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DEDICATED IN LOVING MEMORY OF ‫( ירחמיאל בן מרדכי הלוי ז"ל‬ROBERT SEGAL Z"L) AND ‫( שרה טשארנא בת שמואל גרשון ז"ל‬SUSAN JANE SEGAL Z"L)

DEAR SHALHEVET COMMUNITY, RABBI DAVID BLOCK ASSOCIATE HEAD OF SCHOOL

WWW.SHALHEVET.ORG

A few weeks ago, during Shaleshudes at our all-school Shabbaton, Yoetzet Halacha Atara Segal shared a moving message. She observed that, in many Jewish circles, what one wears on his/her head can say worlds about who someone is. The material of one’s kippa or the styles of one’s hair covering triggers automatic assumptions about his/her community or her/his beliefs. Communities often have distinctive looks, and many of us consciously dress in ways that will allow us to fit its mold. But as she looked around the room, she drew our attention to the diversity of Shalhevet’s faculty’s headwear. There were sheitels, mitpachot (kerchiefs, or “tichels” in Yiddish), a scarf, a cowboy hat, velvet kippas, s’rugim (knit kippas), a streimel, and a Kangol flat cap. Yoetzet Segal expressed that the bracha that the school has given her is that when we’re in Shalhevet, we - the faculty with whom our students’ education is entrusted - and our students don’t have to stress about which particular hashkafic Orthodox box we fit or which head covering to wear in order to conform with a particular communal “look.” We can just focus on what actually matters - our Torah, our teaching, our modeling of God’s values. That diversity manifests itself not only in dress, but also in the varied flavors brought by our faculty to Torah learning. Our deeply-entrenched modern Orthodox values and thought, when shone through the prism of our remarkable faculty and students, emerges in a magnificent array of different colors, different notes that, together, create the true symphony of Torah. Indeed, R. Yechiel Michel Epstein says precisely this in his preeminent Aruch HaShulchan: ‫וכל מחלוקת התנאים והאמוראים והגאונים והפוסקים באמת למבין דבר לאושרו דברי‬ ‫ וכל התורה כולה‬,‫ זוהי תפארת תורתינו הקדושה והטהרה‬- ‫ ואדרבה‬...‫אלוקים חיים המה‬ (‫ )הקדמה לחושן משפט‬...‫ ותפארת השיר היא כשהקולות משונים זה מזה‬,‫נקראת שירה‬ And all the arguments of the early and later sages and halakhic authorities are - to those who truly understand the matter - the words of the Living God…. On the contrary - this is precisely the glory of our holy and pure Torah. The entire Torah is called a song, and the beauty of the song arises from the differences of its various voices. This Pesach 5780 edition of Orot Shalhevet is the platform in which these different voices of faculty, students, and alumni can come together to create a beautiful tapestry of authentic Talmud Torah (Torah learning). It is, if you will, the screen upon which the refracted light of Torah can shine. It is the sheet music to the artist’s notation. As I always note, the teachers, students, and alumni are all the Orot (lights) that come together to form our dazzling Shalhevet (flame). I hope this edition of Orot Shalhevet helps to ignite your soul and add incredible meaning to your holidays – as it has mine. Chag Sameach, Rabbi David Block

TABLE OF CONTENTS STRUGGLING WITH MAGGID JOSEPH KLORES

PAGE 7

THE FOUR CUPS AND YETZIAS MITZRAYIM JACOB DAUER

PAGE 3

THE ENIGMA OF KARPAS RABBI ABRAHAM LIEBERMAN PAGE 4

FROM EXILE TO REDEMPTION: ARAMAIC IN THE HAGGADAH DR. SHEILA KEITER PAGE 5

FINDING YOUR EXODUS AMANDA WANNON

PAGE 9

SELF-PERCEPTION AND PERSONAL GROWTH: EDUCATING THE FOUR CHILDREN RABBI DAVID STEIN

CALCULATING THE END RAV YITZCHAK ETSHALOM

PAGE 15

THE MESSAGE OF MATZAH SHEYNA SCHUSTERMAN

PAGE 17

THINKING OF OTHERS: FROM KORBANOT TO TODAY

NOA SEGAL

PAGE 19

PAGE 10

THE FOUR CHILDREN AND ASKING THE RIGHT QUESTIONS MS. MALKIE HAMETZ

PAGE 13

L’SHANAH HABA’AH B’YERUSHALAYIM HABENUYAH!

YOETZET HALACHA ATARA SEGAL

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DEDICATED IN LOVING MEMORY OF ‫( ירחמיאל בן מרדכי הלוי ז"ל‬ROBERT SEGAL Z”L) AND ‫( שרה טשארנא בת שמואל גרשון ז"ל‬SUSAN JANE SEGAL Z”L)

THE FOUR CUPS AND YETZIAS MITZRAYIM JACOB DAUER JACOB D AUER I S A GR ADUAT E OF SH ALHEV ET ' S CL ASS OF 2 0 1 6 . HE STU DI ED I N YESH IV AT T ORAT SH R AG A I N JE R U SALEM , AND CU R R ENT LY ATTEN D S Y ES HI V A U N IVERSI T Y .

I’m not a wine guy. I don’t particularly like grape juice either. Yet, every year I find myself drinking much of one or the other on the first two nights of Pesach. As codified in Halacha, we are commanded to drink four glasses of wine while leaning to the left throughout the Seder night. The Rambam in Hilchos Chametz U’Matza (7:6-7) explains that the purpose of the Four Cups is to fulfill our commandment of Sippur Yetzias Mitzrayim, remembering the story of our forefathers’ Exodus from Egypt; our drinking and leaning are considered acts of royalty, of freedom. The Rambam goes on to state that each of the four cups of wine merits its own Beracha Rishona (blessing before eating), which may indicate that each one reflects an independent aspect of the obligation to remember the Exodus. If so, each of the cups should somehow be a fulfillment of the mitzva of Sippur Yetzias Mitzrayim. Looking at the juxtaposition of the four cups to the Seder process reveals their connection to the story. Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik notes that the blessing on the second cup is recited over the Haggadah and the fourth cup over Hallel, both texts containing explicit mention of the story of redemption. Furthermore, the third cup is consumed during Bentsching, where we recite the prayer of Nodeh Lecha, containing another mention of Yetzias Mitzrayim. Rav Soloveitchik (Haggadah Siach HaGrid) asks: How does the first cup of wine, recited over Kiddush, connect to the story of the Exodus? The simplest answer is that we mention the holiday of Pesach within the Kiddushes yom Chag HaMatzos hazeh, zeman cheruseinu, and we conclude that it is “zecher liyetzias mitzrayim,” it is a remembrance for the Exodus. But Rav Soloveitchik suggests an additional connection. Immediately preceding those words, we say: “Asher bachar banu mi’kol am… ve’kidshanu be’mitzvosav,” that we were chosen from among the other nations and exalted with Mitzvos. These words teach us the true purpose and climax of Yetzias Mitzrayim: Our ultimate acceptance of the Torah and the formation of the Jewish nation. We are tasked with the job of not just remembering God’s grace in taking us out of misery, but also recognizing His ultimate kindness in giving us the Torah, the foundation of our faith. Rav Soloveitchik cites the Sefer HaChinuch (Mitzva 306) who states that the entire essence of the Jewish people is the Torah itself, the acceptance of which was not only the purpose of Yetzias Mitzrayim, but of the creation of the world as a whole. We see from this connection of Yetzias Mitzrayim to Matan Torah, which we reenact every day when we study Torah, that it is important to not only remember our history as a nation but to incorporate the fundamentals of our religion into our daily lives as well. When explaining the remembrance of Yetzias Mitzrayim in this way, we are providing a tangible form of relation to a seemingly fairytale story that may often seem distant to us. It is difficult to relate to something we were not a part of and to imagine ourselves in the shoes of our ancestors whom we never met. Yet, there is another way to approach the commandment of remembrance – to celebrate what is, instead of merely reminiscing on what was. By recalling Matan Torah, we are acknowledging the light at the end of the dark tunnel that was our suffering in Egypt, and by studying and fulfilling the words of the Torah, we are able to infuse significance into our daily lives. 3

THE ENIGMA OF KARPAS One of the most interesting and unusual customs of the Pesach Seder is the eating of the vegetable called Karpas dipped in liquid (usually saltwater). What is the etymology of this unique word and what is the origin of this custom? What purpose does it serve? Are there any lessons to be derived from this practice? The source can be found in the Talmud (Pesachim 114a-b), which discusses the idea of bringing two vegetables to the Seder table (Karpas and Marror) that need to be dipped in a liquid. In fact, this connection is the reason for the widespread custom that before we make the blessing of Borei Pri Ha’adamah on Karpas, we have in mind that it also includes the Marror, in order to avoid the question of whether one recites another brachah on Marror (concerning which the obligation of reciting a brachah is uncertain, since it comes after the Matzah but is not actually part of the meal). The reason the Talmud offers for Karpas is that children should ask about this odd practice, to which the third question of the Mah Nishtanah attests. What exactly is so astonishing about it that would prompt children to ask? One explanation, based on the wording of the Mah Nishtanah, is that it is the dipping that is unusual, as we normally don’t even dip once, but at the Seder we dip twice (Meiri 1249-1310; R. Nissim of Gerona 1320-1380). Alternatively, Rashi (1040-1105) and his grandson Rashbam (1085-1158) explain that eating vegetables at the beginning of the meal before eating the Matzah will result in children asking about it. Notwithstanding the Talmud’s reason for Karpas, the Bach (R. Joel Sirkis, 1561-1640) pointed out that consuming vegetables before a meal is a sign of freedom and royalty. He also suggested that we eat the Karpas in order not to go hungry until we reach the Matza. Rabbi Yosef b. Samuel Bonfils (Tov Elam) of the 11th century suggested that the reason it was instituted was actually the point mentioned earlier, to avoid having to recite a Beracha Rishona on the Marror when it is not clear that such a beracha is required. In addition to the multiple opinions concerning the reason for Karpas, the amount of Karpas one needs to eat is also a source of dispute. While the more prevalent custom is to eat less than a Kezayit (olive-sized portion) in order to avoid making a Bracha Achronah (as the Bracha Rishonah should include the Marror as well), Maimonides (1138-1204) and others, including the Gaon of Vilna (1720-1797), the Chazon Ish (1878-1953), and Rav Soloveitchik (1903-1993) ruled that one must eat a Kezayit (and still no Bracha Achronah is said). Which vegetable is referred to by this unusual word Karpas? The opinions offered include parsley, celery, onion, radish, potato, or possibly any vegetable. While the etymology of the word is debatable, ranging from Greek to Farsi, Rabbeinu Manoach of Provence (12th century) cites an interesting point which I believe is the key to this enigma. The word Karpas is related to the Ketonet Passim (multicolored coat) which Yaakov gave to Yosef (see Rashi, Genesis 37:3) and is thematically connected to it. He explains that we begin the Seder with a reminder of the very cause that led us into slavery in Egypt, the Sinat Chinam, or baseless hatred, between brothers. This insignificant vegetable is here to remind us of a basic lesson concerning the origins of our enslavement and the secret to our freedom. The eating of the Karpas points to hope for the future for a united people while looking back to what generated our journey to Egypt. May we merit our redemption soon! 4

RABBI ABRAHAM LIEBERMAN RA BBI ABRAHAM LI EBE RMAN IS A MEMBE R OF THE LIMU DE I KO DE SH FACUL TY AT S HA LHE VE T HIG H SCHOOL . HE PRE VIOUSL Y S ERVE D AS THE HEA D OF SCHOOL A T Y UL A G IRL S HIG H SCHOOL . RA B BI L IE BE RMAN L E ARNE D AT Y E SHIVA UN IVE RSITY AND RECEIVE D SE MIKHA FROM E ME K HAL AKHA IN B ROOKL Y N. HE RECI EVE D HIS M.A. I N JEWISH HISTORY FROM THE B ERNARD RE VE L GRA D U ATE SCHOOL ( YU) , WHE RE HE IS CURRE NTL Y WORKING T OWARDS HIS DOCTORATE .

FROM EXILE TO REDEMPTION: ARAMAIC IN THE HAGGADAH DR. SHEILA KEITER DR . SHEI LA K EI T ER TEACHES J UD AI C STU DI ES AT SH ALHEV ET HI GH SCH O OL. S HE HAS A B.A. I N HI S T ORY FR OM UC LA, A J D FR OM HARV ARD LAW S C HOOL, AND R E CE I V ED HER P HD IN JEW I SH S T UD I ES FR OM UC LA, WH E RE SHE TAU G HT I N T HE DE PAR T M ENT OF NEAR EAST ERN LANGUAGES AND CU LTURES.

One of the curious features of the Pesach Haggadah is that it fundamentally begins and ends with Aramaic. While the vast majority of the Haggadah in its current form is written in Hebrew, there are two parts written in Aramaic: Ha Lahma Anya and Had Gadya. The first appears at the beginning of the Maggid section, even before the Four Questions, while the latter is the last song of the final section, Nirtzah. Other than being the only Aramaic portions of the seder liturgy, they seem to have little to do with each other. Ha Lahma Anya is thought to date back possibly as early as the Babylonian Exile in the 6th century BCE, but it does not seem to take its final form until the Talmudic period, 200-500 CE.1 It consists of three loosely related or perhaps unrelated statements: This is the bread of poverty that our fathers ate in the land of Egypt. All who are starving should come and eat; all who are in need should come and perform the Passover sacrifice. Now we are here, but next year in the land of Israel; now we are slaves, but next year free people. Had Gadya, by contrast, is a much more recent composition, dating roughly to the sixteenth century, a late addition to the Pesach liturgy. It is thought to be patterned after a German or French folksong.2 Its contents bear no obvious relationship to Pesach. Rather, they tell a progressive story about destructive forces that consume each other. The final verse of the cumulative poem reads: And the Holy One, blessed is He, came and slaughtered the Angel of Death, who slaughtered the butcher, who slaughtered the ox, who drank the water, that extinguished the fire, that burnt the stick, that struck the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the kid, that father bought for two zuzim. One kid, one kid. Other than the Aramaic language, these two pieces seem to have nothing in common. They are located on opposite ends of the Seder. They emerge from very different time periods. Had Gadya is so relatively new, it does not appear in Yemenite Haggadot. In fact, it seems entirely accidental that these two compositions eventually came to bookend the Haggadah. However, upon closer examination, Ha Lahma Anya and Had Gadya reveal some unexpected parallelism. The most obvious shared feature is that of a redemptive ending. Ha Lahma Anya discusses a future redemption in which the Jewish people will live in the land of Israel and will no longer be subjugated by the nations that govern them. Given its roots in the Babylonian exile, this makes sense. After the destruction of the first Temple, the people were exiled to Babylonia. The liturgy speaks of a desire to return to the land of Israel but adds an additional hope for freedom. Even during the second Temple period, while Jews were free to return to Judea, they lived most of that period under the sovereign control of the Persians, Greeks, and Romans. With the exception of the brief rule of the Hasmoneans, Jewish sovereignty was not a reality, and by the time of the Talmudic period, the second Temple lay in ruins for several years. 1 “Ha Lahma Anya,” Encyclopaedia Judaica, Corrected ed., Vol. 7 (Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1996), 1155-1156. 2 “Had Gadya,” Encyclopaedia Judaica, Corrected ed., Vol. 7 (Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1996), 1048-1049.

Had Gadya, in turn, also speaks of redemption, although one of a different nature. In the poem, various forces of nature take their turn consuming one another. The final few verses build up to progressively greater powers of destruction: humanity, represented by the butcher, and death itself, personified by the Angel of Death. In the end, the Angel of Death is killed (!?) by God. Thus, the poem envisions a redemptive future in which death itself is vanquished forever. Unlike Ha Lahma Anya’s vision of a political redemption, Had Gadya foresees a far more messianic and supernatural future in which the natural order is suspended, and pain and death are eradicated. Still, both pieces share a redemptive ending. In addition, both Ha Lahma Anya and Had Gadya attempt to diagnose the troubles of the world that call for such a redemption. Aside from the political conditions discussed above, Ha Lahma Anya also focuses on economic woes. It declares the Pesach matzah to be the bread of poverty. Actually, it describes matzah as the bread of ‫עניא‬, anya, which can be translated as either poverty or oppression. This explains why so many haggadot translate it as “the bread of affliction.” Having described matzah thusly, Ha Lahma Anya then invites the starving to eat it. How appetizing! “Yes, waiter, I’d like the roasted lamb, but let’s start with the bread of affliction.” I suppose if one is starving, the most meager bread will suffice, but would it not have been kinder to invite the destitute to partake of more sumptuous fare? By inviting the starving to eat the bread of poverty and oppression, Ha Lahma Anya recognizes that the affliction experienced by our fathers in Egypt is a state we continue to experience long after their redemption. This is not necessarily a state of economic oppression. However, we continue to exist in a state of affliction and oppression as long as we exist in exile under the domination of foreign nations. We recognize this by eating matzah, which paradoxically represents both affliction and freedom, reconfirming our continued state of oppression. The use of Aramaic, the language assumed during the Babylonian exile, reinforces this theme. Ha Lahma Anya reminds us that we continue to exist in a state of servitude, but that God will eventually redeem us from this exile as well. Had Gadya also recognizes that our existence is one of continued oppression. In fact, attempts to interpret Had Gadya metaphorically in this light abound. For example, Rav Yonatan Eybeschutz reads Had Gadya as a description of Jewish history under the domination of a continuous series of foreign powers, with the kid as the Jewish people, and the other elements of the song as the other nations. This would bring the poem in line with the message of Ha Lahma Anya, with God redeeming Israel at the end. However, the kid dies in the very first verse after the introductory refrain, muddying the metaphor. Perhaps Had Gadya is rather a meditation on the unremitting and merciless cycle of pain and death. It is a poem that yearns for relief from the natural order that inevitably culminates in mortality. Every element in the poem meets a grisly end, just as all things in this world inevitably march toward death, at least until God triumphs over death at the end. Both Ha Lahma Anya and Had Gadya diagnose the world in terms of suffering. Both utilize Aramaic, the prototypical language of exile, to emphasize the absence of redemption. Both pieces also offer visions of redemption, although they differ in that the first is essentially political, while the other is supernatural. Both these visions of redemption are described by Rambam (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Melakhim 11-12), who, in turn, takes them from the Talmud (b. Sanhedrin, ch. 11-12). Happily, we live in a time where one of these visions of redemption has come to fruition. The Jewish people have returned to the land of Israel and enjoy sovereignty there. However, Ha Lahma Anya reminds us that many remain in exile. Furthermore, the human condition has always been punctuated by suffering. While pain and death may remain inevitable, Had Gadya reminds us of our duty to try to ameliorate the suffering of others. Perhaps God will eventually conquer death. In the meanwhile, all who are starving should come and eat.

STRUGGLING WITH MAGGID JOSEPH KLORES JO SE P H K LORES I S CU R R ENT LY A SE NIO R AT SH ALHEV ET HI GH SCH O OL, AND I S A M EMB ER OF T HE BEKIUT T RAC K OF SH ALHEV ET ' S B E I T MID RA S H PROGRAM

It’s nine o’clock at night and you smell the sweet smell of your family’s special recipe for charoset in the kitchen. The only problem is that Maggid, the longest and most textual part of the Seder, has just started. For many, Maggid is the time where you tune out or get a quick nap in so that you can survive the late night at the Seder table. The countless pages and ongoing commentaries of which Maggid consists can make it hard for one to find significance within the telling of the story of the Exodus and therefore with fulfilling one of the main mitzvot of Passover. This modern notion is counterintuitive to the very goal that Maggid is designed to achieve, which is to remember what Hashem did for us and inspire us to continue on a positive spiritual path. Perhaps the following ideas will shed some light on Maggid and assist us in our efforts to understand its relevance. The central obligation of the Seder is the Torah commandment that states, “And you shall tell your son on that day, saying, it is because of this that the Lord did [all these miracles] for me when I left Egypt” (Exodus 13:8). This verse, which presents the mitzvah of Sippur Yetziat Mitzrayim, relating the story of leaving Egypt to one’s children, is the source of Maggid. Why, though, is there a special mitzvah to tell the story on Pesach night, when there is already a mitzvah of Zechirat Yetziat Mitzrayim every night, remembering the Exodus, which we fulfill by mentioning it in the third paragraph of Keriat Shema every day? And why is it so important to transmit this story miDor l’Dor (from generation to generation) that we need to have a special night dedicated to this purpose? According to Rav Chaim of Brisk, the special feature of the mitzvah on the Seder night as opposed to the rest of the year is to tell it to others rather than just relate it to oneself. In addition, he suggests that the way the story must be told is through questions and answers. According to Rav Chaim, perhaps the central idea of the mitzvah of remembering the Exodus every day is to integrate the story into our lives, but Passover must serve as the special yearly event highlighting the significance of our redemption, which we do with an active process of engaging in questions and answers. In fact, this is the reason that the Mah Nishtanah is included in the Seder. The Mah Nishtanah’s purpose is to invoke questions from the youth and initiate dialogue so that not only can the children learn, but it will also arouse their curiosity and interest. A story is told in the Gemara Pesachim (115b) about Abaye at a young age on the night of the Seder where he questioned why the table had been removed from before him though he had not eaten yet. Rabbah responded by saying that due to Abaye’s question, they were excused from saying Mah Nishtanah. As long as questions are being asked, you are fulling the obligations of the Seder. But questions should not be limited to the Seder; they should also be asked to oneself. One should ask, “how can I improve”, “what can I give to others”, and “how is my relationship with Hashem?” The importance of asking questions is crucial to developing a connection not only to the Seder, but also to Hashem on a constant basis as well. The recollection of the Exodus is not meant to be a history lesson, but rather a guide for us to modern life. The Ramchal mentions the notion that important events in our history have left a mark upon the period of time during the year in which they occurred that resurfaces 7

each year. Thus, G-d’s presence in leading us from slavery to freedom is not just a historical event that took place once. Rather, that presence remains with us each year at this time, and Maggid is a time to reflect and connect with our spirituality and see how the Exodus comes alive for us as well. Our freedom is evident through our independence, our ability to impact our communities, and our ability to serve Hashem as we please. Moreover, we should view ourselves as Jews being recently freed and having just been given the opportunity to once again rediscover our freedoms. This is a great time for each and every one of us to capitalize on this opportunity and consider how we can grow and improve in our middot (character traits) and connection to Hashem. As Passover occurs in Nissan, which is considered the first month of the year on the Jewish calendar according to the Torah, our freedom to improve can never be stronger. Furthermore, the retelling of the Exodus on Pesach night specifically is also meant to motivate us to express our gratitude. As Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik explains, “The duty of remembering does not impose on a person an obligation to recite praise and thanks, whereas the commandment to tell the story obligates one not only to relate the wonders and miracles that God did for us, but also to praise and thank Him”. Maggid begins with the paragraph of Avadim Hayinu, where we recall the Exodus, and transitions to the story of the sages who had their Seder together. We then recite Baruch Hamakom to praise G-d for bringing us out of slavery, giving us the Torah, and providing us with the freedom we have today. It is not enough to just retell the story; we must also internalize it. Take a moment when you reach this part of Maggid and think of everything Hashem has given you, whether it’s your family, community, education, or just a beautiful Seder table surrounded by loved ones with food. After you can fully reflect upon and appreciate everything that you have been given, it will be much easier to follow along in Maggid and appreciate its depths. At the Seder table this year, try to add to your experience by either reading a few commentaries in the Haggadah on your own or just following along in English. Try to be attentive and listen to some of the divrei Torah being given at the table, and maybe even attempt giving one yourself. Reflect on the Seder, ask questions, appreciate the different types of freedom you have, and be thankful to Hashem. Of course, you are going to be hungry and tired, but don’t let that ruin the opportunity for a spiritual Seder. You never know where your inspiration might come from, and at the end of the day, the effort you invest in the Seder is definitely worth it.

FINDING YOUR EXODUS AMANDA WANNON AM AND A WANNON IS CU R RENT LY A SO PH OM ORE AT SH ALHEV ET HI GH SCH O OL.

Every year as Pesach approaches, I ask myself, “Why is Pesach the most celebrated Jewish holiday, especially among people who don’t celebrate other Jewish rituals?” During these seven days (eight in the Diaspora), we are commanded to retell the story of the redemption of the Jewish people from Egypt and to insert ourselves into our ancestors’ past. The opening paragraph of Magid (the retelling of the story) reads, “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, and Hashem our God brought us out from there…” We read this each year as though we are the slaves being brought out of Egypt, not our ancestors. Thankfully, I live in a country that celebrates my political and religious freedom. However, perhaps I am still not totally free. Reading the Haggadah makes me wonder, “What enslaves me today?” When I think of slavery, I think of being controlled by someone, of being ordered to use my time to serve another. But the truth is that the master is sometimes not a “who” but a “what.” Slavery is not only about being controlled by someone, but by something. If so, might the constant pressure we are exposed to from our peers and society be consuming enough to be enslaving us as well? Or maybe technology and social media? The fear of not being good enough? Maybe even the perceived pressures of following the exacting standards of Judaism, even though it should be the most holy thing? Pesach is an appropriate time to consider both the slavery of many years ago and also what enslaves us today. But Pesach isn‘t just a time to remember and reflect upon slavery alone, it is also a time to remember the feelings of and celebration of salvation and freedom. The story of Pesach in the Torah does not end with being enslaved, but rather focuses on the salvation of our ancestors from Egypt. In fact, the Ramban calls Sefer Shemot “Sefer Hagalut V’hageulah” – “The book of Exile and Redemption.” The Jewish people were finally freed from external sources of control and were able to establish themselves as a nation with their own unique identity. It is this notion of finding ourselves that we should focus on as well when searching for our modern form of freedom. And perhaps even those Jews who are not the most closely connected to their religion sense this as a goal that they would like to achieve to some extent, which is why many more celebrate Pesach in some form than most other Jewish holidays. For me personally, prayer is the epitome of what enslaves us and redeems us. It has the potential to control me with the hours I spend on it, sometimes not understanding the words I am saying, and sometimes doing it by rote and out of a sense of obligation. In writing this Dvar Torah, I have challenged myself to free myself from this type of prayer. I have decided to take control of my own prayer and to make it more personal. I now start my prayer by speaking with Hashem (which is recommended by Rabbi Nachman of Breslav at all times of the day). I praise Hashem, I thank Him for how much he has spoiled me and then I ask him humbly for my needs and those of my friends, family and all of Am Yisrael. When I feel myself phasing out of my prayer and doing things on auto-pilot, I stop and try to refocus myself. I am at the start of this journey for a more free and meaningful prayer. But I already find that the same act of praying that previously seemed a little “enslaving” has now completely redeemed me and made me feel free. I hope for all of you that you reflect on the things that “enslave” you today, and just like the Jews who left Egypt, you’re successful in finding your own personal exodus too. 9

SELF-PERCEPTION AND PERSONAL GROWTH: EDUCATING THE FOUR CHILDREN I recently visited a school where students were placed into tracks for their limudei kodesh classes. The tracks were numbered 1 through 5; “Track 1” was the advanced level, and “Track 5” was considered the lowest academic level. And as I spoke with students at this school about their learning experiences, one of the things that stood out most prominently was how their track placement impacted their self-perception: they saw themselves as “better” or “worse” students based on their academic track number. In the words of one of these students, “I’m not such a good student - I’m only in track 3.” My experience in this school didn’t just get me thinking about the ways that schools and educators shape student self-perceptions, though. It also got me thinking about the four sons that appear in our haggada: What does the wise [child] say? “What are these ‫חכם מה הוא אומר? מה העדות‬ testimonies, statutes and judgments that the Lord our ‘‫והחקים והמשפטים אשר צוה ה‬ God commanded you?” (Deuteronomy 6:20) And ‫ ואף אתה אמור לו‬.‫אלהינו אתכם‬ accordingly you will say to him, as per the laws of the ‫ אין מפטירין אחר‬:‫כהלכות הפסח‬ Pesach sacrifice, “We may not eat an afikoman after [we :‫הפסח אפיקומן‬ are finished eating] the Pesach sacrifice. (Mishnah, Pesachim 10:8)” What does the evil [child] say? “What is this worship to you?” (Exodus 12:26). “To you” and not “to him.” And since he excluded himself from the collective, he has denied a principle [of the Jewish faith]. And accordingly, you should blunt his teeth and say to him, “For the sake of this, did the Lord do [this] for me in my going out of Egypt (Exodus 13:8).” “For me” and not “for him.”; If he had been there, he would not have been saved.

‫רשע מה הוא אומר? מה העבודה‬ ‫ ולפי‬.‫ ולא לו‬- ‫ לכם‬.‫הזאת לכם‬ ‫שהוציא את עצמו מן הכלל כפר‬ ‫ ואף אתה הקהה את שניו‬.‫בעקר‬ ‫ ”בעבור זה עשה ה‘ לי‬:‫ואמור לו‬ ‫ אלו‬.‫לו‬-‫“ לי ולֹא‬.‫בצאתי ממצרים‬ :‫ לא היה נגאל‬,‫היה שם‬

What does the innocent [child] say? “What is this?” (Exodus 13:14). And you will say to him, “With the strength of [His] hand did the Lord take us out from Egypt, from the house of slaves’ (Exodus 13:14).”

?‫תם מה הוא אומר? מה זאת‬ ‫ואמרת אליו ”בחוזק יד הוציאנו‬ “.‫ה‘ ממצרים מבית עבדים‬

And [regarding] the one who doesn’t know how to ask, you should open [the conversation] for him. As it is stated (Exodus 13:8), “And you will speak to your son on that day saying, for the sake of this, did the Lord do [this] for me in my going out of Egypt.”

‫ את פתח‬- ‫ושאינו יודע לשאול‬ ‫ והגדת לבנך ביום‬,‫ שנאמר‬,‫לו‬ ‘‫ בעבור זה עשה ה‬,‫ההוא לאמר‬ .‫לי בצאתי ממצרים‬

Several questions immediately emerge from this text. First, what is the relationship between these archetypes? Last I checked, “tzaddik” (righteous) was the opposite of “wicked” - and yet the wicked child here appears to be paired with the wise. Does this suggest that wickedness is the absence of wisdom? Secondly, how could we ever label a child as “wicked”? Sure, children misbehave - but can there exist true evil in a child who has not yet developed the capacity for the expectations and responsibilities of adulthood? Finally, in 10

RABBI DAVID STEIN RA B B I DAVID STE IN I S TH E DIRE CTOR OF J UDAIC CURR ICUL UM AND I N S T RUCTION AT S HA L HE VE T HIG H S CHOOL AND IS THE CO-FOUNDE R OF THE L AHAV CURRICUL UM P ROJ E CT. DAVID A TTENDE D Y E SHIVA COL L E G E AND RIE TS FOR HIS UN D ERG RADUATE AND SE MIKHA S TUD I ES, AND AL SO RE CE IVE D HIS MA S T E R’ S DE G RE E I N ME CHANICAL ENG INE E RING F ROM COL UMBIA UN I V ERSITY . HE IS CURRE NTL Y STUDY ING AT A MERICAN J E WISH U NIVE RSITY ’ S GRA D U ATE CE NTE R FOR J E WISH ED UCATION AS A WE XNE R F ELLOW/ DAVIDSON S CHO LAR, AND AND HELP E D WRITE THE FIRST E VE R S TA NDARDS AND B EN C HMARKS FOR GE MAR A ED U CATION AS A MEMBE R OF THE LEGA CY HE RITAG E L E ADE RSHIP I N S TI TUTE WRITE RS G ROUP.

labelling our students or children as such - from “wise” to “simple” - do we not run the risk of tainting their own self-perception, much as I observed in the students I encountered on my school visit? These questions become even more urgent in light of the well-known work of Carol Dweck, whose research highlights the ways in which labeling students can impact their growth. In her book Mindset: The New Psychology of Success, Dweck shows that students with a “fixed” mindset about their achievement (“I am smart”) performed worse than students with a “growth” mindset (“I can learn this”). In other words, the ways in which students perceive themselves have a direct impact on their performance. Dweck’s research has had deep implications for many areas from business to education to parenting; her work has shown that praising effort and process (“That was a great way to solve this problem!”) is far more powerful than praising the outcome (“You’re a genius!”). And while there is no question that real learning differences do exist - there are students who objectively have low working memory or slow neurocognitive processing - Dweck’s work shows that the labels we assign to our children can and will limit their ability to reach their potential. The Torah’s discussion of evil within the context of civil court seems to suggest a similar idea as well: Devarim 25:1 When there is a dispute between men and they go to law, and a decision is rendered declaring one righteous and the other wicked.

‫א‬:‫דברים כה‬ ‫כי־יהיה ריב בין אנשים ונגשו אל־המשפט‬ ‫ושפטום והצדיקו את־הצדיק והרשיעו‬ ‫את־הרשע׃‬

The standard translation of the term “‫ ”והצדיקו את הצדיק‬here is “declaring one righteous.” But it is interesting to note that the hif ’il (causative) verb form used here in ‫ ״הצדיקו״‬and ‫ ״הרשיעו״‬doesn’t just mean to declare someone to be righteous or evil. On a grammatical level, this word means to cause someone to be righteous or evil. In other words, the parties in this pasuk are not inherently good or evil - rather, it is by labelling them as such that they become good or evil. Which brings us back to our earlier questions. How could the haggada assign such dangerous labels to the children in this passage? Is the text simply reflecting a retrograde educational approach, assigning character labels to children in a way we now know to be developmentally harmful? I’d like to suggest another option. Perhaps the haggada is not speaking about the labels that we assign to our children - instead, it is describing the ways in which they see themselves. The Mishna in Pirkei Avot discusses this phenomenon quite clearly: Avot 2:13 (2:18 in some versions) Rabbi Shimon says: …Do not see yourself as wicked.

‫יג‬:‫אבות ב‬ .‫אל תהי רשע בפני עצמך‬... :‫רבי שמעון אומר‬

The real danger, cautions this Mishna, is in how we see ourselves (see Rabbeinu Yonah’s commentary ‫)״שהכריע עצמו לכף חובה״‬. And in this sense, perhaps the haggada is not saying that our children are objectively “smart” or “wicked” - nor is it even assigning these artificial labels to the children. Rather, it is describing children who see themselves in these ways - and telling us, as parents and educators, how to respond to students who may have a range of self-perceptions, from smart to wicked to simple. Indeed, no matter the actual achievement level of these children, we all know students who perceive themselves in various ways - and our responses to them can make all the difference in the world. Seen in this way, the “wicked” child is not wicked at all - nor would we ever describe him or her in that way. Instead, the haggada recognizes that some students describe themselves in these ways, and that these self-perceptions can lead to real failure; the child who sees him or herself as wicked would not have made it out of Egypt. Such a lack of affirmation is not a rejection of God - instead, it is a rejection of one’s own self. The “‫“( ”כופר בעיקר‬he denies the principle”) that the passage describes thus has nothing to do with a theological lack of faith; instead, the child simply does not believe in his or her capacity for growth – a fundamental capability that we must always believe our children possess. Nor does ‫ ״הקהה את שיניו״‬mean to hit the child in rebuke - that would be spelled as ‫״הכה״‬.

Instead, ‫ הקהה את שיניו‬likely means to refute or respond to a challenge (see Rashi’s commentary to Yevamot 110b ‫)ד״ה ומקוו‬. Thus, the haggada is saying that we need to respond to their attitude and stress to them that their attitude is an unhealthy and dangerous one; had they lived in Egypt, it may have even led to their not being redeemed. Taken together, then, these insights can help us answer the questions we posed above about this passage. Evil is not the absence of wisdom, and neither of these traits can properly describe a child who has not yet reached the developmental maturity - nor does our hagadda label these children as such. Rather, this passage is giving voice to a fundamental reality: our children and students perceive themselves in various ways, and we as parents and teachers can impact these self-perceptions – for better and for worse – in the ways that we respond to our children’s challenges and triumphs, as well as their moments of confusion and silence. Our haggada’s message, then, is that each child requires a tailored response, carefully calibrated to develop constructive, growth-oriented self-perceptions that can unlock his or her fullest potential.

THE FOUR CHILDREN AND ASKING THE RIGHT QUESTIONS MS. MALKIE HAMETZ M S. M ALK I E H AME T Z I S T HE MASHGI C H A RUCHAN I T , DIR E C T OR OF CHESE D , AND A M EMB ER OF T HE LIMUDEI KOD E S H FACU L T Y AT SH ALHEV ET HI GH SCH O OL. M ALK I E R E CE I V ED HER B A IN E NGLI S H CO M M UNI C AT I ONS /PU BLI C R E LAT I ONS F ROM STE R N C OLLEGE FO R WOM EN AND CO M PLET ED HER M ASTE R’S D EGREE IN E DU C AT I ON FR OM AM ERI C AN JE WISH U N IVERSI T Y .

We know that asking questions is an integral part of the Pesach Seder; questions about why we lean, why we dip, and the significance of eating matza. Young children practice asking the Four Questions for weeks before the Seder begins, and we strive to engage people of all ages in the discussions that come up while reading the Haggadah each year. However, we do not receive answers for every question that we ask, so why is this act of questioning itself so crucial to this momentous yearly ritual? Additionally, we are commanded four different times in the Torah to tell our children the story of the Exodus, our communal redemption from Egypt. Why is this command repeated numerous times - wouldn’t one time have been sufficient? Perhaps we can discover the answers to these questions by exploring how different children learn and how their curiosity is piqued based on a number of Torah sources. In the section of the Four Children in the Haggadah, these children each ask questions about what is going on around them, and they each approach the Seder in a very different way. The wise son does not ask the same questions that the simple son asks, and the wicked son does not have the same outlook on the Pesach Seder as the child who does not know how to ask. It seems like each child is asking questions that are appropriate for their stage of life, their development, and their own personal abilities. The Mishna (Pirkei Avot 5:12) also discusses the topic of student behavior, and here too four different kinds of learners are mentioned. There are students who are quick to understand and quick to forget, students who are slow to understand and slow to forget, those who are quick to understand and slow to forget, and lastly, students who are slow to understand and quick to forget. Each of these individuals learns very differently, and each should therefore receive the information we seek to impart in a different way. One child might have trouble learning the same story of the Exodus each year because they feel it is stagnant, rigid, and unchanging, another child might learn the story but forget the whole thing as soon as they learn it, and a third might not even be able to learn it in the first place. Another Mishna in Pirkei Avot (5:15) tells us more about how students and children learn, focusing on how their personalities as learners impact their retaining of the information to which they are exposed. Some are like sponges in the way they absorb information, while others are like funnels and cannot retain anything. Some are similar to strainers, and others are like sieves; some learners know what to filter out and what to retain, while others sometimes filter out the wrong information and hold on to what might not be truly important. When I read this Mishna, I personally think of the number of books I have read, what I have retained, and how much more I lost along the way. We might have a vague recollection of what we read or what we learned in a course, but for so many of us, those memories are murky. This notion that many of us often forget or don’t internalize what we’ve learned can help us understand why Chazal emphasized that no matter how wise one may be, every person must tell this Exodus story again and again. We need to account for those who may have forgotten, for those who may not know to ask, and for those who need constant reminders of our Jewish past and our collective history. All of this knowledge about how we learn and retain information can - and should - help us 13

assess our personal learning styles, and how we ourselves best remember important facts. We should then apply this knowledge back to our families, those at our Seder, and our own children - because all learners are different. When we don’t think enough about how a child might learn best, we are denying them an opportunity to truly gain from what we are teaching. We see this idea from a comment of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch concerning the way that Yitzchak and Rivka raised their twin sons, Yaakov and Esav. Rav Hirsch observes that the twins were identical in looks, but were very different in their core makeup. They looked so alike that their parents ended up thinking they were alike on the inside as well - and this, Rav Hirsch comments, was a mistake. Rav Hirsch writes: “while they were little, no attention was paid to the slumbering differences in their natures, both had the same teaching and education, and the great law of education, ‘chanoch l’naar al pi darko’ was forgotten. Each child must be treated differently, and should be educated to develop his or her special characteristics for the one pure human and Jewish life.” Rav Hirsch, living in the 1800’s in Germany, touched on this crucial educational point of differentiated instruction, and the importance of consciously thinking about how to meet individual needs. The same idea can be seen as well from the Rambam in the Mishneh Torah (Hilchot Chametz U’Matza 7:2), where he says that if a child is not curious, we are supposed to provoke their curiosity about the redemption by adapting to their learning styles and needs. This, of course, requires asking questions, lots of them. The Seder is a great time to do this - we want the Pesach story to be integrated into our children’s minds in a manner in which they are active participants in the learning process. According to the Rambam, then, creating that environment in order to raise awareness, participation, and engagement in the Seder is extremely important, and for this reason, the Seder can be a deeply emotional time as well. Albert Einstein famously wrote that “the important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.” Children are natural questioners - I think about my 2 and a half year old who questions every detail of a book we’re reading together or asks dozens of questions about something interesting that he sees outside. Dr. Erica Brown says that “questions lie at the heart of redemption because they allow us to ask about our future and then to change it.” The act of questioning itself is an expression of freedom. When we push boundaries and encourage new ways of thinking, we exercise our autonomy in a significant way. Questioning opens up our minds to a different way of viewing the world around us, and is a skill that many try hard to hone and refine. We can now understand why questions play such an important role at the Seder. The Seder is an opportunity for each child to thrive by allowing them to create and develop their own questions (even if they don’t receive all the answers) and having them expressing their own autonomy and freedom, each in their own unique way. And the reason for the Torah’s emphasis on relating the story to our children is to stress the importance of transmitting our traditions and our foundations as a people – in a memorable manner that is tailor-made for each child to understand and appreciate on their own level. So I leave off with a challenge for us all going into the Pesach Seder this year: identify some characteristics about your children or those who will be at your Seder, qualities that make each person different from one another. How can you celebrate those differences, and accentuate them in a positive way? How can you draw out your children, and all those at your Seder, and encourage them to explore and question new ideas? I believe that if we take the time to do this and prepare appropriately for this important time, our Seder experiences can not only be enhanced, but can be truly transformed.

CALCULATING THE END RAV YITZCHAK ETSHALOM R AV YI T Z C HAK ESTH A LOM I S T HE ROSH B E I T M I D RAS H AT SHALHEV ET H IGH S C HOOL. R AV E T SHALOM DIR E C T S T HE TANACH M AST ERS PR OGRAM AT Y ULA BO YS’ HI GH SCH O OL, GI V ES SHIURI M TH R OUGHOUT T HE CITY, I S A REGULAR CO NTRI B UT OR T O Y ESHIV AT H AR ETZION ' S V I RT UAL BEIT MI D RAS H , AND IS A PUB LI SHED AU TH OR ON TANAK H M ETH OD OLOGY AND RAB B I NI C LITE R A T URE. HE ATTEN D ED Y ESHIV AT KE REM B'Y AVNE , RAB B I ISAAC ELHANAN TH E OLOGI C AL SE M IN ARY , AND Y ESHIV AT H AR ETZION B EF ORE R E CE I V I NG S E M I C H A FR OM T HE C HI EF R ABBI NAT E OF Y ERUS H AL AYI M .

The “Covenant Between the Pieces” (Berit bein haBetarim) made between God and Avraham, as recorded in Bereisheet 15, plays a central “background” role at our Seder. Near the beginning of the Hagadah, we bless God “Who kept (shomeir) (or is it “keeps”?) His promise to Yisrael, Blessed is He; that the Holy One, Who is blessed, calculated the end in order to fulfill that which He said to Avraham our father at the Covenant Between the Pieces, as it says: ‘Know for sure that your progeny will be strangers in a foreign land and they will enslave them and oppress them for four hundred years. I will also judge the nation that oppresses them, after which they will leave with great wealth.” [But you will join your fathers in peace, you will be buried at a good old age. The fourth generation will return here, for the sin of the Emorite will not be complete until then.’] ” Nearly every classical commentator on the Hagadah expresses puzzlement over the introductory phrase chisheiv et hakeitz – “calculated the end.” By and large, it is understood to mean that God saw that His people could not endure any more time in Egypt, and certainly not four hundred years in total. He consequently accelerated the process to redeem them long before the four hundred years were complete. Some even suggest that the numerical value of ketz – 190 – was subtracted from the intended 400, leaving us with the 210 years of life in Egypt. These attempts to decipher the phrase rest on one assumption – that the realization of the Berit bein haBetarim was the Exodus, and that this entire mysterious and deliberately ambiguous prophecy was entirely fulfilled when we left Egypt with the gold and silver of our oppressors. The plagues certainly fit the bill of “I will judge the nation that oppresses them.” The next paragraph in the Hagadah, however, belies this interpretation. Just after blessing God for fulfilling this covenant, we raise our cup of wine to sing praises to God: “vehi she’amdah… shelo ehad bilvad amad aleinu lekhaloteinu, ela shebekhol dor vador omdim aleinu lekhaloteinu…” “This (which appears to refer to the aforementioned covenant, as explained by many of the Rishonim) is what stood for our ancestors and for us. It is not only one who stood up to us, attempting to obliterate us; rather, in every generation, they stand up to us to destroy us, and HaKadosh Barukh Hu saves us from their hands.” In other words, the covenant did not have a one-time realization, but it stands for us in every generation. To be sure, in some generations, we are oppressed and enslaved; in others, our enemies plot forced conversion or genocide – but, ultimately, God spares us. We don’t always “leave with great wealth” and God’s judgment of the oppressor is not always obvious – but we miraculously remain, thousands of years later, still acknowledging God and bringing His light into the world. So…is the berit a one-time promise or is it something more? Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik zt”l once commented on Yaakov’s desire to return to his family home just after Yoseph was born (see Bereisheet 30:24-26) that Yaakov assumed that his experience in Haran was the fulfillment of that covenant. After all, he was a stranger in a foreign land, he was worked and oppressed (by his own admission – see Bereisheet 31:39-41) for a long time (in Biblical idiom, 40 or 400 years is a way of saying “a long time”); the one who oppressed him was judged by God and he left with great wealth (see Bereisheet 32:11). To top it off, he waited until the fourth generation (Avraham-Yitzhak-Yaakov-Yosef) was 15

born to return. Was Yaakov right? Generally, we would assume that he erred and that his family would have to undergo another, longer and more painful servitude in order to fulfill the singular “Covenant Between the Pieces”– but was he completely wrong? The text of most of our Hagadot reads shehaKadosh Barukh Hu chisheiv et hakeitz - “The Holy One, Who is Blessed, calculated the end…” Rambam (and other medieval authorities) has a version that is slightly varied – but in language, slight variations in spelling can bespeak great differences in meaning. In Rambam’s Hagadah, the text reads: shehaKadosh Barukh Hu mechashev et hakeitz… “The Holy One, Who is blessed, calculates the end…”1 In English, as in Hebrew, it is a difference of one letter – a mem prefix or an “s” suffix. But what a huge difference in meaning. Until now we interpreted the berit bein habetarim as a one-time event, never to be repeated or matched and we were (possibly) left wondering whether the Egyptian servitude and subsequent redemption was the realization of that promise. Now we understand that that selfsame covenant was a promise to Avraham about national historic cycles. In other words, Avraham’s children will be exiled and oppressed – but the nation that oppresses them will be judged and the children will return home with great wealth. This cycle has been repeated throughout our history, with a range of variations. Sometimes, we were oppressed in our own land (the period of the Shofetim). Sometimes, we were exiled but barely oppressed (the Babylonian/Persian exile). Other times, we didn’t come back with great wealth – but we did return (Shivat Tziyon of the late 19th century). Even the Egyptian exodus itself didn’t fulfill – at least not literally – all of the terms of the covenant. We weren’t there even close to four hundred years and, according to many Rishonim, we were only actually enslaved for approximately eighty years. In addition, according to any way we calculate from whom we begin counting the four hundred years, it was not the “fourth generation” that returned. So, perhaps Yaakov wasn’t wrong at all. Maybe his oppression at the hands of Lavan and his wealth-laden departure were merely the first manifestation of the berit, explaining why he waited until the birth of the fourth generation (Yosef) before looking to return home. This understanding of the covenant is consistent with the thread of history recounted in the Hagadah. As noted above, after blessing God for calculating in order to fulfill the covenant, we declare, with an uplifted glass of wine and with hearts full of song, that this berit was not fulfilled only once, ela sheb’khol dor vador… but in every generation. And immediately after that paragraph, we begin the story of the evening – with Lavan! This understanding may set us on a broader and more impactful course throughout the evening. Instead of reading the specific derashot on Devarim 26:5-8 (that are the core of the Hagadah), which begin with Arami Oved Avi, as expansions on that singular event, the Exodus from Egypt – we ought to read and apply them omnitemporally ( at all times). When we explain in the Hagadah that against all odds, we became mighty and flourished in Egypt, we ought to recall the amazing Jewish accomplishments in the impossible life of Eastern Europe of the 17-19th centuries. And when we read the Midrash about God “knowing” that the men and women abstained from relations, we ought to invoke the harsh separation of families endured by our more recent ancestors, cousins, brothers and sisters in the concentration camps during World War II. This idea is already invoked at the very onset of the evening as well. When we respond to the opening questions with Avadim hayyinu, we declare that “had the Holy One, Who is blessed, not redeemed our ancestors from Egypt, we, our children…would still be enslaved.” In other words – the events that are recorded in Shemot 1-15 echo throughout the generations and, with all sorts of variations (some much harsher than the original!), continue to be manifest “in every generation” And, in every generation, haKadosh Barukh hu mehasheiv et hakeitz, as the Rambam states – God continuously calculates the end, finding ways to redeem us and bring us home.

1 Perhaps surprisingly, quite a number of Rishonim have this version; see inter alia¸ the commentary of the Shibolei haLeket on the Hagadah (found in the Torat Haim Hagadah published by Mossad HaRav Kook) and his explanation on this.

THE MESSAGE OF MATZAH SHEYNA SCHUSTERMAN SH EYN A SCH U ST ERM AN I S CU R R ENT LY A SE NIO R AT SH ALHEV ET HI GH SCH O OL, AND A M EMB ER OF SH ALHEV ET ’S B E I T MID RA S H PR OGRAM .

The Torah tells us concerning the holiday of Passover (Shemot 12:15): “For a seven-day period you shall eat matzot, but on the previous day you shall nullify the leaven from your homes...” We are all familiar with this mitzvah of eating the hard, cracker-like unleavened bread on Passover. But what is the reason for this commandment to eat matzah? As with many aspects of Passover and the Seder, there are many reasons and interpretations given for this mitzvah. According to the Haggadah, the reason is that the dough did not have time to rise when the Jews were leaving Egypt. Moreover, Passover is the time for us to truly feel as though we were present when God redeemed us from Egypt, and the Haggadah says that a person should view himself as if he left Egypt, so we eat matzah the same way that our ancestors did when they left. But there is another reason for this mitzvah, and that is that matzah was also eaten by the Jews when they were still slaves in Egypt and didn’t have decent food. This is why the Torah refers to matzah as lechem oni (Devarim 16:3), which can mean the bread of affliction – since the Jews ate it while they were suffering as slaves in Egypt, as Rashi says there (based on the Sifrei, 130). This reason for matzah is also given expression in the Haggadah in the opening section of Maggid, Ha Lachma Anya, where we declare that the matzah is what our ancestors ate while serving as slaves in Egypt. While some of us may see matzah as a fun and enjoyable way to commemorate this holiday, many of us ignore this second, more solemn aspect of its symbolism. Rav Soloveitchik elaborates (in various places in the book Festival of Freedom) on the importance of the dialectic of matzah and remembering both the dimension of matzah as symbolizing freedom as well as the dimension symbolizing slavery. During Passover, we should try to transport ourselves into the past and focus on our ancestors eating matzah when they were slaves. Try to put yourself in the shoes of a slave and think about what it means not to have decent food available at your fingertips. It must have been unbelievably difficult, and at our Seder we must remember the difficulty of the slavery just as much as the sweetness of the redemption. This explanation of matzah is the one that most inspires me, since I think it relates to something that I struggle with on a daily basis - gratitude. I try to emulate the people who constantly give to their community because they’re aware of the success they have and want to provide for others as an expression of their gratitude. Passover has become a time for me to work on gratitude. Every Passover as I eat the matzah at my Seder table, I sit in silence and reflect. I remember how difficult life was for the Jews as slaves in Egypt before they were redeemed and how Pesach expresses our thanks to Hashem for the redemption from that difficult period. So too, I thank God for every opportunity that He has presented me personally, both good and bad. I thank God for giving me the opportunity to surround myself with Judaism every day. And I thank God for the perfect opportunity each year to reflect on what I have. The mitzvot that we perform don’t have to be done only because God said so or because of

explanations that don’t speak to us; their performance can also be accompanied by explanations that feel more personal and resonate with us. Although it is hard for some people to truly feel as though they experienced God’s redemption by eating the matzah, we should work to create a more personal connection to this symbol. As you sit at your Passover Seder, try considering what it must have felt like to eat matzah because you couldn’t afford to indulge in the luxurious foods. Then take a moment to reflect on your life and the opportunities you are presented with every day and you will realize that no matter what troubles and challenges you have faced, you too are blessed with many things in life for which we must express gratitude. In my mind, the answer to the question of why Matzah is such an important symbol is because it serves as a reminder for how fortunate we are. Our Seder tables might look luxurious, but the most important element on those tables is the matzah, which isn’t as luxurious as the other items, but offer us the window into the most important element of our Seder experience. I hope that this Passover everyone can take a moment to learn these lessons from the matzah and relate to it in this way.

THINKING OF OTHERS: FROM KORBANOT TO TODAY NOA SEGAL NOA S EGAL I S A GR ADUAT E OF SH ALHEV ET ' S CL ASS OF 2 0 1 8 . AFTE R GR ADUAT I NG, NOA LEAR NED I N MIGD AL OZ I N GU S H ETZION AND HAS SU BSEQUENT LY M ADE AL I YA T O LIVE IN T HE S T AT E OF ISRAEL. SHE I S CU R R ENT LY SE R VIN G I N S H ERU T LE'UM I AS A GUI D E ON HA R H ERZL .

It is no coincidence that when the general population thinks of Jews, they tend to associate us with smorgasbords, kugels, and bagels and lox. Judaism has placed an inherent value on our relationship with food, elevating it to more than just what we need to sustain life. It is meant to bring us together and to foster community. A wonderful illustration of this idea can be found within the laws of the korbanot (sacrifices) discussed in the Book of Vayikra. The Torah there lists numerous korbanot that were offered in the Beit haMikdash (Temple) along with the additional items that were required to accompany each one. Regarding the Korban Todah, the thanksgiving sacrifice brought to express one’s thanks to God, often upon experiencing certain types of miracles, the pasuk (7:13) states: “‫ ”על־חלת לחם חמץ יקריב קרבנו על־זבח תודת שלמיו‬- With cakes of leavened bread he shall present his offering with the sacrifice of his peace-offerings for thanksgiving.” What makes this korban unique is that it must be brought with forty loaves of bread and eaten within the day (as opposed to most other similar korbanot, for which one had two days to consume it). The Netziv, Rav Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, Rosh Yeshiva of the Volozhin Yeshiva, comments on the peculiarity of the requirements of the Todah. ‫ ומטעם זה ריבה הכתוב‬.‫והענין דתכלית תודה שבא על הנס הוא כדי לספר חסדי ה׳ שגמל עליו‬ .‫ היינו כדי שיהיה מרבה ריעים לסעודה אחתלפני רוב אנשים‬.‫בלחם ומיעט בזמן שלמים‬ ‫ביום הקרבה ויהיה ספור הנס אכילת תודה מכל‬ The purpose for bringing the thanksgiving sacrifice upon experiencing a miracle is in order to relate the kindness of God that was performed for him [the one bringing the sacrifice]. It is for this reason that the Torah required great amounts of bread but then reduced the amount of time with which to eat it, in comparison to the other Shelamim sacrifices. [The purpose] is in order that he bring many friends together at one meal on the day of the sacrifice, at which the host will relate the miracle [that he experienced] before them. The Netziv emphasizes the innate impossibility for one person to eat the whole korban as well as all of the bread by himself. Rather, the very purpose of the unusual demands is so that the person bringing the korban will have to find others to share in his meal. We are thus commanded to bring an offering that inevitably requires us to include others in our thanksgiving and happiness. This is exactly what the Rambam (Hilchot Yom Tov 6:18) says about one who does not invite other more needy individuals to his table during the holidays: ‫”אין זו שמחת מצוה אלא שמחת‬ “‫ כרסו‬- “this is not happiness of the commandment, but only indulging in his own desire to eat.” On chagim, we celebrate through meals. But if this is done without including those around us, we have missed the point entirely. To enjoy and eat without looking out for our friends and community members is to abandon the essence of a joyous chag. We also see the importance of sharing with those around us emphasized in connection with the Korban Pesach. With regard to the halachot of the Korban, the Rambam in the Mishneh Torah says:

‫ ומשתדלין שלא ישחט לכתחלה על יחיד שנאמר‬.‫ והוא שיהיה ראוי לאכול את כלו‬.‫יחיד ששחט את הפסח לעצמו כשר‬ (‫ב‬:‫יב( ”יעשו אתו“ )הלכות קרבן פסח ב‬-‫יא‬:‫ במדבר ט‬,‫מז‬:‫)שמות יב‬ If an individual slaughters the Pesach offering for himself, it is valid, provided he is capable of eating the whole thing. Ideally, we endeavor not to slaughter it for a single individual, for the pasuk states (Shemot 12:47, Bamidbar 9:11-12), “They shall do it”. (Hilchot Korban Pesach 2:2) The Rambam here may be based on the Gemara in Pesachim (95a) that uses the pasuk of “‫”כל־עדת ישראל יעשו אתו‬ to show the importance of the sacrifice being communal (see also Kesef Mishneh). While one is allowed to eat the sacrifice alone, the ideal is for people to bring and eat it together. When we cook meals, we don’t just cook for ourselves. We cook for our neighbors, our friends, and strangers who might need a hot bowl of matzah ball soup. This has been at the very crux of Judaism to rejoice with others at our meals, from the time of bringing korbanot in the Beit HaMikdash through our Pesach Seder today in the twenty-first century.

L’SHANAH HABA’AH B’YERUSHALAYIM HABENUYAH! YOETZET HALACHA ATARA SEGAL Y O ETZE T H AL AC H A ATAR A SEGAL I S PAR T O F T HE JU DAIC S T UD I ES LEADERSHI P T EAM , A ME M B ER OF LIMUD E I KOD E S H FACU L T Y , AND A DIR E CTOR OF ISR AE L GUI D ANC E AT SH A LHEV ET H IGH SC HOOL. ATAR A REC EI V ED H E R BA F ROM STE R N C OLLEGE AND C OM P LET ED H E R M . A. I N B I B LE AT TH E B ERNARD R E VE L GRAD UAT E SCH O OL. S HE I S A CE R TIF I ED PHY S I C S TEACHER, AND I S CE R TIF I ED AS A Y O ETZE T H AL AC H A TH R OUGH NISH MAT ' S R IGOROUS M I RI AM GLAU B AC H CE NTER.

One of the highlights of the Seder is the joyful singing of “L’Shanah Haba’ah b’Yerushalayim Habenuyah” in Nirtzah, where we express our hope to spend the next Pesach in a rebuilt Jerusalem. This phrase isn’t just an inspirational one to end the Seder (and also Yom Kippur) on a high; it is a sentence that gives context to the entire Seder, as we will see shortly. The paragraph that precedes this phrase at the beginning of Nirtzah, ‫חסל סדור פסח‬, contains a potentially deflating message. We sing: ‫– כאשר זכינו לסדר אותו כן נזכה לעשותו‬ “just as we merited to arrange the Seder, may we also merit to perform it”. The juxtaposition of these two statements gives the impression that after an enormous investment of time, money and energy to scrub our houses, gather family, fill the fridge and procure large quantities of matzah – we are acknowledging that the intense and anticipated rites that we have performed over the past few hours of the Seder are, essentially, placeholders. We have just “arranged” the elements of the Seder as a mere reflection of the “real deal” that can only be performed in a rebuilt Jerusalem, with the Temple intact and the Korban Pesach presumably once again the central focus of the night, as expressed by our singing “L’shanah Haba’ah”. This perspective is reminiscent of the Ramban’s approach to all mitzvot performed outside of Israel. Basing himself on a midrash (‫)ספרי‬, the Ramban explains the following on the verse: (‫ כ”ה‬:‫”ותטמא הארץ ואפקד עונה עליה ותקיא הארץ את ישביה“ )ויקרא י”ח‬ ‫ ופירשו בהן כדי שלא יהו חדשים עלינו‬,‫אינו מחייב בגלות אלא בחובת הגוף כתפילין ומזוזות‬... .’‫ כי עיקר כל המצות ליושבים בארץ ה‬,‫כשנחזור לארץ‬ …[The Torah] only obligates one in exile to fulfill physical requirements on each person like tefillin and mezuzah, and they [Chazal] explained that it is so that they will not be new to us when we return to the Land, as the primary purpose of all the mitzvot is for those who live in the land of Hashem. With the exception of commandments that one must fulfill with one’s own body, according to the Ramban we only practice mitzvot outside of Israel so that we will remember how to perform them once we return to Israel; there is no independent religious value or meaning to mitzvot of the Diaspora. Although the “rebuilt Jerusalem” of the Haggadah is presumably not simply the skyscraper and light rail reality of the Jerusalem of 2020, the Ramban underscores the religious value of the land itself, even without the rebuilt Beit Hamikdash. So where does that leave us? Are we duped into performing what seems to be a meaningful ritual that is in reality just a cheap facsimile of the true Paschal-lamb-eating Seder, and doesn’t even take place in Eretz Yisrael (for those of us who live in galut)? I think decisively not. We do not have to see the plea to spend next year’s Pesach in a rebuilt Jerusalem as devaluing our diaspora, Beit HaMikdash-less experience. I think that if we look more carefully at ‫חסל סדור פסח‬, we can see that it in fact places great value on our Seder. The Haggadah uses 21

the word ‫זכינו‬, merited, to describe our Seder. A ‫ זכות‬is a positive value that we aspire to achieve and are proud to present. Carrying our traditions with us over thousands of years through exile, we have carefully cultivated a remarkable experience that gathers families and communities together to recreate the exile from Egypt and, in doing so, reinforces the recognition of our covenantal relationship with God. Yes, we have achieved the sublime and miraculous! It is not that the Seder is a placeholder that marks the spot in which we will drop in the Paschal lamb sacrifice when the Temple is rebuilt. Rather, the Seder itself is an event that enables us to express our unique religious and moral values in such an engaging way that we inspire the next generation. That transmission is itself a sanctified rite. This final part of the Seder conveys to us that we have indeed achieved something remarkable in “arranging” this evening. We have had the ‫ זכות‬of facilitating the transmission of our tradition through the customs of the Seder in an amazing way. But, in true Jewish fashion, we are never satisfied with what we have accomplished - we still long to merit practicing the Seder in a rebuilt Jerusalem. Nevertheless, that wish is not meant to diminish our achievements of the evening; it is only our yearning for the logical extension of the wondrous event that is the Seder, as performed by families in every corner of the globe over thousands of years. May we merit the complete fulfillment of the Seder in its entirety, both this year in the diaspora and next year in the fully rebuilt Jerusalem!