave owned by the Kohein may eat.

 

These laws emphasis that the right to consume the consecrated food should not be taken lightly. One might also see in this the idea that the access a Kohein has to the consecrated food, which was of the highest quality meats, could not be used for outside influence. A Kohein could not invite a neighbor from whom he wanted a favor, a potential business partner, or even his future son-in-law if he wasn’t a Kohein, to partake in this food. This food, Hashem is stating is for you and yours alone.

 

But what of the daughters. The Torah clearly states that if a Bas-Kohein marries a layman, she may no longer eat of the sacred gifts. The only way she would return to her family’s consecrated feast would be as a childless widow or divorcee. And now, once again, it could be argued that this feels cruel.

 

According to the Torah, when a woman marries, she becomes part of her husband’s tribe. The wife of a kohain, whether born into a family of kohanim or not, may eat of the consecrated food, so too the daughter of a kohain who becomes part of another tribe may not. There is equivalency. However, there is in this also a level of protection from lower scruples. For most of history, marriages were arranged based on a perspective of benefits to each party. By stating outright that a bas-Kohein becomes of the other tribe, it nullifies the greed of seeking out to become a kohain’s son-in-law.

 

Being a kohain comes with privileges, but it also comes with a vast responsibility. It was never meant to be taken lightly, and it was certainly not meant to create fiscal class. The rules of who could eat from the table of the Kohanim were a protection of the integrity, and from these rules we can be reminded of the need in our own lives to be scrupulous in our action and to hold firm boundaries even with those who are close to us.

 

Parshas Acharei Mos – Kedoshim: Embrace Life

Dedicated to a refuah sheima for Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta and Sharon bas Shoshana.

This week’s parsha is Parshas Acharei Mos Kedushim. It is well known that this double parsha has an incredible number of mitvos in it. Many of these mitzvos make perfect sense to us, such as revering our parents and not swearing falsely. Others need a little more explanation. Like most things in the Torah, however, taking a deeper look at these mitzvos, reading the parsha from a different angle – so to speak, provides a new perspective on the world.

 

One law that does not appear to need explanation is “Anyone among the Israelites, or among the strangers residing in Israel, who gives any offspring to Molech, shall be put to death; the people of the land shall pelt the person with stones…” (Vayikra 20:2). Molech was the deity figure of a cultish religion in the region of Israel. The followers of Molech practiced child sacrifice; they sent their children into the flames.

 

It is fair to say that it is inconceivable to us today that someone would sacrifice a child, that people would join a cult that specifically required one to burn a child to death. Children are the future.

 

Actually, Jewish tradition is intriguingly bi-lateral: On the one hand, we believe that our elders and those who came before us are closer to Torah and are to be given absolute respect. As it says, also in this week’s parsha: “You shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; you shall fear your God: I am Hashem” (Leviticus 19:32).

 

On the other hand…Well, don’t get in the way of a Jewish mother… so many of our halachos are focused on teaching our children and preparing them for the future. Every child is a bracha, a gift from Hashem, so how is it possible that anyone would be tempted to join a cult that glorifies killing children?

 

The answer is zealotry. Misdirected zealotry turns people into monsters. The Torah has made clear that Hashem wants people to celebrate life, not death. And we see this distinction even in modern times. Think of the famous Golda Meir quote: “We will only have peace with the Arabs when they love their children more than they hate us.” Far too many young people have died in the last year and a half conflict, and we – as a nation – grieve every death, even as our enemies embrace it.

 

Zealotry leads one to embrace a death cult; perhaps such drive stems from an insatiable desire to prove one’s fervor, to demonstrate one’s righteousness. Perhaps it is a drive that comes from wanting to experience a tangible sacrifice, something one can always hold on to and announce how loyal one is, what one was willing to sacrifice. Yet, as we learned in the recent parshios and as is vaguely referenced in the title Acharei Mos, Hashem does not want uncalled for offerings.

 

What happens when one “wakes up” from zealotry, when one calms and looks to move forward in life. If one acted like a zealot but followed one’s own council, then the next step might be regret. If one acted like a zealot and offered one’s child to the powerless false god of Molech, then one might feel anguished over the possibility destroyed.

 

And now, if you think about it, it makes sense that the 4 pasukim in Vayikra 20 that are stressing the prohibilion against Molech are followed immediately by, “And if any person turns to ghosts and familiar spirits and goes astray after them, I will set My face against that person, whom I will cut off from among the people” (20:6). We often find connections between side-by-side passukim, so how does turning to ghosts and familiars connect to Molech? Perhaps this pasuk is alluding to causing death and regretting it. Perhaps these two verses are set against each other because when the mania of zealotry comes down, one may be so bereft as to seek out the dead.

 

Interestingly, Vayikra 20:6 is not the only place in the parsha where ghosts are mentioned. Just before the Torah enjoins us to rise before the aged, as quoted before, there is a verse that is oddly similar to Vayikra 20:6. Vayikra 19:31 reads: “Do not turn to ghosts and do not inquire of familiar spirits, to be defiled by them: I Hashem am your God.”

 

The two passukim are remarkably similar. The earlier verse, however, commands one not to consult ghosts or familiars, while the later verse fiercely describes the consequences of doing so. The warning, verse 19:31, precedes the injunction to honor the aged. Together, these two verse could be understood with the message of “Stop looking to those who have passed, to the generations no longer accessible, and see the treasure you have before you in the men and women of age and wisdom.” The verse of consequence, when paired with the warnings against Molech that precede it, is, perhaps, a cautioning from Hashem that their actions are not reversible. Sacrifice is sacrifice.

 

When you put these two topic pairings together, you come up with one definitive fact (other than ghosts are a no-no). Judaism is about life and living. We value life; we value the potential of life in all children, and we value the experience of life in those who have lived longest. The parsha of Kedoshim is a parsha dedicated to being holy - and the way to be holy is to truly live.

Parshas Tazria/Metzorah: Not a Random Interruption

Parshas Tazria/Metzorah: Not a Random Interruption

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta and Sharon bas Shoshana

 

Last week’s parsha, Parshas Shemini, is weighed down by the distressing details of the death of Aaron’s two sons. While these deaths are dealt with completely in that parsha, it is interesting to note that the parsha we read next week is “Acharei Mot, After the Deaths.” It is not the fact that Nadav and Avihu’s deaths were significant enough to mark a time connection that is particularly interesting, but rather it is the fact that Shemini and Acharei Mot are separated by two parshios (that are generally read as one). Perhaps, there is something to be learned from these two parshios breaking the narrative of the deaths and the divine instruction that follows thereafter.

 

The first of these parshios is Tazria, and the primary subject matter of Tazria is the diagnosis and “treatment” of tzaraas. In reading the biblical description of the disease, it seems almost strange that this was consistently translated simply as leprosy since there are so many permutations of the ailment. More importantly, tzaraas is not a medical condition; it is a unique spiritual malady with an underlying pathogen that is actually a disease of the tongue - lashon harah (Though, to be fair and honest, there are other aveiros that are connected to tzaraas as well). The treatment for tzaraas is isolation and repentance, because this is how one begins to repair - to whatever extent it is repairable - the discord sown by lashon harah.

 

Parshas Metzora, the second parsha, continues the topic of the resolution of tzaaras and also discusses the transference of the marks of tzaraas from a person to an inanimate object and how to deal with it.  One of the correlations of tzaraas and lashon hara is the factor of pride, of ego. Lashon Harah most often stems from our need to feel more significant than someone else, or, said more succinctly, to put others down. 

 

So now back to the original question. Why does the narrative of the inauguration of the Mishkan, the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, and the aftermath commandments of Hashem have tzaraas interrupting it? Perhaps it has to do with Hashem knowing how humanity works. Here in the Torah is a story that is ripe for the picking for lashon harah. These men were struck down in front of the entire congregation. Everyone witnessed their ‘sinning.’ Everyone witnessed their consequence. Public information, right?

 

Wrong. Discussing what happened to Nadav and Avihu is important because we are meant to use every part of Torah to grow, spiritually. Speculating on salacious details because they are interesting or they are relatable, however, is no longer l’toeles. Let’s be honest with ourselves, there are a wide range of Torah based suggestion to what Nadav and Avihu did that day… and there is a reason that the most widely remembered is that they were drunk.

 

Tazria-Metzora is followed by Parshas Acharei Mot, which begins: “Gd spoke to Moshe after the death of Aaron’s two sons, when, having drawn near to Gd, they died. Gd said to Moshe: ‘Speak to your brother Aaron, and tell him that he must not come whenever he wishes into the Sanctuary beyond the partition Curtain…’”

 

After the completion of the inauguration, Hashem provides Aaron with instructions on proper etiquette in the Mishkan. The Torah demonstrates learning from what happened without hashing it out to pieces.

 

If you think about it, the placement of Tazria-Metzora – parshios in which the dangers of lashon hara is a constant theme - in the middle of the story of Nadav and Avihu is brilliant. There are few other such places in the Torah where there is wrong-doing and consequence, and yet, respect for the righteousness of those who received the consequence all at once. The sages have made many postulations as to what Aaron’s sons were punished for, and those discussions were l’toeles, to provide guidance for Bnei Yisrael. But how easy is it to descend into that which is not l’toeles when speaking about them possibly being drunk, or etc? But how easy is it to descend into that which is not l’toeles when speaking about anyone?

 

This sequence of parshios certainly reminds us of the complexities of life. What one sees on the outside is not necessarily what is truly involved. A person covered 100% from head to toe with a skin affliction, who would appear to be the loudest billboard for his own guilt of something, is not a metzorah. Life is not always how it looks, so don’t speculate on the lives of others.

 

Life is a constant path through other people’s actions. We can choose to watch them and judged them and make assumptions about them, or we can choose to accept that Hashem is the king and the ultimate judge. 

Parshas Shemini: Death with Meaning

This week’s parsha, Parshas Shemini, contains one of the most unsettling narratives in the Torah: The death of Aaron’s sons. The parsha describes the activities of the inauguration of the Mishkan on the eighth day after its completion. In the middle of the long inauguration service, Aaron’s sons, “Nadav and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before Hashem foreign fire, which had not been enjoined upon them.” (Vayikara 10:1). Their motivation is examined and discussed by the sages and throughout the commentaries of all ages. There are those who condemn them for levity or intoxication, and there are those who focus on their misplaced inspiration. Whatever the reason for their bringing an offering that had not been required, the result was the same: “And fire came forth from Hashem and consumed them; thus they died before Hashem”(10:2).

It is obvious why this story is upsetting. Aaron’s sons died - publicly, dramatically, and in the middle of the most auspicious ceremony Klal Yisrael had endeavored upon. Even more discomforting for many people is the fact that Aaron and his two remaining sons could not stop the inauguration and absorb their shock. They had to go forward and complete the inauguration before reacting to the loss of their immediate family members, which is odd in itself because in Jewish tradition the death of an immediate relative puts one in a state of limbo until the burial of the body as soon as possible. 

Jewish tradition has one of the most comprehensive and compassionate rituals of mourning. From the period of aninus, when a person is not required in mitzvos until the burial of the dead and official start of mourning, through the staggered stages of shiva, shloshim and the annual yahrtzeit, the mourning is guided. While these practices seem to be primarily for the emotional benefit of the immediate family, they are understood to benefit the neshama as well. 

Surely, Nadav and Abihu had not erred to such a level that their deaths should be ignored. Surely, their father and brothers felt the pain of loss that is at the heart of the state of aninus. 

Beyond the fact that Aaron, Elazar, and Itamar were in the middle of invoking kedusha into Mishkan, there was something unique about Nadav and Abihu’s passing. Let us look again at the final phrase of 10:2 - “vayamootu lphnei Hashem - and they died before Hashem”(10:2).

Hashem sent a fire that consumed them, which is a pretty definite statement of their being killed. Why does it need to state that they “died before Hashem,” which is not common phraseology at all?

This question is mulled over by many commentators, as is what it meant exactly that they were consumed. For instance, Chizkuni notes:

וימותו לפני ה, “They died in the presence of the Lord. [This is an unusual expression. Are we not all, at any given moment, “in the Presence” of the Lord?] Rabbi Eliezer says this expression teaches that they did not die until having left the sacred precincts and being in the antechamber where Levites were permitted. We have proof of this from verse 4 where the cousins of these brothers, by the names of Mishael and Eltzafan were charge with removing their bodies from there for burial. But why did the Torah say that they died before the Lord (i.e. inside the Tabernacle)? Perhaps they did die there but later an angel pushed the bodies outside to where the Levites were permitted. Rabbi Akiva on the other hand said that they did die inside the Tabernacle. Since they were still wearing their garments which had not been burned by the heavenly fire, their cousins hooked their spears into the outer garments and dragged them until they were outside the sacred parts of the Tabernacle.

 

This is a very practical exploration of the language, but there is a spiritual side as well.  Nadav and Abihu were killed because they acted of their own accord. They brought incense when it wasn’t specifically called for during a very detailed inauguration. Their intention was to honor Hashem, to celebrate Hashem. There was no intention of disrespect or mockery or even vanity. They truly wished to draw closer to Hashem, as is understood by the majority of the commentaries. 

During the inauguration of the mishkan, it was incredibly important, however, that the nation not be shown a hefker observance, an anarchy of emotional reaction of set structure. The Mishkan, the place of ultimate holiness and service to Hashem, had to be respected completely, and on this first day of usage, the point needed to be driven home that their “inspiration” did not negate rules and order. 

On the other hand, their death was, perhaps, an embrace of Hashem. As Rabbeinu Bahya notes ”…The kind of death described here by the words ‘in the presence of the Lord’ means that their body and soul underwent a ‘surgical’ separation, the fire entering their bodies through their nostrils separating soul from body. We must be careful not to understand the verse as saying that their souls were burned, i.e. that they lost their claim to the hereafter. If that were so the words, “by those very close to Me I become sanctified,” which Moses told Aaron in G’d’s name, would not make any sense. Why should the souls of people G’d describes as close to Him be destroyed, burned?”

As humans, as survivors, as the ones who are left behind after a death, we have a hard time seeing the positive for the neshama. We are focussed on what we have lost. Protecting life is the ultimate goal - the primary instinct is, afterall, the survival instinct - because only in life can our neshama grow and flourish. The more our neshama can grow here in Olam Hazeh, the more it will be able to receive the Divine presence in Olam HaBah, and so we focus on the potential of life without, usually, remembering that death also frees the neshama from its battle, or better competition, with the goof, with one’s physical needs and desires. 

When reading parashas Shemini, our immediate reaction is based on our mindset of death as a complete negative. Perhaps, however, from the words that tell us that Nadav and Abihu died before Hashem we are reminded that death is the doorway to a higher plane of existence (when we are ready, ad mesh v’esrim for each of you who reads this!)

 

Wishing you all a good Shabbas.

 

Pesach End Days: Understated with Purpose

Why is this night different from all other nights? That famous question may be special to the Seder, but it is also extremely appropriate for tonight. The answer is that tonight (and tomorrow night as a mirror of living in chutz la’aretz) is the only time on the Jewish calendar that we bentch licht with the bracha of “l’hadlik neir shall Yom Tov” (or Shabbas v’Yom Tov) and do NOT make a shehehcheyanu. It is the only true “second days of chag” since that is simply the misnomer people use for Shemini Atzeret in order to make planning easier. 

People talk about Shavuos having few distinguishing marks compared to the other holidays, but at least it has a Shehecheyanu. The last days of Pesach is/are the most understated yom tov we have; all that is unique about it are the things that we don’t say – such as the shehcheyanu and the extra perakim in Hallel. 

On the last days of Pesach, we read about the crossing of the Yam Suf, for this was when it occurred. One would think that an event as prominent in Jewish history as the crossing of the Yam Suf would merit a unique holiday; and given how close it is to Pesach, it would have made sense for such a holiday to be structured like Shemini Atzeret – a joined but unique holiday. So why isn’t it?

Well…

Of course, I can’t answer that question. But I can make some of my own reflections. 

One of the most critical concepts in Judaism is the fact that every person has bechira, free will. Every person has the ability to choose right or wrong. No one is forced to follow the Torah; the world is built on concepts of reward and punishment and consequences for choices and actions. With that in mind, think about the other Shlosh Regalim. 

--On Sukkos we move out of our homes and into temporary dwellings, making an active choice to celebrate trusting Hashem.  Shemini Atzeres is a response to Hashem asking Bnei Yisrael to spend one more day with Him.  We choose to meet His request.

--Pesach commemorates Yetzias Mitzrayim, and it is a well-understood idea that 4/5 of the Bnei Yisrael remained – some say because they did not believe in the possibility of redemption or that they were those too far drawn to Egyptian society, wishing to be like the Mitzrim. These are both choices. Those redeemed were those who chose to accept Moshe as the redeemer. 

--Shavuos is the holiday we say celebrates Hashem giving Bnei Yisrael the Torah, but, in truth, it is the holiday of Bnei Yisrael receiving the Torah. It is not, as one might think, the same thing. Bnei Yisrael said Naaseh v’Nishmah; they chose to accept their role as Gd’s chosen nation. 

Choice – Choice – Choice. The Shlosh Regalim, the primary Yom Tovim, all celebrate choosing. 

The crossing of the Yam Suf is one of the most profound moments in the formation of Am Yisrael, indeed of the world. It was not, however, a moment of choice. Bnei Yisrael were surrounded on four sides, three by the enemy and the fourth by the sea.  

Most of us have had moments where we wished Hashem would give us a sign, a personal sign. We want miracles. Indeed, when we talk about the Yam Suf, many of us wonder why we can’t have a neis of our own. The answer, very simply, is bechira. If Hashem showed us open miracles, then we could not choose to put our own will over Hashem’s.

The Shlosh Regalim do not commemorate miracles. They commemorate the choices that are the foundation of Bnei Yisrael’s relationship with Hashem. Perhaps that is why, in the time of the Beis Hamikdash, we would leave our homes and travel to Jerusalem – an action, a choice to act (and why we have Pesach Sheni when those who could not come but wanted to could, make up their absence). Miracles happen all around us, constantly. Most of them are understated, as they should be. Most of them we don’t notice, and so we are able to live our lives making choices. The final days of Pesach are understated because  Kriyas Yam Suf could only have happened for those who made the choice to follow Moshe and be redeemed. 

But the crossing of the sea itself was not a choice, just a miracle.

I wish you all a wonderful Shabbas, a wonderful Yom Tov. May we continue to make choices that bring us closer to Hakadosh Baruch Hu

A Truly Personal Parsha Prose Prior to Pesach I

  don’t know how many of you are like me, but I felt like sharing some personal thoughts and reflections now, as I sooth my aching feet after a full day of the domestic avodah necessary to prepare for Pesach. As those who know me well will attest, neither housework nor the need to be meticulous suits me very well. The emotional energy of it is almost as draining as the physical action involved. The worry of having missed something, of having shrugged off something important, or of having just plain forgotten an entire set of drawers is always present with me during the days leading up to Pesach. (Don’t be alarmed, I haven’t worked myself into enough of a tizzy to be cleaning any of my light fixtures!)

 

All this physical Pesach prep usually leaves me with a lack of time to do the spiritual preparations, to focus on why this ritual-filled meal is so important to me, to my kids, and to the entire Klal Yisrael. Indeed, I do try to direct my attention in that direction, and every year in my head I dream up different ways to make my family’s seder more engaging and interactive.

 

Growing up, my family’s seder consisted of going around the table and each taking a turn reading a paragraph. As I became more observant, commentaries were added into the round-robin reading. At a larger table with kids of various ages, however, too many extra added commentaries can deflate the excitement, and trying to find creative ways to spice up the seder is often met with dead eyed stares or subtle sighs.

 

This week, I listened to a wonderful shiur by Rabbi Joey Haber during which he gave ten ideas for enhancing the seder. During one of those suggestions, he mentioned how his own family is more into debate than discussion. It made me contemplate how I yearn to create a vibrant, exciting seder full of laughter and memorable moments during which my children are inspired and deepen their connection to Hashem. When I was younger, I made game sheets, question flash cards, and even, one year, drawings for those perfect illustrative moments. But not only were they, shall we say, unappreciated… by the other members of the seder, they were difficult for me to integrate as the reading went on.

 

To be honest, even haggadot full of what must be cool commentary, purchased fresh each year, can be difficult to manage during a seder as there is little time to read ahead and make sure the commentary will be well met by the rest of the table.

 

Listening to Rabbi Haber, I thought about my own family’s preferences and realized, not for the first time, that, well, we have no one style. Hashem blessed me with 5 very individual children, and so my seder - or my anything - will always be a balancing act between creativity and straight-forward text, between drashot and singing. Everyone has their own needs, and the seder must address them all.

 

It's a beautiful reminder about one of the most integral aspects of the Pesach offering. The eating of the Pesach offering was a communal event, and it still is. The seder brings people together to talk about Yetzias Mitzrayim. The significance of Yetzias Mitzrayim, beyond Hashem demonstrating His greatness, was that it was the forging of a nation.

 

When Hashem brought us out of Mitzrayim, we went from a large familial group to a nation, to a people with structure and culture and expectations of each other.  Most importantly, that nation was woven together by faith, by a recognition of Hashem in our lives. Fairly stated, emuna is a very difficult thing to maintain, especially in trying times. Also, fairly stated again, emuna is not one size fits all. Different people are inspired by completely different facets of Torah, but the core remains the same.

 

Mitzrayim was a place but, chazal notes, it is also a concept. Mitzrayim refers to a narrow or constricted place, and as we note in the Haggadah when we speak of Every Generation facing those who wish to destroy us, it is a concept that repeats itself – as we see all too well today. But we hold on and our faith, our belief that Hashem fulfills His promise of redemption, remains.

 

At the seder, we will call out that who ever needs should come. It doesn’t matter who you are; it matters that you want to come and celebrate our redemption for Mitzrayim. Who ever needs isn’t just about having food for the seder. Needing food is just one form of wanting. Some people need safety. Some people need family. Some people just need other people because life circumstances has left them alone, and the korban Pesach could not be offered and eaten alone (I mean, I guess if one was really, really, really a good eater they could eat a whole kid-goat alone!). Who ever is in need, come to our seder. It doesn’t matter if you want to say drashot, hold debates, sing gustily, or just sit and absorb – come and join, and you will add to our seder.

 

As the final preparation day dawns, I hope to have time to peak into my newest haggada (Rav Hirsh – so excited), to write down thoughts to share, perhaps even to prep my questions. It probably won’t happen, and it likely won’t be well-met by my children eager to bring their own flavor into the seder. And that is totally okay. That too is part of the annual Seder preparation.

 

Have a beautiful Shabbas and a Chag Kasher v’Sameach. Don’t forget to take time this Yom Tov to appreciate the diversity in your own family and the diversity within our nation. Take time to thank Hashem for being here after “In every generation.” (This week’s parsha, Tzav, does talk about the Thanksgiving offering given by one whose life was spared… you make the connection). And don’t forget to take the opportunity to express yourself at your seder.