On Pesach night, we do so many different things in order to attract the children’s attention and involve them in the Seder activities. We expectantly turn to the youngest of all participants, eagerly awaiting their shy and hesitant rendition of the four questions of the Ma Nishtana. In regards to the older children, no Seder would be the same without the afikoman “treasure hunt” (which for many will become ingrained as the peak memory of the Seder night for years to come …). How are we to understand this unusual focus on the younger generation? Surely, many reasons have been put forth, and yet, I find the answer suggested by Rav Soloveitchik zt”l to carry unparalleled force. Rav Soloveitchik highlights a unique capability which all children possess, one which we—the adults—have long forgotten. Children have a natural capability to relive a story, injecting themselves into the tale they hear and directly experiencing the events.
Whereas the adult perceives himself as separate from historical experiences—at best commemorating past events as anniversaries of days gone by—children have the ability to immerse themselves into the ancient stories, and via their imagination breathe life into the dry words.
The Rambam writes that on the Seder night, “chaiyev adam leharot et atzmo—one is obligated to show, or present himself as one exiting Egypt.” Amongst Yemenite Jewry, many follow this directive by having the leader of the Seder put on a knapsack and gather a walking stick to show he is literally prepared to leave Egypt. While the adult may view such behavior as frivolous play acting, for the children this is a way of stepping back into history—viewing the Exodus through the present tense. Perhaps the great emphasis we place on the children, stems from the fact that through the wondrous look we see in their eyes, we too, as the adults can share in their magical journey through time.
Many chasidic thinkers have discussed how the Jewish calendar assumes that there is a circular, repetitive aspect to time. As Rabbi Moshe Bamberger writes in his work on “Hallel,” we regard time: “Not in a linear fashion but in a circular one. Events around the Jewish calendar are analogous to train stations on a circular time track.” On the Seder night, our goal is not to “turn the clock back” and return to an earlier era, but rather to tap into the Geulat Mitzrayim taking place in the present.
This perspective can radically change the way we look at this night: If the entire process is reenacted on a yearly basis, then we realize that the stakes are exceedingly high. After all—although we tend to overlook it—we know that during the original Exodus, millions of Jews were not included amongst the fortunate. As the Seder night arrives, we must pause and candidly ask ourselves: Are we deserving to be counted amongst the “chamushim” (one-fifth, or one in five-hundred) who leave, or will we be amongst those left behind?
Indeed, what was it that led so many of our brethren to choose to stay in Egypt? In order to break away from past mistakes, we have to understand their causes.
The Midrash Tehillim (107,114)—as quoted by the rosh hayeshiva of Kerem B’Yavneh—teaches us that: “When Israel went out of Egypt, Hashem “took one nation from the midst of another nation,” (Devarim 4:34), “Like a shepherd extracting the fetus from its mother’s womb.”
The Maharal (Gevurot Hashem, 3) writes that the point of the midrash is to explain that at the time of the Exodus, we were enslaved not only physically but rather spiritually, as well. We had become so intertwined with the Egyptian values and mores—so intermingled with the Egyptian way of life—that we were like a fetus residing within its mother’s womb, woefully incapable of independent existence.
As we near the end of the Seder, we will all proclaim: “L’shana haba’ah b’Yerushalayim!” and yet, we know that only a small proportion of Jews will actually board the “Jerusalem Express” and be here next year. Why is that? What inhibits Jews from leaving galut and being amongst the Chamushim who get up and come here?
Continuing the Maharal’s line of thought, it seems that today too, many have become enslaved by the corporate mentality and by suburban values and culture—they too, have been swallowed up by the West, viewing themselves like the embryo which cannot survive outside its mother’s womb.
Shabbat HaGadol is a reminder that one can tear oneself away. It can be done. On Shabbat Hagadol, we commemorate the heroic actions of our ancestors, who daringly captured and slayed the Egyptian deity reclaiming, thereby, our own cultural independence.
Once every year, as we chant,“L’shana haba’ah b’Yerushalayim,” the Jerusalem Express prepares to leave the station. As the conductor begins to chant: “All aboard, all aboard last call for Jerusalem!”—take one long look into your childrens’ wide open starry eyes, and I’m sure you will muster the courage to hop aboard!
Rabbi Yerachmiel Roness lives in Ramat Shiloh, Beit Shemesh.
