Dear friends,
Here is a collection of previous Passover posts, all from the teachings of Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz. Each year I print out my favorites and share them at the seder.
I wish you all a sweet, joyful, and spiritually uplifting Passover.
–Arthur Kurzweil
“The decision to leave the ordinary”
The essence of the Exodus is in the initial, faith-motivated decision to leave the ordinary, the routine life, and to follow God.
This is that all-inclusive point of departure.
Prior to that there is nothing.
All the rest is elaboration.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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“The difference between bread and matzah”
The difference between bread and matzah is that between being and nullification of being.
Matzah is the saltless and yeastless simplicity of the bread substance, without size or taste.
It is as though the King of Kings had appeared to halt the dough in its becoming, keeping it at its humblest, lowest possible state (of human nourishment).
We are enjoined to eat matzah for all the seven days of Pesach–"Matzot shall feed the seven days."
This rather surprising formulation may be explained by realizing that what is meant are the seven lower attributes:
Hesed, Gevurah, Tiferet, Netzah, Hod, Yesod, and Malkhut.
The love from the highest feeds the life of the lower.
For He renews, in His Goodness, the act of Creation each day,
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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“The problem of the crumbs deposited by a mouse”
The sages commented that several halakhot "never existed and never will" because of the numerous restrictions on practical implementation.
"Why were they written? Study and you will be rewarded."
This approach implies that even the Torah laws may be understood in such a way that the possibility of implementing them will be extremely remote.
At the same time, there is no restriction on detailed examination of these laws and their implications not merely as an intellectual exercise but as true study, which is its own reward.
For example, the Talmud contains an extremely complicated discussion of a mouse that brings bread crumbs into a house cleaned of hametz for Passover.
The sages launch into an analysis of the mouse, the number of crumbs in the house before and after his entrance, the possibility that a rat might enter after the mouse, and other potential developments.
This discourse on rodents takes up almost an entire page of the Talmud and is rich in interesting theories and basic evidence, all aimed at solving the problem of the crumbs deposited by the mouse.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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The Egypt within their souls"
The Jews had to flee Egypt
because of the Egypt within their souls
and not because of the earthly Pharaoh.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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"Each level of holiness is a level of self-negation"
The basic difference between heart and mind is that the heart lives for itself.
The self is its ultimate point of reference and the ultimate objective of all its desires.
By contrast, the brain, the faculty of perception, is the power to absorb and relate to matters that are outside and beyond the self.
Indeed, the basis of all perception is the surrender of the egotistical "I" of the heart.
As long as the "I" is defined solely by the self and its own needs, it cannot assimilate any objective truth, anything that is beyond the self.
Thus, the "abode" of the Godly soul in the human body is the brain, where there is "abnegation" (bittul) of the self to another, higher reality.
The Baal HaTanya defines the ultimate kelipah (concealment of holiness) as Pharaoh's remark, "My Nile is mine, and I created myself."
When someone says, "This is mine," this is a certain degree of tumah ("profanity"); when he adds, "and I created myself," it is the ultimate profanity.
The circuit is closed completely; the kelipah is hermetically sealed.
If I made myself for myself, then the "I" is the beginning and end of all existence, and this is the ultimate descent from holiness.
In contrast, each level of holiness is a level of self-negation.
The highest level of holiness is that of the merkavah (literally, "chariot"), a state in which a person's individuality is completely negated and he operates as a vehicle, a mere tool, of the supernal will alone.
Holiness is not merely the concept that I did not create myself, but also that the "Nile" (that is, the things that are ostensibly in my domain and control) does not belong to me.
At this level, words such as "my" and "mine" are unutterable.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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"Internal Events"
If we want to understand the personal, inner meaning of a festival, we should look to its intrinsic spiritual essence.
And what is more, we should see the festivals as internal events in the life of the individual, which are reflections of the collective life of the nation.
This approach will open a door for us toward a wider, albeit not immediately apparent, understanding.
Our sages say: "In every generation, each person must regard himself as if he came out of Egypt."
This is the key to a new understanding of the festivals: in order to relive things, we must participate spiritually in the process of our people's birth.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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"The Long Period of Inner Preparation"
It may be said that the Bible as a whole is a detailed account of the conflicts, the rises and falls, the deviations, the errors, and the reconciliations in the process of receiving the Torah.
And this is true not only of the time the Torah was being absorbed but even prior to Sinai, the long period of inner preparation.
Time is needed for any truly revolutionary teaching to be understood, and there are any number of intermediate stages.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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"Times of crises give us opportunities for a new outlook"
Passover is the most ancient Jewish festival, and also the most beloved.
Yet beyond the splendor of its antiquity and our own childhood memories, Passover’s message is both universal and contemporary:
Each of us yearns for the move from enslavement to exile.
The heartfelt desire for deliverance — redemption from slavery — is not confined to those in captivity.
One’s personal ‘Egypt’ may be literal, physical bondage.
But others may experience their own ‘Egypt’ as financial ruin, the exile of one’s soul or the relentless heartache within one’s own family.
The defining feature of bondage is not a one-time trauma; it lies in its span, sometimes a whole course of life.
Whether one’s bondage is obvious to all or known only to the sufferer, it is a reality from which the sufferer cannot pull free.
And because the sufferer does not have the tools or the abilities to liberate himself, everyone – both the complete heretic and the sage – yearns, with or without prayer, for a miracle.
Even the attempt to escape is not a full answer; the straits may be too high, and possibly also too deep.
The Exodus from Egypt is miraculous.
A pit with a ladder in it is a pit, but there is a clear way out of it.
Egypt is a dead-end labyrinth, an abyss with no staircase.
Had ‘Egypt’ been a solvable problem, on either the individual or the national level, surely many would have found a way to leave.
The festival of the Exodus from Egypt therefore carries an important and significant message for every human being – namely, that there is a precedent for the miracle of deliverance, that there even is a memory of such an event.
And thus the story of the Exodus is imprinted in each of us.
Even those of weak faith can see the Exodus as the symbol of liberation from a difficult and bitter exile.
Unfortunately, there is no formula for reaching the Exodus, neither a five-year plan nor a twelve-step program.
But there is one element that can be identified:
What seems to be the peak of enslavement is, in fact, the beginning of redemption.
Just before the miracle of the Exodus the Torah tells us (Exodus 1:14) ‘and they [the Egyptians] made their [the Israelites'] lives bitter.’
Why so?
Enslavement, in all its forms, is painful, limiting and confining; but because it is not a one-time event, we adapt.
It is not that we like our troubles; it is that we are used to them.
We learn to co-exist, to lead a life in which man and his suffering, external or internal, live side by side.
There is pain, there is distress, but there is also resignation, even if unwilling, to the existing situation.
A reality of this kind is in itself a barrier to liberation.
A person who has been living for a long time behind walls may be unable to step out even when the gate opens.
And such a person will surely not have the courage to make an illogical jump in order to escape his present situation.
However, when people reach a deeper understanding of their distress, when they reach the level of ‘and the children of Israel sighed by reason of the bondage, and they cried’ (Ibid, 2:23), this in itself is the beginning of the possibility of being redeemed.
Bitterness emerges not only out of the pain, but also from the shattering of the compliance with the state of bondage.
That bitter suffering is not the solution; it is the moment of realization, a more profound understanding of our travail.
Out of this moment comes the opening for a new paradigm, a new reality.
Times of crises, such as our own times, are not only periods of human and social tragedies.
They also give us opportunities for a new outlook and a clearer examination of the past and of the present.
A new perception of reality — one that does not focus on particular details but also sees the broad social, economic and human situation — is in itself the beginning of redemption.
One must want to be redeemed, in order to be redeemed.
Before we eat the matzah (which is both a symbol of redemption and ‘the bread of affliction’) we remove the leaven, bi’ur chametz.
Leaven is bread which is very edible, possibly tastier than matzah, which symbolizes all the more bearable aspects of bondage.
We are called upon to burn, even if only symbolically, the leaven that has accumulated in the past year, perhaps also in the course of a whole generation, so that we can begin to create an atmosphere of redemption.
On the Seder night we gather for a festive meal, and the festival table in every Jewish home – even if it is neither glamorous nor bountiful – is a reminder of a most important fact: that the Israelites were redeemed not only in the past, and that in the future, too, there is the “Redeemer of Israel.”
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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"The central ceremony of Passover takes place in the home, not in the synagogue"
The sense of family is an integral part of all Jewish holidays, but it is even stronger during the festival of Passover.
The central ceremony of Passover is the seder, which takes place in the home, not in the synagogue.
And the key element of the seder is in telling the story of our (physical and spiritual) enslavement, our (physical) liberation, and the attainment of our (spiritual) destiny at Mount Sinai – that is, the reaffirmation of our identity as the House of Israel.
This Wednesday night, Jewish families throughout the world will come together and read from the Haggadah, the text of the seder.
They will begin to tell the story by pointing to the matzah, the unleavened bread, and declaring:
‘This is the bread of affliction, which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt.
Let all who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are needy come and celebrate Passover.’
As we look at the matzah and remember our history – when we were hungry and needy, yes, but also when we were all together – we realize that part of the family is missing.
There are empty chairs in the house, where a son or a daughter or a cousin ought to be.
We issue the invitation and we open the door, but some of them are so far away – from us and from Judaism – that they don’t hear our invitation or see the light from the open door.
If every Jew who cares about the members of the Jewish family will issue the invitation and open the door, many of these estranged Jews will hear or see, and drop in for a visit – if not to his own house, then to the house of a long-lost cousin.
Let us welcome them back.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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"Why is This Generation Different From All Other Generations?"
The seder is a singular event in the Jewish calendar, requiring days, or even weeks, of preparation.
When we sit down at the table, at last, and coax the youngest participant to ask Ma Nishtana, we know exactly what is different, and how much effort it took to make it different.
The next set of questions — those asked by the Four Sons, or the Four Children — addresses a larger issue.
According to one perspective, the Four Sons represent four generations of the Jewish people.
This leads us to the wider question I have posed above. A different night is one thing, but a whole different generation?
The first generation is not only wise, but enthusiastic — or perhaps it is enthusiastic because it is wise. It has received a solid Jewish education and is steeped in Jewish life and Jewish culture. Its members ask questions so as to broaden and deepen their commitment.
The second generation is wicked (the language is harsh, but it’s the text we have): This generation may have learned the “behavioral” part of Judaism, but it has missed the spiritual and the inspirational elements. Lacking a meaningful understanding of Pesach — and, indeed, of Judaism – it rebels.
The third generation asks a question that is almost primitive: “What is this?” This generation is ignorant, too ignorant to be rebellious. Yet the grandchild notices unfamiliar objects and actions, and so he approaches the grandfather with his questions.
The child of the fourth generation, however, is not motivated to ask, and would not even know what or whom to ask. No one in his orbit is Jewishly knowledgeable or Jewishly connected. His grandfather is a member of the second generation, the one who rebelled against the Jewish heritage and rejected it. He has no memories and no context.
Throughout our history, and in almost every country of our dispersion — with the noteworthy exception of the United States — others have tried to destroy us with hate.
Today, however, the biggest problem — especially in the United States — is that we are being decimated by “love,” as, one by one, Jews are voluntarily surrendering their Judaism on an unprecedented scale.
Our response to this threat must also occur one-to-one.
At the seder, and every day, we must respond to our children’s curiosity with substance and we must meet their passion with our own.
We must assure that we live a Judaism that is fresh and vigorous and compelling, so that every generation will be able to establish itself as a first generation that is both wise and enthusiastic.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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"We Become Children Once Again"
The whole Passover ritual could be summarized in a single commandment: “You shall tell your son.”
This is why at the beginning of the Haggadah the child asks four questions: “Why is this night different from all other nights? Why do we only eat matzah?” and so forth.
According to the law, if there is no child present, or if an adult celebrates Passover alone, he must ask the questions, even though he is supposed to “know” the answers.
It is customary in certain communities for adults to ask the questions, because on Passover, we should, in a sense, become children.
This is also why in the Bible, Passover is called the “spring holiday.” On Passover, nature as a whole begins to blossom and man’s renewal coincides with that of nature.
The Sages have pointed to the parallel between the word nitsan, “bud,” and Nisan, the month in which Passover takes place.
It is a true renaissance. We become children once again, and all we can do is ask questions.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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"Not all Seders are equally beautiful"
To be sure, not all sedarim are equally beautiful.
But as long as even one of the people present really feels the meaning of the occasion, that meaning is conveyed in some degree to the others.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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“Everyone is asked to add to the story, to perfect it.”
The external framework of the seder, despite it being fixed, is not rigid; it allows, and even encourages, the introduction of changes and innovations.
Not only were new sections added to the text of the Haggadah over the generations from time to time, but the text itself, by its very nature, demands completion.
In each generation parents and children are again asked to think about the enslavement and liberation from Egypt—to discuss them, study them, and to examine the many points at which present-day life meets, identifies with and clashes with the Passover Haggadah.
Essentially, everyone is asked to add to the story, to perfect it and to “relate the Exodus from Egypt” at least for “that entire night.”
For this reason, there is no hard and fast rule as to how one is to read the Haggadah and who is to read it.
If they wish, the members of the household may ask the oldest one to read it and to explain;
if they prefer, they may all read it together;
if they wish to sing the text, fine;
if they prefer it may be read without song and melody.
Whoever wishes to ask questions is invited to ask, whether young or old–the wise child, the wicked one, the stupid one.
And whoever wishes to answer or to discuss the matter is praiseworthy.
The night of the seder expresses that characteristic of Judaism which was succinctly put by one of the Hassidic teachers: “’You shall be a holy people unto Me’–that your holiness shall be human.”
Thus, the atmosphere at the seder may not be one of scorn or joking, but of respect for the sacred—but in a human manner.
One may jest;
one may ask questions;
one may play.
The afikoman is “stolen,” one acts out the Exodus from Egypt, and once again this Jewish family, which is now celebrating the Passover Seder, is connected with the entire Jewish people, in all places and throughout the generations.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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“There is no possible beginning without a return to the roots of faith, to a state of pure knowledge free of all rationalization”
The matzah eaten by the Israelites in Egypt has a dual meaning, as is clearly demonstrated by the Haggadah ritual.
On the one hand, it is the symbol of flight and powerlessness.
The dough prepared for the Exodus did not have enough time to rise, because the Israelites had to leave Egypt in haste.
On the other hand, the Israelites were instructed to eat matzah on the evening of Passover to accompany the Passover lamb.
‘They shall eat the flesh that same night; they shall eat it roasted over the fire with unleavened bread and with bitter herbs’ (Exodus 12:8).
We are commanded to eat matzah although we eat bread the rest of the year and have apparently reached a higher level of knowledge.
One of the basic features of Jewish existence, both on the personal level and on the level of collective history, is that there is no possible beginning without a return to the roots of faith, to a state of pure knowledge free of all rationalization.
The rest is only construction, superstructure, and embellishment.
The primary meaning of eating matzah is the return to the starting point.
This return is necessary even when I have ‘eaten’ more sophisticated nourishment.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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“We must return to our sources, our spirit, our true way of life and thought, in order to be truly free”
A leading Chassidic sage remarked that it is easier to take the Jew out of exile than to take the ‘exile’ out of the Jew.
It is not enough that the Jewish people have left the ‘desert of nations.’
We must return to our sources, our spirit, our true way of life and thought, in order to be truly free, truly redeemed.
As we gather at the seder table this year, we must experience the slavery of our ancestors and their evolution to freedom.
We must remember the sweet and the bitter in our collective past and ensure the transmission of our shared self with our children.
We must convey to them a profound understanding that the final redemption will be achieved only when we fulfill our need to live in our own distinctive way — when we are truly free.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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"On Passover, we become children once again"
The whole Passover ritual could be summarized in a single commandment:
‘You shall tell your son.’
This is why at the beginning of the Haggadah the child asks four questions:
‘Why is this night different from all other nights?
Why do we only eat matzah?’ and so forth.
According to the law, if there is no child present, or if an adult celebrates Passover alone, he must ask the questions, even though he is supposed to ‘know’ the answers.
It is customary in certain communities for adults to ask the questions, because on Passover, we should, in a sense, become children.
This is also why in the Bible, Passover is called the ‘spring holiday.’
On Passover, nature as a whole begins to blossom and man’s renewal coincides with that of nature.
The Sages have pointed to the parallel between the word nitsan, ‘bud,’ and Nisan, the month in which Passover takes place.
It is a true renaissance.
We become children once again, and all we can do is ask questions.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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"Our need to live in our own distinctive way"
A leading Chassidic sage remarked that it is easier to take the Jew out of exile than to take the ‘exile’ out of the Jew.
It is not enough that the Jewish people have left the ‘desert of nations.’
We must return to our sources, our spirit, our true way of life and thought, in order to be truly free, truly redeemed.
As we gather at the seder table this year, we must experience the slavery of our ancestors and their evolution to freedom.
We must remember the sweet and the bitter in our collective past and ensure the transmission of our shared self with our children.
We must convey to them a profound understanding that the final redemption will be achieved only when we fulfill our need to live in our own distinctive way — when we are truly free.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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“A second chance for man and womankind”
The Exodus has been interpreted as a second chance for man and womankind.
It is as though God were saying here that, at the time of the sin of the Tree of Knowledge, the commandment to abstain from eating its fruit was given to Adam, and the sin was the sin of Eve who did not herself receive the commandment.
Therefore, in order to receive the Torah, and in a sense be created afresh, Israel must be approached from the opposite direction, through the women, and thereafter to convince the men.
This new combination of events and forces would be more stable because, despite all later errors and deviations, the role of the women, in receiving the Torah was expressed in "We will do, and be obedient" (Exodus 24:7).
And this remains the significant and existential task of women throughout the generations.
Herein, too, lies the essence of Miriam's role: she is the "big sister" who watches and worries and prepares for the future–an essential and fundamental part of the process of redemption.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
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“There is need to give special attention to children, as they are generally helpless and unable to express their anguish”
Many children and youngsters sadly find themselves in distressful situations.
It is possible that the hasty pace of modern urban life, that lacks consideration of the individual, burdens the lives of children even more.
All their personal and social difficulties do not necessarily belong to one age group.
Distress is possibly a situation shared by all human beings, but there is need to give special attention to children, as they are, generally helpless and unable to express their anguish.
Therefore, it is our obligation not only to respond to their needs, but also to take preventative steps and provide assistance before situations deteriorate, with irreversible damage.
The Exodus is a constitutive event in Jewish History, serving not only the Jewish People, but possibly the entire human race, as a basic model, a template of the departure from exile.
The story of the Exodus contains several elements which are not always duly emphasized.
The Children of Israel were slaves in Egypt for many years.
This most definitely was an unpleasant, and not respected, status.
But, as experience shows, in most cases people somehow adapt to their situation.
They might not enjoy their state, but they can endure years of suffering with no tangible solution in sight.
One phase in the stages of redemption, exceptionally significant in the Exodus, is that when people begin to sigh, as stated “and the children of Israel sighed by reason of the bondage” (Exodus, 2:23), i.e. the inner understanding that one is suffering.
In many cases, this cry, the knowledge that life is bitter, is the key to redemption.
Whoever accepts his inferior situation is possibly not ready to hear the declaration to rise out of bondage.
But the Biblical verses summarize the situation differently elsewhere: “And God saw the children of Israel, and God took knowledge of them” (ibid:25).
In addition to their crying, they must be looking, taking notice and identifying also with Him who wants to take them out of exile.
“And God took knowledge” – i.e. God knows not only the revealed suffering, oppression and pain, but also that which people possibly did not know how to express.
“And God took knowledge” is the observation of the redeemer on the affliction of the sufferers; and the more profound this observation, the closer the redemption is to coming.
People require two elements in modern life, as in all times, in order to provide help to the needy.
One is a certain level of self-awareness, which opens the aperture for providing assistance.
The second is the willingness and desire to look closer, to know and to identify with that which is not said, and that which is not cried out loud.
The author of Psalms says “happy is he who considers the poor” (Psalms, 41:1): there are those who give to the poor, but there are those who think, look and try to find ways to help the poor.
It is fitting for man to compare himself to the Creator of the world, and just like Him, to look, to listen and to extend one's hand in help.
–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz