SALT FOR PESACH

By Rav David Silverberg

MOTZAEI SHABBAT

            Many writers have noted the dual symbolism and nature of the matza on Pesach, both of which are reflected in the Haggada.  On the one hand, the Haggada (based on Devarim 16:3) speaks of the matza as “lechem oni,” “bread of poverty,” a symbol of simplicity and bare necessity, and the absence of luxury.  At the same time, of course, as explained later in the Haggada, we eat matza to commemorate the haste of redemption, the rapid speed at which the process unfolded.  That Benei Yisrael had no time to allow their dough to ferment symbolizes how quickly God can transform a person’s condition from suffering to royalty.  In this sense, matza symbolizes the precise opposite of affliction; it signifies freedom, royalty and the joy of redemption.

            Rav Herschel Schachter (http://torahweb.org/torah/2008/moadim/rsch_pesach.html) noted that this dual symbolism may shed light on the halakha of yachatz – the requirement to break a whole matza into two pieces before relating the story of the Exodus.  The two pieces of matza perhaps correspond to the two themes represented by the matza.  One half remains on the table as we declare, “Ha lachma anya di akhalu avoteinu” (“This is the bread of poverty that our forefathers ate”), and so it symbolizes the aspect of lechem oni.  The second piece is put away and eaten later as part of the korban pesach (or, nowadays, in place of the korban pesach), and thus represents the theme of redemption.  The notion underlying yachatz is that both themes evolve from the same piece of matza.  Both poverty and luxury, affliction and royalty, oppression and freedom – come from a single God.  The Talmud very clearly establishes that one must recite a berakha over misfortune just as one recites a berakha on the occasion of good fortune.  A Jew recognizes God’s power and authority – and His infinite kindness – even during times of distress.  We thank the Almighty for both halves of matza – even for the periods when we endure “lechem oni.”

            Significantly, the piece representing redemption is hidden and stored away until the end of the seder.  More often than not, the aspect of “lechem oni” is clearly visible, while the aspect of redemption is hidden and concealed.  It is far easier to see the distress and anguish of our current condition than to recognize how it leads us to the eventual redemption.  Pesach is the festival when we bring the matza of freedom out of hiding, when we loudly declare our faith in the final redemption, and avow that just as our ancestors’ torment in Egypt came to a sudden end, so, too, our own period of exile will reach its culmination – and we will see clearly that both pieces of matza are indeed one and the same.

David Silverberg

SUNDAY

            Toward the beginning of the Maggid section, the Haggada cites a berayta which briefly raises the possibility of fulfilling the obligation of sippur yetzi’at Mitzrayim (telling the story of the Exodus) as early as Rosh Chodesh Nissan.  Ultimately, based on a careful reading of the verse which introduces this mitzva (Shemot 13:8), the berayta concludes that the obligation applies only on the night of Pesach.

            Some commentators understood this passage as referring to the immediately preceding comment of the Haggada, which spoke of the she-eino yodei’a li-sh’ol – the child who is unable to ask.  The Haggada depicts four prototypes of different children and instructs parents how to respond to each.  The final child described is the one incapable of asking questions, and does not initiate any conversation about the Exodus.  The Haggada exhorts, “At petach lo,” that the parent must take the initiative and speak to the child about yetzi’at Mitzrayim without waiting for the child to inquire.  According to some writers, it is in particular reference to this child that the Haggada raises the possibility of fulfilling the obligation of sippur yetzi’at Mitzrayim even before Pesach.  After all, when it comes to the other children, we fulfill the mitzva by answering their questions, which they ask at the seder as they observe the unusual rituals that we perform.  It is only regarding the she-eino yodei’a li-sh’ol that the Haggada calls upon us to initiate the process of sippur yetzi’at Mitzrayim, and thus only with respect to him was there a concern that one might begin this process even before Pesach.

            This reading perhaps allows us to entertain a novel explanation for why one may have thought to begin sippur yetzi’at Mitzrayim for this child already before the onset of the festival.  The parents of the she-eino yodei’a li-sh’ol might be tempted to “reserve” the seder night for the other children, who, in different ways, will show interest, participate and engage their parents in discussion.  It might be seen preferable to devote the night to them, and speak to the she-eino yodei’a li-sh’ol about the Exodus in advance.  Chazal therefore emphasized that the experience of the seder is to be devoted to all children, and not “reserved” for those who take an active interest.  The evening must be used as an opportunity to awaken and inspire even the she-eino yodei’a li-sh’ol, and to teach all children, without exception, of the miracles of our nation’s past.

David Silverberg

MONDAY

            Before the final of the ten plagues, the plague of the firstborn, God speaks to Moshe to inform him of the impending plague and to instruct Benei Yisrael to prepare accordingly.  In order to protect themselves from the plague, they had to slaughter a sheep and place its blood on their doorposts.  While the plague ravaged Egypt, Benei Yisrael would remain in their homes, celebrating and partaking of the paschal offering.  This is indeed what happened, and in response to the devastating plague Pharaoh allowed – and in fact ordered – Benei Yisrael to leave the country.

            Of course, these events form the basis of the Pesach celebration, and even the name by which we call this holiday – “pesach” – refers to God’s “passing over” (according to the more common interpretation) the Israelites’ homes during the plague of the firstborn (see Shemot 12:13 and 12:23).  The focal point – or at least one focal point – of our commemoration is God’s sparing the firstborn of Benei Yisrael on the night of this deadly plague.

            The events of makat bekhorot (plague of the firstborn), and the emphasis placed on these events in the Pesach observance, give rise to the question of how the plague of the firstborn differed from the previous nine plagues.  Weren’t Benei Yisrael shielded from all ten plagues?   Didn’t God protect the region of Goshen, where Benei Yisrael lived, from all the plagues He visited upon Egypt?  Why did Benei Yisrael require special protection from makat bekhorot through the sacrificial blood, and why does this protection assume such a prominent place in our celebration of the Exodus?

            The Noda Be-Yehuda, in his commentary to the Haggada, explains that makat bekhorot, unlike the previous nine plagues, was directed toward the Egyptians’ faith, and not merely against the Egyptians themselves.  When God informs Moshe of the impending plague of the firstborn, He declares, “I shall pass through the land of Egypt on this night, and I shall smite all the firstborns in the land of Egypt…and I shall mete out punishments upon all the gods of Egypt” (Shemot 12:12).  God smote not only the firstborns, but also the statues.  This aspect of the plague is emphasized later in the Torah, in Parashat Masei (Bamidbar 33:4), when the Torah briefly recounts the events of the Exodus.  The Haggada, too, makes reference to the destruction of the Egyptian deities in the dayeinu hymn, affording a separate stanza to this miracle (“ilu asa be’eloheihem…”).

            Thus, while the first nine plagues were directed against a nation of ruthless oppressors, the tenth was directed against their faith.

            For this reason, the Noda Be-Yehuda explains, Benei Yisrael were in need of special protection.  They, too, as the prophet Yechezkel famously describes (chapter 20), were mired in pagan beliefs and practices, to the point where God had initially decided to destroy them in Egypt (Yechezkel 20:8).  The Exodus was a great act of mercy and compassion that God performed on behalf of Benei Yisrael, allowing them the opportunity to protect themselves from His assault on Egyptian paganism through the paschal ritual.

            We might add that this might help explain the traditional association between the Pesach observance – particularly the night of the seder – and the prophet Eliyahu.  As the closing verses of Malakhi (read as the haftara for Shabbat Ha-gadol) famously foretell, Eliyahu will come to help Benei Yisrael survive the frightening retribution that God will visit upon the wicked on the final day of judgment: “Behold, I am sending to you Eliyahu the Prophet before the arrival of the great, dreadful Day of the Lord.  He shall return the hearts of parents [to God] through their children, and the hearts of the children through their parents, lest I come and utterly annihilate the earth.”  Eliyahu’s arrival at the time of the final redemption will serve a similar purpose that the paschal offering served on the eve of the Exodus.  Before God unleashes His wrath to punish the earth’s sinners, He will send us Eliyahu to help us escape retribution.  The prophet will teach us and guide us away from the “paganism” of the time and direct our hearts toward the sincere worship of the Almighty.  We will then be spared the devastating plagues that God will visit upon the surrounding lands.

            On the night of Pesach, as we reenact the events of makat bekhorot, we express as well our anticipation of the “paschal offering” which we will bring before the final redemption, when we will once again rid ourselves of our spiritual ills and proclaim our unwavering belief in and loyalty to God.

David Silverberg

TUESDAY

            The obligation of korban pesach (in the times of the Mikdash) requires every individual to offer the paschal sacrifice in the Temple on the afternoon of the 14^th of Nissan.  If, however, a person finds himself be-derekh rechoka (at a considerable distance) from the site of the Mikdash at this time, he is absolved of this requirement, and instead brings a sacrifice one month later, on the 14^th of Iyar (“Pesach Sheni”).

            In defining what exactly qualifies as derekh rechoka, the Rambam (Hilkhot Korban Pesach 5:9) writes: “If there was between a person and Jerusalem fifteen mil or more with the rise of the sun on the 14^th [of Nissan] – this constitutes ‘a considerable distance’.”  According to the Rambam, a person earns this exemption only if at sunrise on Erev Pesach he is at a distance from Jerusalem which cannot be traveled in time to arrive in the Mikdash by midday, when the obligation of korban pesach takes effect.  If at sunrise of that day he is close enough to Jerusalem that he could reach the Temple by midday, then he must ensure to travel to Jerusalem to offer the korban pesach.  (The Rambam’s ruling is based on a passage in the Mishna in Masekhet Pesachim (93b).  However, Rashi understood the Mishna differently, as referring to a person who at midday finds himself far enough that he would be unable to reach the Temple by sundown.)

            The Sha’agat Aryeh (17) raises the interesting question of why the Rambam set the determining moment at sunrise, rather than amud ha-shachar – daybreak, when light first appears on the eastern horizon.  Generally, we consider the halakhic “day” as beginning at amud ha-shachar, which occurs a little over an hour before sunrise.  Here, however, the Rambam states that the obligation of korban pesach applies to all people situated within traveling distance of Jerusalem at sunrise on Erev Pesach, rather than amud ha-shachar.

            The Sha’agat Aryeh suggests that in principle, the obligation of korban pesach should, in fact, be determined at amud ha-shachar rather than sunrise.  However, the Torah generally encourages traveling by the light of the sun (Ta’anit 10b), and therefore one cannot be expected to begin traveling to Jerusalem before sunrise on Erev Pesach.  As such, the determining moment was set at sunrise, rather than amud ha-shachar.

            Rav Aryeh Leib Malin (Chiddushei Rabbi Aryeh Leib, vol. 2, 25) suggested a different approach, claiming that the definition of the onset of “daytime” depends on context.  The Vilna Gaon famously maintained that when calculating the first three hours of the day to determine the final time of shema (or the fourth hour, for the final time of tefila), one begins from sunrise, rather than from amud ha-shachar.  Even though “daytime” is generally defined as beginning already at daybreak, with regard to this halakha the day begins only at sunrise.  Apparently, as Rav Malin noted, the Vilna Gaon followed different definitions of the onset of daytime in different contexts.  When it comes to defining a given point as daytime or nighttime, we say that any point before amud ha-shachar is considered nighttime, and any time thereafter is daytime.  However, in counting hours of the day, the Vilna Gaon held that we must begin only at sunrise.  When we calculate the passage of time, we make this determination based on the movement of the sun, the visible expression of time’s progression.  When, however, we seek to identify any given point as day or night, then we use the appearance of light as the natural point of transition between night and day.

            This easily explains the Rambam’s ruling.  In the context of korban pesach, the issue is the person’s ability or inability to reach the Temple by midday – specifically, the end of the sixth hour of the day.  With respect to this halakha, we make the determination based on the movement of the sun, and thus the critical moment is sunrise, rather than amud ha-shachar.

David Silverberg

WEDNESDAY

            The Rambam, in Hilkhot Korban Pesach (4:9), addresses the question of a gentile who converted to Judaism before Erev Pesach, and had designated a sheep for the korban pesach before his conversion.  The designation thus occurred when the person was still a gentile, and the question arises as to whether such a designation is valid, or if the convert must designate a new animal for his korban pesach (or designate the animal again) now that he has the status of a Jew.  The Rambam rules that the designation is, in fact, valid, and the convert may use that lamb as his korban pesach.

            Later writers questioned this ruling, and wondered why a gentile’s designation of an animal as a korban pesach should have any halakhic significance.  A gentile is certainly not obligated or even encouraged to bring a paschal offering, and non-Jews are in fact forbidden from partaking of the sacrificial meat.  Intuitively, then, we might have concluded that a gentile’s designation of a sheep as a korban pesach is of no halakhic value, as he is entirely excluded from this mitzva.  Some writers compared this case to the situation of a pregnant woman who designated an animal and a bird as sacrifices to be brought after she delivers her baby.  The Torah requires a woman to bring this sacrifice after birth, but the obligation takes effect only after birth.  As such, her designation of the animals before she delivers the infant is meaningless.  Similarly, then, if a gentile designates an animal as a korban pesach before he converts and becomes obligated in the korban pesach, the designation should be meaningless.

            The simplest answer, perhaps, as suggested by Rav David Rappaport in his Mikdash David (Kuntrus Mei-inyanei Kodashim, 5), is to distinguish between korban pesach and other sacrifices.  Halakha allows people to “register” for inclusion in a korban pesach anytime until the animal is slaughtered, even after its hafrasha (designation).  After an individual designates a lamb as the sacrifice, his friends and relatives can announce their “membership” in this sacrifice (so long as the animal has a ke-zayit worth of meat for each person), and fulfill their obligation of korban pesach through this animal.  The Mikdash David infers from this halakha that korban pesach differs from all other personal sacrifices, in that it does not require hafrasha le-sheim be’alim – meaning, that the animal be specifically designated as a particular person’s sacrifice.  Naturally, then, a gentile may bring an animal even without having formally designating it as such after converting.

            The Avnei Neizer (Y.D., vol. 2, 290:12) claims that the Rambam speaks of a case where the gentile stipulates that the designation should take effect retroactively once he converts.  Indeed, his designation of the animal before conversion is, generally, ineffective.  However, if he stipulates that the designation should go into effect once he converts, then upon his conversion we may retroactively apply his designation of the animal, and it is formally rendered a korban pesach.

David Silverberg

THURSDAY

            Yesterday, we mentioned the halakha regarding “registering” for the korban pesach before the sacrifice is slaughtered.  The Torah allows several people to fulfill their obligation of korban pesach with a single animal, provided that they had all registered ahead of time.  Furthermore, registration is required not only for fulfilling the obligation, but also to allow one to partake of the sacrificial meat.  As we recite each morning in the korbanot section of the prayer service (citing the Mishna in Masekhet Zevachim 5:8), “ve-eino ne’ekhal ela li-mnuyav” – the meat of the korban pesach is permissible only to those who had registered ahead of time.

            The paschal offering differs in this regard from other kodashim kalim – sacrifices that may be eaten by non-kohanim.  Generally, sacrifices that the Torah allows for consumption by non-kohanim are permissible to all people, provided that they are in a state of tahara (ritual purity).  In fact, it was customary to share the meat of the sacrifice with one’s friends and family as a kind of festive celebration.  The korban pesach, however, could be shared only with those who had previously “signed on” as partners in the paschal offering.

            On one level, perhaps, this halakha is intended to ensure a degree of orderliness and responsibility on the part of all members of the nation.  One could easily imagine a situation of chaos if all Benei Yisrael scrambled at the last minute to find a paschal offering of which to partake on the night of Pesach.  If the sacrificial meat could be shared with anybody, then people would not bother preparing a sacrifice ahead of time, and would simply show up in Jerusalem that evening in search of a korban pesach they could join.  Such a system would thus encourage laziness and likely result in turmoil on the night of Pesach.

            The Rambam, in his Guide for the Perplexed (3:46), explains this halakha along these general lines:

Each Passover lamb was only eaten by those who had previously agreed to consume it together, in order that people should be anxious to procure it, and should not rely on friends, relations, or on chance, without themselves taking any trouble about it before Passover.

The need for registration required that each person take personal responsibility in advance of the holiday, and thus helped avoid the unpleasant situation of scores of people scrambling for a sacrifice on the night of Pesach.

            Additionally, perhaps, this halakha might allude to the need to look forward and expect redemption, rather than just joining in the fray once it unfolds.  Benei Yisrael were required to prepare the paschal offering, their celebration of freedom, while they were still bound as slaves to Egypt.  It wasn’t enough to celebrate the redemption once it unfolded; they had to anticipate it in advance and prepare for it.  As we reenact our national deliverance, we, too, prepare ourselves ahead of time, with faith and confidence in God’s promise of redemption.  In this sense, the procedure of the korban pesach commemorates not only the experience of the night of the Exodus itself, but also the confident expectation of the Exodus beforehand, the faith our ancestors had in the divine promise of freedom.  We must therefore plan ahead for the korban pesach feast, and not merely show up and take part while it is already in progress.

David Silverberg

            The prevalent custom is to use chasa, or romaine lettuce, as marror on Pesach night.  Although lettuce does not taste as bitter as some other foods, it is nevertheless assumed that it was to this vegetable that Chazal referred when identifying the marror.

            The Chatam Sofer suggested a number of reasons why lettuce may have been chosen.  In Sefer Bamidbar (11:5), we read of Benei Yisrael’s complaints to Moshe about the scarcity of food in the wilderness, as opposed to the abundance of food they enjoyed in Egypt.  The Ramban explains that while they worked in the fields of Egypt, Benei Yisrael were entitled to eat the vegetables freely, and this is how they were nourished in Egypt.  The Chatam Sofer thus suggests that the marror represents not only the bitterness of slavery, but also the vegetation through which the slaves were sustained while performing backbreaking labor in the fields.

            Furthermore, the Chatam Sofer notes, the word chasa closely relates to the Hebrew root ch.u.s., which means “pity” or “sparing.”  Interestingly enough, Targum Onkelos uses this term as the translation of the verb p.s.ch. (commonly explained as “pass over”) in reference to the plague of the firstborn, when God spared the Israelite firstborn (see Onkelos to Shemot 12:13).  Quite possibly, then, even though the marror serves primarily as a commemoration of bondage, it alludes as well to the divine compassion through which our ancestors were ultimately saved.

            Additionally, the Chatam Sofer suggested a possible association between lettuce and a verse from Sefer Yechezkel (16:7) which we cite in the maggid section of the Haggada.  God compares Benei Yisrael to a foundling abandoned at birth, whom He nurtured and cared for and even “married” once the girl reached maturity.  In describing His care for Benei Yisrael, God proclaims, “I made you grow like plants in the field.”  With God’s nurturing, the otherwise helpless people grew and reproduced, ultimately becoming a thriving nation, a process depicted by way of the analogy to the growth of plants in the field.  The Chatam Sofer suggests that we eat marror to signify this prophecy of Yechezkel.  Even amid the bitterness and suffering of exile, God’s care for Benei Yisrael was evident in their ability to continue growing and reproducing – “like plants in the field.”  Thus, our consumption of marror represents not only the bitterness of slavery – but also the blessings that God bestowed upon our ancestors during these years of hardship.

David Silverberg