Hanukkah Candles at the Door of the Home and the Victory of Holiness and Modesty of the Jewish Home

The mitzva of lighting Hanukkah candles is a unique and beloved mitzva that we fulfill at the entrance to our homes. By being meticulous about this mitzva, we will certainly prepare ourselves to absorb the intense light of the Hanukkah candles, which will illuminate within and upon our homes, inside and out.

The Talmud (Shabbat 21b) expresses the mitzvah of lighting Hanukkah candles in a singular fashion:

"The Rabbis' taught: The mitzvah of Hanukkah is one candle for a man and his household. The fervent light a candle for each person, and the extremely fervent, etc."

1. R. Yehoshua Falk asks in his P’nei Yehoshu’a:

What is different about the mitzvah of lighting Hanukkah candles that the obligation is placed upon the household and not upon the person who is lighting in order to publicize the miracle?

He offers an answer, but remains unsatisfied with his own answer.

The Talmud continues by citing the following beraita:

The Rabbis taught: The mitzvah is to place the Hanukkah light by the door of one's home, on the outside.

It then asks for further specification of the proper place for the Hannukah candles, and answers:

Rav Acha says: on the right. Rav Shmuel says: on the left. The halakhic conclusion is: on the left, so that the Hanukkah candle can be on the left and the mezuzah on the right"

The placement of the candle in the doorway is explained rather simply: the door offers the greatest publicity for the miraculous victory over the Greeks. Yet it may still be asked: what is the miracle that needs to be publicized? What was the decree, and how did the miracle nullify it? Furthermore, is the doorway merely the most public place in the home, or is there an intrinsic connection between the door of the home and the miracle (a connection that is part of what must be publicized)? And what is the link between this and the mitzvah of mezuzah?

Rav Kook explains that the decree of the Greeks and the miraculous victory of Hanukkah are related to modesty and the sanctity of the Jewish home (Eyn Ayah, Shabbat I, p. 61):

The victory that God granted was through his servants, the Kohanim. They prevailed over the Greeks, who wished not only to destroy the physical essence of the Jewish people, but also to annihilate the essence of life that Israel makes known in the world, namely, that purity and modesty are the primary objectives of family life; all other traits and philosophies follow from these.

The Greeks hated this and viewed it as the mortal enemy of their culture, which championed the joy of life, physical and imaginary pleasures. Therefore, the Greeks greatly despised Israel’s Torah.

The destruction of modesty was a central pillar of Greece’s strategy for converting Jews away from their religion and ideology. This is explained in an early Hanukkah midrash (Otzar Hamidrashim Eisenstein p. 185):

In the days of the Greeks, they decreed that any Jewish person who makes a bolt or a lock on his door would be put to death by the sword. Why did they make such a decree? To cause the Jewish people to lack dignity and privacy (modesty). Any house that does not have a door does not have dignity or modesty; anyone who wants to enter, whether day or night, may enter.

When the Jews saw the decree, they broke off their doors and could not eat, drink, or have marital relations. They said to God: Master of the world, how much can we suffer? He said to them: because of the sin of the mezuzah… The Jewish people were living without doors…

The sin of contempt for the mitzvah of placing a mezuzah at the entrance to the home is what caused the horrible decree of the Greeks forbidding homes from having doors and compromising the modesty and sanctity of the Jewish home. The midrash goes on to describe the development of the decree until the outbreak of the revolution against the Greeks. When they defeated the Greeks and nullified their decrees, the Sages enacted that the Hanukkah candles be lit at the entrance to the home.

In light of this midrash, we may add: the entrance to the house symbolizes the modesty and sanctity of the Jewish home. Our homes have entrances that are sometimes locked. They are opened and closed based on need. The house is the private domain of the individual, where the family can have intimacy and privacy for those things that require it. Not everything needs to be exposed to the public domain. A home open to everything is a home that makes no distinctions between the private and public spheres. The public display of activities that demand privacy opposes the Jewish value of modesty.

The mitzvah of mezuzah – disrespect for which led to the Greek decree against modesty – is also related to the door of the home and the sanctity of the Jewish household. The very name “mezuzah” derives not from the parchment or its case, but from the doorpost, the part of the house where the scroll is affixed. The mezuzah is a visible sign and expression of the sanctity and modesty that resides within.

Laxity about the mitzvah of mezuzah no doubt undermined the sanctity of the home and brought about the decree of the Greeks, who tried to take advantage of the Jews’ laxness and leverage it toward causing them to abandon their religion and ideology entirely. Therefore, the mitzvah of Hanukkah candles, like the mitzvah of mezuzah, both apply to the home and to what it symbolizes.

The identification of the door as a symbol and measure of a Jewish home’s modesty and sanctity first appears in the story of Bilaam who, looking out over the Jewish encampment, declared:

How good are your tents, Jacob, your dwellings, Israel. (Bamidbar 24:5)

Rashi explains:

He saw that their doors where not directly across from each other.

1. R. Ephraim Luntshitz, in his commentary Kli Yakar to Shemot 38:8, further develops this principle, relating it to the women who donated their mirrors towards the construction of the laver (kiyor) that stood in the courtyard of the Tabernacle:

Scripture states: “[the mirrors] that they used at the door of the Tent of Meeting.” But the Tent of Meeting had not yet been constructed!? Some explain that this refers to Moshe’s tent, which was also called the Tent of Meeting. However, it seems to me that the issue is all about the modesty of women, as Scripture states (Bereishit 18:8): "She is in the tent," and Rashi comments, "she was modest." The same is true for the mirrors that were used at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting – the Torah means that the women used them in their own tents. The reason it says “door” is because with regard to a prostitute it says: "she sat at the door, in view" (Bereishit 38:14). Therefore, the Torah refers to the entrance to the tent with regard to modesty…"

Recently, a firestorm has erupted regarding the intentions of the "Jerusalem Open House for Pride and Tolerance" organization to hold a gay pride parade in the streets of Jerusalem. It seems to me that there is no need to waste words articulating the Torah's approach to this phenomenon. With a deeper look, however, it is clear that the issue at stake is the identity of the Jewish home. It would seem that there is nothing that runs more contrary to a Jewish home than to turn it into an "open house" to all.

There is an argument going on in Israel with an organization trying to install and legitimize alternative types of families. This organization calls itself "the open house." From a deeper perspective, it is clear that the bone of contention with them is about the holiness of the essence of the Jewish home. In light of what we have learned, that the door is a symbol of spirituality and modesty, it seems that there is nothing more opposed to the character of the Jewish home than opening it to the public. On Hanukkah, The holiday of the Jewish home, let us go out to the doors of our homes and light the Hanukkah candles, symbolizing the victory of the modesty and sanctity of the Jewish home

A Holiday with No Identity

A Holiday of Many Names

The Torah lists “the festival of Shavu’ot” as one of the three pilgrimage festivals, along with Pesach and Sukkot (Devarim 16:16 and elsewhere). It draws its name from the fact that it is the culmination of seven weeks that we begin counting on Pesach. Yet this is not the festival’s only name. Elsewhere, the Torah calls it “the harvest festival” (“chag he-katzir”; Shemot 23:16), for it occurs at the time of the wheat harvest in Eretz Yisrael. Another name the Torah uses for this holiday is “the day of the first fruits” (“yom ha-bikurim; Bamidbar 28:26 and elsewhere), for starting on this day the first fruits could be brought to the Kohanim and a special offering of two loaves of bread was made in the Temple.

In our prayer, we call this holiday by still another name: “the season of the giving of our Torah” (“zman matan Torateinu”), for on this day we received the Torah on Mt. Sinai according to tradition (this is not mentioned in the Torah itself). The Sages gave the holiday yet another name: “atzeret”. We will address the meaning of this name below, but it is connected with the tradition that considers this holiday to be the birthday of King David.

Each of these names expresses a different dimension of the holiday. But is there some sort of common denominator from which all of these dimensions flow?

The Uniqueness of the Holiday

Each holiday has specific mitzvot that set it apart from the rest (aside from each holiday’s unique sacrificial rite). On Pesach we eat matza, on Sukkot we sit in the sukkah, and so forth. But on Shavu’ot there is no specific mitzva that individuals must perform. As a result, there is no tractate in the Mishna and Talmud devoted to Shavu’ot specifically. Shavu’ot seems to be a perfectly generic holiday. Why?

Moreover, each holiday occurs on a specific date, whereas Shavu’ot occurs upon completion of seven weeks from the day of the Omer offering, which itself was was offered on the second day of Pesach (Vayikra 23:15). Before the calendar was fixed, this meant that Shavu’ot could fall on the fifth, sixth or seventh of Sivan. Why is there no fixed date?

Do these features tell us anything about the essence of Shavuot?

The Giving of the Torah: the Foundation of Everything

It is hard to overstate the centrality of the giving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai. At this unprecedented and formative event, God spoke directly to an entire people (see Devarim 4:32-39). It left no doubt about God’s existence and involvement in human affairs (see Kuzari 1:87) or about the divine truth of the Torah – a truth that cannot be replaced or superseded. The eternal truth of the Torah is thus a pillar of our faith and something that we are enjoined to recall every day and pass on to our children.

According to R. Moshe Chaim Luzzatto (Ramchal), the experience at Mt. Sinai effected a fundamental change in the essence of the Jewish people. From that point forward, they entered a state of commandedness – they became God’s servants. This existential state is far more intimate than any relationship based on voluntary observance. Through this, Israel became God’s agents and partners in the work of repairing the world (Da’at Tevunot 153).

Shavu’ot and the Giving of the Torah

According to Ramchal, Jewish holiday are not mere commemorations of past events; the divine illumination that was present during those initial events are actually present once again each year on the associated holiday. Shavu’ot is no different: the light that was revealed at Mt. Sinai is revealed once again each year on Shavu’ot.

And yet, oddly, the Torah does not connect Shavu’ot with the giving of the Torah, nor does the Torah mention the date on which the Torah was given. It is certainly no coincidence that such a formative event is not given a date. Rather, as Rav Kook explains, the relevant date was preserved only in the Oral Torah to emphasize the importance and interdependence of the Oral and Written Law, whose relationship is akin to those of soul and body (Ma’amarei Ha-Re’ayah 1:176).

Yet this issue has not been resolved. There is even a dispute in the Talmud (Shabbat 86b) about whether the Torah was given on the sixth or seventh of Sivan. We observe Shavu’ot on the sixth, which, the Talmud seems to conclude, is not the day on which the Torah was given. Perhaps this discrepancy emphasizes that, in the final analysis, the giving of the Torah is not an event that is repeated annually on Shavu’ot, but is actually repeated every day. Every day we should relate to the Torah and its commandments as though we had received them that very day (see Rabbeinu Bachya on Devarim 26:16). This re-experience is heightened on Shavu’ot, but we do not wish to link it precisely to a specific day in order to reinforce the message that really the Torah should be renewed every day. Perhaps this is also the reason that we have no special commandments on Shavu’ot – on which we reconnect to all of the commandments.

Shavu’ot as the “Atzeret” of Pesach

By calling Shavu’ot “Atzeret”, they linked it to Shemini Atzeret, which is mentioned in the Torah. In the Mishna, “Atzeret” refers only to Shavu’ot, not Shemini Atzeret. Ramban (Vayikra 23:36) explains that Shavu’ot is indeed an “atzeret” of Pesach – a culmination of the holiday. He compares the seven intervening seven weeks to a “chol ha-mo’ed” between Pesach and Shavu’ot. Just as Shamini Atzeret does not need to be specified by date as it is the conclusion of a direct continuum with Sukkot, so too Shavu’ot need not be specified by date, as it is a direct continuum with Pesach (see Bamidbar 28:16-26).

The connection between Pesach and Shavu’ot stems from the connection between the foundational events of the Exodus and the giving of the Torah. The entire purpose of the Exodus was to give the Torah to the Jewish people, and therefore, immediately after we re-experience the Exodus, we must begin counting toward its ultimate goal – the giving of the Torah. We progress through and perfect seven attributes, from Chesed (love) through Malkhut (kingship), as we count the Omer. The physical Exodus remains incomplete until the spiritual aspect is addressed. Shavu’ot thus completes Pesach.

“Atzeret” and Malkhut

The word “atzeret” does not only mean “culmination” in the sense of “conclusion” though. It also has a connotation of a “gathering” as well. In this sense, Shavu’ot, or Atzeret, accumulates and “gathers in” all of the illumination that has accrued during the seven weeks since Pesach. Shavu’ot has nothing of its own because it reflects the power of everything that preceded it. This corresponds to the attribute of “Malkhut” which in kabbalistic terms has no properties of its own but serves as a conduit for the integration of all other powers (see Perush Ramaz al ha-Zohar, Bamidbar p. 873; see also our essay in Yerach Ha-etanim on Shemini Atzeret).

This connection between Shavu’ot and Malkhut can explain its lack of a fixed date and of a unique mitzva. Only something with a unique identity can be associated with a fixed sate and a specific mitzva. Shavu’ot, however, reflects the cumulative power of all the dates and attributes that preceded it since Pesach. This connection also explains the association between Shavu’ot and King David, who was born and died on Shavu’ot, and whose origins are described in the book of Ruth, which is read on Shavu’ot. On a deeper level, David, too, had no particular identity. His existence is a pure reflection of the attributes and characteristics of others, which become integrated within him with no conflict or contradiction (see Orot Ha-kodesh 3:117).

This, then is the secret of this holiday’s strange lack of uniqueness and identifying features. It has no identity of its own because it incorporates everything within it. It is nothing because it is everything.

The Forge of Maror

Together with the festive expressions of redemption on the Seder night, there is an expression of bitterness, a memorial to the bitter exile and the great troubles which were our lot in Egypt. The redemption is reflected in our partaking of the pesach and the matza, and the commemoration of the awful troubles, on the other hand, is achieved by eating the maror.

We can also understand in this way the korekh sandwich, which is Hillel’s custom of wrapping the pesach, matza, and maror together and eating them. This is because these elements are intertwined: the happiness of redemption together with the painful recollection of our distress.

Now we may understand the words Rabban Gamliel:

Whoever does not mention these three things on Pesach does not fulfill his obligation, and these are they: pesach, matza, and maror.

Rabbeinu Manoach (as mentioned above) explains these elements thusly:

This teaches us that one must state and explain the reason [of each mitzva], for all of the mitzvot have reasons, and knowing the reason of the mitzva is of great significance upon accomplishing it… By recalling this, the fear of God will always be upon him. When one sees the providence of God, which He displayed on Israel’s behalf, one’s heart will remain irrevocably attached to Him, may He be Blessed, forever. If one finds himself in a time of great distress, he must trust in God, the Hope of Israel, its Savior in a time of distress. The distress of the Egyptian exile had a purpose, to benefit them in the end; so too all of the troubles of Israel in exile have a purpose, to save and deliver them eternally.

According to Rabbeinu Manoach, there are a number of complementary ingredients; they are integral and indispensable. The obligation of mentioning pesach, matza, and maror strengthens one’s faith and belief in God. It teaches us how the Jewish people dealt with the difficulties and troubles which they underwent in Egypt. The nation of Israel may draw from this the powers of faith and spiritual strength in order to face later challenges.

The enslavement of Egypt entailed rigorous labor, but the greater difficulty was the emotional difficulty, because this was a time when God hid His face, as it were, from His nation, a phenomenon known as “hester panim”. It appeared, as it were, that there was no providence in the world and that the Egyptians could do to the Jewish people whatever they pleased. This was a nissayon, a trial or test, as Ramchal explains: [1]

The essential nissayon of hester panim is the following. God certainly says, through all of His prophets, that He is the One Who asserts providence over all of His creations, and His eyes are upon all the ways of man, to give to each man according to his ways and the fruits of his actions… Behold, after we have heard all of this, we know that He makes the world go round with deep twisting schemes and distant plans, which appear, God forbid, to suggest the opposite of this, for at one time it may appear as if it all comes by chance… and all other issues which God gave to test by them the hearts of human beings… For this is the test, to see whether people will maintain their faith, and this fundamental will never vanish from their hearts: He is certainly a faithful, incorruptible God, even though we do not understand his ways. And of this it is says (Chavakkuk 2:4), “And the righteous will live by his faith,” as we have already explained above. This is a very great space made by the absence of the Upper Perfection, and a place has been left for evil.

In another place, the Ramchal explains that it is the nissayon specifically which advances a person and raises him up a degree. Trials are not designed to make man stumble, but to make him stronger. (Indeed, we say that “Nissayon makes one wise,” in the modern sense of “experience,” but of course nissayon means “trial” in its original sense, and we may say that this sort of nissayon also makes one wise; however, this is not the occasion to elaborate on this.)  

Nevertheless, we must ask, since our Rabbis have taught us that in a time of hester panim, this is strictly a nissayon for humanity, and there is no absence of Providence, does this not undermine the very trial? We know that this is merely an illusion, that God is still on the scene!

We may respond that the nature of nissayon is not logical, but rather psychological; it is not rational but emotional. In other words, when a man finds himself in great distress, which appears to indicate the opposite of providence, then even if from a theological and logical point of view, he is able to understand that we are talking about a nissayon, from an emotional and psychological point of view, this is a difficult trauma, in an emotional, personal test which challenges one’s faith. Many times, when a person is put in a situation of emotional breakdown and post-traumatic stress, the logical difficulties and the theological questions arise retroactively, not as a factor in precipitating the crisis in the first place.

How can a person be helped to withstand the emotional difficulty of a nissayon? The more one builds his world of faith and fortifies his soul, the easier it will be to deal with any nissayon.

The theological issue which we must comprehensively deal with now is the idea that the birth of redemption must be accompanied by birth pangs. As a result of this, we must coordinate our expectations with the processes of redemption. We must make ourselves accustomed ahead of time, to understand that the lights of redemption come with a considerable amount of darkness; our joy is often mixed with despair, and the taste of matza is laced with the taste of maror.

On the Seder night and on the Shabbat of Pesach, we read Shir Hashirim. There is an intimate link between the meaning of this book and the redemption of the Pesach holiday. The Sages[2] expound the verse (Shir Hashirim 2:9) “My beloved is like a gazelle or a young hart” in the following way:

“My beloved is like a gazelle” — just as a gazelle is seen, then hidden, then seen again, so too the first redeemer is seen, then hidden, then seen. How long is he hidden? R. Tanchuma said: “Three months, as it says, ‘And they encountered Moshe and Aharon’ (Shemot 5:20).”

Maharal[3] explains this midrash as follows:

For this very reason, the Holy One did not command them to perform the signs immediately, for the Holy One wanted the redeemer to be hidden from them for a certain amount of time, and afterwards he could return to be revealed. This is all a wondrous matter. According to my view, it parallels the two accountings, for He said (Shemot 3:16), “Taking account, I have taken account” and therefore there were two accountings: once now, and in the future as well, when they will be redeemed… There are to be two occasions of flourishing. All of this is to promote the redemption, for it is impossible for the redemption, which is the highest degree, to come all at once.

Redemption is compared to the movements of the gazelle: sometimes it is seen, but sometimes it disappears. However, even when it disappears from view, it is still moving forward. This relates to the various stages of redemption in which we see the progress of redemption, despite periods of hester panim, during which it appears that the redemption is in retreat. We must know that even at a time of hester panim, the redemption advances: so it was during the redemption from Egypt, and the same applies to the future redemption. Similar things were written by Rav Kook[4] after the massacres of 5689 (1929):

This holy principle, which is the issue of all of this great vision, has in it a certain latent spark of the messianic light: the redeemer who is seen, then hidden, then seen. Indeed, we are witnessing the process of a nation being resuscitated and the settlement of the land of Israel being expanded, in which there are many turns, ascents and descents and ascents. Every descent in the progress of this endeavor is a manifestation of the concealment of the redeemer, and every ascent which comes afterward is a manifestation of his revelation. Anyone who follows the progress of the Yishuv, from its first steps until now, may see clearly with his own eyes that for every descent which we have borne, we have afterwards seen a greater flourishing and development; from every crisis, we leap forward, to our benefit. In the progress of the settlement, there are many examples of this. What can we say about the great descent and the great crisis of the period of the war… that every heart trembles with the thought of our settlement sinking and utterly collapsing. Behold, we have seen with our own eyes that out of the darkness, we have come out to great light, and we have widened the borders of what was a limited settlement, and the land of Israel is now settled to the degree which we witness today. So we have seen, in a small measure, the redeemer who is hidden, then seen once again. From this, we may learn and derive an important lesson: we shall not let our spirits fail even beneath the terrifying shadow of a great downfall, which has befallen our settlement.

Indeed, from the eating of the maror, we may derive a new principle. There is emotional and psychological significance to knowing that the Jewish people have already undergone trials too difficult to consider; the Egyptian exile stands first and foremost among these, but despite the great difficulties, the Jewish people withstood them with pride. On the contrary, “the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and the more they spread abroad” (Shemot 1:12) — the trials only strengthened and advanced them. This knowledge is a source of strength and spiritual fortitude, powers to marshal in the face of all future challenges, which allow us to withstand all difficulties and trials. As we are accustomed to say, “We survived Pharaoh, we can survive this.”

On the night of the Seder, we recline at the table and wrap matza and maror together; united with the entire house of Israel, we draw spiritual powers and strengths from the wellsprings of faith and redemption to face the great challenges which stand before us, to merit the taste of liberty in matza and to be willing also to suffer the bitterness of the maror.

[1] Daat Tevunot, ch. 124.

[2] Shir Hashirim Rabba, ch. 2.

[3] Gevurot Hashem, ch. 30.

[4] “Shuvu Le-vitzaron,” Ma’amarei Ha-Re’aya, vol. II, p. 360.

The Matza of Haste and Faith - based Activism

Avoiding Hachmatza (Leavening)

At the end of Maggid, before we say the first half of Hallel, we recite the words of Rabban Gamliel, concerning the paschal offering, matza, and bitter herbs, as cited in the mishna in Pesachim:[1]

Rabban Gamliel used to say: “Whoever does not mention these three things on Pesach does not fulfill his obligation, and these are they: pesach, matza and maror. The pesach is because God passed over (pasach) the houses of our fathers in Egypt, as it is said (Shemot 12:27), ‘Then you shall say: “It is the offering of Lord’s passover, for that He passed over the house of the Israelites in Egypt when he plagued Egypt and saved our houses,” and the people prostrated and bowed.’ The matza is because our fathers were redeemed from Egypt, as it is said (ibid. v. 39), ‘And they baked the dough which they took out of Egypt as cakes of matzot, rather than leaven, for they were banished from Egypt, and they could not tarry, and they also had made no provisions for themselves.’ The maror is because the Egyptians embittered the lives of our fathers in Egypt, as it says: ‘And they made their lives bitter (va-yemareru) with hard service, in mortar and brick, and in all kinds of work in the field. In all their work they ruthlessly made them work as slaves’ (ibid. 1:14).”

Immediately afterwards, we mention what is written at the end of the mishna:

In each and every generation a person must regard himself as though he personally had gone out of Egypt, as it is said…

This indicates that every year we must clarify what the significance of the Exodus from Egypt is for us. We will try to illustrate this in the light of the words of the Rishonim as they explain the passage there and in their commentaries on the Haggada.

The Rishonim argue about the words of Rabban Gamliel, asking: exactly what obligation is not fulfilled by one who fails to mention these three things?

The implication of the words of Tosafot, [2] the Ritva and Ran,[3] and the Kol Bo, [4] et al. is that one does not fulfill his obligation of a biblical positive commandment of eating the paschal offering, matza and bitter herbs if one does not explain why he is eating each of these.

Concerning this view, the question is asked: what is the aim of this statement? If this is in order to inspire greater intentionality in the performance of the mitzva, where have we found that a lack of intent means that one does not fulfill his obligation? (Mitzvot do not require special intent solely in order to fulfill the obligation of the commandment) Moreover, concerning what other mitzvot must one say what they are for, that the blessing on the mitzva is insufficient?

Tzitz Eliezer[5] infers that for pesach, matza and maror, we are talking about a special mitzva unlike others, and therefore there is a special command of verbalization: “Then you shall say: ‘It is the offering of the Lord’s pesach.’”[6]

However, Ritva and Ran explain that the intent is not that one does not fulfill his obligation at all, but that one does not fulfill his obligation as he should.[7] Preferably, one should mention these things, but if one fails to, he still fulfills his obligation!

On the other hand, Rambam[8] and Me’iri[9] et al. imply that Rabban Gamliel maintains that if one does not say these three things, he does not fulfill the obligation of the positive biblical commandment of telling the story of the Exodus.

One may derive this from the order of the mishna there, because in the previous mishna, it is explained that the son asks, “Why is this night different?” This mishna seems to have the answer to the son’s question. According to this view, we may conclude two things: on the one hand, if one has mentioned these three things alone, he has already fulfilled his obligation; on the other hand even if he has recited the entire Haggada, but he has not mentioned these things, he has not fulfilled his obligation.[10] However, this leads to another question: why does one not fulfill his obligation by relating the other things (as is cited there in the Talmud)?

Perhaps we may say that there is a third, integrative view here, which speaks of one unique mitzva: the eating is not just eating, for we eat things which illustrate the Exodus narrative. The mitzva of the story is not just to tell it verbally, but to eat things which express the meaning of the narrative.[11] This argument among the Rishonim has halakhic ramifications, because according to those Rishonim who support the first view, if one does not say these things, he would apparently be required to go back and eat his pesach, matza, and maror a second time, and it would not be enough to go back and mention these things. However, according to the second view, it is enough if he mentions pesach, matza, and maror later.

1. R. Jacob Ettlinger (the teacher of R. Samson R. Hirsch and R. Azriel Hildesheimer), writes[12] that there is an additional distinction between the two views, for if mentioning pesach, matza, and maror is part of the mitzva of eating, one would be obligated in it on Pesach Sheini as well. However, if the recitation is part of the mitzva of relating the Exodus, there is no need to say it on Pesach Sheini, for indeed there is no obligation to fulfill “And you shall tell your son on that day” (Shemot 13:8). There is good reason also to consider the theological and spiritual ramifications of each view. The view that the obligation of reciting pesach, matza, and maror at the time of performing this mitzva is an integral part of fulfilling the mitzva of eating may be explained by the words of Rabbeinu Manoach[13]:

This teaches us that one must state and explain the reason [of each mitzva], for all of the mitzvot have reasons, and knowing the reason of the mitzva is of great significance upon accomplishing it. However, knowing the reason without doing it does not help; rather, it hurts. This has been amply proven by Shlomo. [If knowing the reason of other mitzvot is good, all the more so one should expound the reason for the matzot of Pesach, because recalling it inspires a person] to believe in God with a perfect, complete faith — for through this redemption, He was revealed to all Israel; all the nations of the world came to know that His alone is the dominion over heaven and earth. This is why they instituted to say afterwards, “In each and every generation a person must regard himself as though he personally had gone out of Egypt.” By recalling this, the fear of God will always be upon him. When one sees the providence of God, which He displayed on Israel’s behalf, one’s heart will remain irrevocably attached to Him forever. If one finds himself in a time of great distress, he must trust in God, the Hope of Israel, its Savior in a time of distress. The distress of the Egyptian exile had a purpose, to benefit them in the end; so too all of the troubles of Israel in exile have a purpose, to save and deliver them eternally.”

On the other hand, according to the view that mentioning pesach, matza, and maror is part of the mitzva of relating the story of the Exodus, we should ask why this is the essence of the story, so that if one does not mention these three things, he does not fulfill his obligation at all. Abarbanel (loc. cit.) explains that these three things are the fundamentals of the telling the story of the Exodus. The maror parallels the exile, the matza parallels the redemption, and the pesach parallels the Plague of the Firstborn and the salvation of Israel. However, according to his commentary, a problem remains: are not both the pesach and the matza expressing the fundamental idea of the redemption and salvation of Israel?

We should understand this according to the analysis of the verses which Rabban Gamliel mentions in his words. The maror is the expression of the distress of enslavement, from which the Israelites were redeemed. The pesach is an expression of the act of the redemption, which comes from the side of the Holy One, who redeemed us, “that he passed over the house of the Israelites in Egypt when he plagued Egypt and saved our houses.” However, there is an additional significant element of redemption, namely the part of the Jewish people in the action of redemption which is expressed by the matza: “And they baked the dough which they took out of Egypt as cakes of matzot, rather than leaven, for they were banished from Egypt, and they could not tarry, and they also had made no provisions for themselves.” Baking matza expressed the act required of the Jewish people at the time of the Exodus. At this point, the Israelites must become a partner with God, acting with determination and alacrity and without hesitation. The matza is a unique food, made of dough which is baked with purposefulness and alacrity. Whoever is present at the time of baking matzot will undoubtedly note that the most prominent element is the enthusiastic activity of those who are involved in the labor. Procrastination causes the matza to become chametz. Indeed, the term for dough becoming leaven, hachmatza, has become the universal term for losing one’s chance, for squandering an opportunity.

There is something important to learn from this for our days. From the Vilna Gaon’s studies to the redemptive Torah of Rav Kook, we have learnt the need to integrate the itaruta di-le'eila with the itaruta di-letata. We must integrate the force of the pesach with that of the matza, our theological obligation to recognize the divine processes and to act with God. In order to understand, it is incumbent upon us to learn from Israel’s action at the moment of redemption and the recipe of the matza. When we take action, we must be zealous and determined, not lazy and idle. Indeed, before taking the initiative, it is imperative for us to examine soberly what we have to do, and how we can serve the redemptive, divine aim in the best way. At this stage, it is forbidden to be hasty, so that we will not stumble and impede the process. However, once the aim is understood, and it is clear what we must do, we must act with alacrity and determination so that we not miss the opportunity- so that we do not become guilty of hachmatza.

[1] 10:5, Talmud 116a; this is mentioned in the Haggada with some minor variations.

[2] Pesachim loc. cit.

[3] Sukka 28a; this is how Tosafot Yom Tov explains the mishna, Pesachim 10:5.

[4] In his commentary on the Haggada.

[5] Vol. V, ch. 11.

[6] See Maharsha, Chiddushei Aggadot, Pesachim ad loc., who answers according to internal reasons.

[7] This is how Arukh La-ner on Pesachim understands this point; the same is found in Responsa Binyan Tziyon, ch. 30, and the abovementioned comment of Tosafot Yom Tov.

[8] Hilkhot Chametz U-matza 7:5.

[9] Pesachim ad loc.

[10] This is also the approach found in Responsa Binyan Tziyon, ch. 30.

[11] One may use this to understand what Abarbanel writes in his Zevach Pesach commentary on the Haggada.

[12] Responsa Binyan Tziyon loc. cit.

[13] This is brought on Hilkhot Chametz U-mazta 7:5, despite the fact that Rambam does not state this.

The Secret of Redemptive Memory

Remembering the Exodus from Egypt stands at the center of the Seder night[1]:

“Remember this day that you left Egypt, from the house of slavery…and you shall tell your children on that day, saying ‘because of this that God did for me when he took me out of Egypt’” .

The essence of this mitzvah of ‘ve-higadeta le-vincha’, as the verse makes clear, is the actual mentioning of the events. Thus, even if a person has no children, he must mention the Exodus to others and to himself.

The Mekhilta of R’ Shimon b. Yochai (ch. 13) put it as follows:

“’And when your son asks you tomorrow’ – so if your son asks, tell him, and if he doesn’t ask, don’t tell him. Thus, it says ‘and you shall tell your child’ – even if he doesn’t ask. This is all for one who has a child; what if one has no children? It says ‘And Moshe said to the people: Remember this day…’”

Indeed, we are commanded to remember the Exodus every day, as it says[2]:

“So that you remember the day you left Egypt every day of your life”.

The Exodus is also the reason for many other mitzvot in the Torah (sanctity of the firstborn, Shabbat, other festivals, laws governing treatment of slaves, etc.). Nevertheless, on the Seder night we amplify this commemoration in a unique way: by telling an unlimited story. “Even if we were all wise and knew the whole Torah, we have a mitzvah to tell the story of the Exodus. The more one tells, the more praiseworthy it is.”

The Exodus was one of the founding events of Israelite existence, an event which formed our national and spiritual consciousness. Thus, we must remember it and bequeath it to our children so that it is not forgotten. Nevertheless, rembembering the Exodus from Egypt must also serve as a paradigm for the importance of remembering other events which impacted our history and spiritual existence.

In many communities, it is customary to mention other ‘remembrances’ mentioned in the Torah every day. In Ashkenazic communities, they recite the ‘Six Remembrances’: The Exodus, the events at Mt. Sinai, the acts of Amalek and the duty to blot them out, our rebellion against God in the desert, the actions of Miriam and her punishment, and Shabbat. Sephardic communities add another four: The miracle of the manna, Bilaam’s plan, that God gives us the strength to produce, and Jerusalem. Some preface the recitation of these ten remembrances with a short prayer, invoking the obligation to recite these ten things every day.

My teacher, R’ Zvi Yehuda Kook, zt”l, constantly reminded us that memory is a characteristic trait of the Jewish people[3]:

“Memory is health; the nations are ‘forgetful of God’ (Tehillim 9). How does one forget? We do not forget the Master of the Universe, the Exodus, Shabbat, or Jerusalem; we don’t forget our anemesis, Amalek. Remembering is a healthy state, a normal state of being in touch with things. Memory is organic and vibrant. In contrast, forgetting is weakness, uprootedness, disconnectedness. Memory is coherence…”

All nations recognize the importance of remembering the history of the events which formed their national existence. They celebrate these events with holidays, ceremonies, and special commemorative events. Most of the time, however, it is a passive commemoration, preserved in the archives of collective memory like silent monuments. In contrast, Israel’s memory ought to be a living source which influences our lives in the here and now – as though the events are recurring and happening again. We experience and allow ourselves to be affected by these events, physically and spiritually[4]:

“And the basis for all of this is the order which the Most Sublime Wisdom arranged, that any enlightenment which shone or repair that was made at a particular time shines again and is renewed whenever that time passes again”. This also explains the law that “in every generation one must see himself as though he left Egypt.”

We draw spiritual nourishment from these past events which still live with us. The mitzvot which were established to memorialize them form the pattern of our lives. Thus, Israel’s memory is an active, creative memory which dictates the present and guides our future.

“Certainly, holiness and the light which will be revealed in the future, may it arrive speedily in our days, will also shine on that same day which has already been prepared for it”[5].

[1] Shemot 13:3

[2] Devarim 16:3

[3] Sichot HRZY”H, Vayakhel 381

[4] Ramcha”l Derech Hashem 4:7

[5] R’ Tzadok Ha-Kohen Machshevet Harutz ch. 8