Sermon - April 4, 2009

Passover’s Coming 4-4-09

Rabbi Mark S. Kram, Temple Beth Or, Miami, FL

I really like matzah.  In fact, I have no trouble eating it all week long for Pesach.  It’s kind of a way to distinguish this special week from all the others.  It stands out.  It is different.  I could eat it all year, and sometimes with a box left over unfinished, I do extend the “matzah-eating” beyond the 7 or 8 days.  Once in a while, probably 6 months down the road, I open the extra box not eaten on Pesach and enjoy it for several weeks.

I enjoy all of the variations: matza brei, matzah and butter with a little salt, matzah sandwiches (after swishing the matza through cold tap water and drying it off so it doesn’t crumble quite as bad).  It’s all good.

And every year, I try to look at the Seder itself differently, to bring something NEW to our Seder dinner.  What new can be offered to our age-old ritual?  What can we add or share or create that would make the experience new, fresh, and dynamic?  In 2009, what lessons do we derive from Passover that speak to us or teach us or give us hope or perspective as we celebrate with family and friends, at home or afar, a full-course meal, or modest dinner?

Tonight I’ll share some new thoughts and maybe some new material that you may choose to use for your s’derim.  Some ideas that will help you to convey the myriad of ideas of Passover to your family, your guests and for yourselves.

Leaving Egypt.  Leaving, departing from the “narrow places – mitzrayim” – old habits, old customs or ways of looking at things.  This year, we narrowly focused on often just getting by.  Making it.  Not losing our jobs, our income or our savings.  We all took a hit and perhaps looking at things differently, with more of an eye to saving rather than spending, or doing at home rather than going out, or cutting back on “things”, we may have realized that in our culture of plenty and waste, that we CAN do without.  Can we stretch our budgets?  Go out to eat less?  What does it mean to pull inward?  To prepare our own foods?  Take care of ourselves?  Live with a little less?  Uncomplicated our lives even if just a little?

It may have been the fear of what we might lose, or the sharing of responsibilities with our children.  Or saying that we can’t afford this or that at this time.  That the responsibilities of living need to be shared among the entire family.  That maybe not everything comes easily or automatically.  That life is not always fair or even or level, but there are always ups and downs.  So we can learn how we can possibly leave the freedom of driving everywhere to using a bicycle.  Strategically planning trips to complete all of the “to do’s” on our lists at one time, rather than on individual trips.  Freedom to fill up less often.  Freedom to use our bikes and therefore our bodies differently.  Getting into that exercise routine.  Or at least beginning it.

Passover customs abound.  Some Sephardic customs – from Jews of Spain and Arab countries – have developed some very creative means to “tell the story” – l'hagid l'vincha – and challenge the children to pay attention and engage in the Seder.  Maybe there’s something to borrow:

• Sephardic Jews begin the Passover Seder with a variety of customs: by re-enacting the exodus from Egypt in a dramatic fashion. For some, a child goes outside the house and then knocks on the door. The Seder leader asks the child the series of questions: "Where are you from?", "Where are you going?", and "What are you taking with you?"  After answering the questions (Egypt, Sinai or Jerusalem, what we can carry) the child recites The Four Questions to open the Seder.  In North-Africa, the Seder leader leaves the room and returns with a walking stick and the afikomen in a cloth on his shoulder; and the leader proceeds to tell the story of his exodus from Egypt.  Yemenite Jews Seder leader throws a bag with the afikomen matzah in it over his shoulder like a knapsack. He then circles the table while leaning on a cane. As he walks around the room, he tells everyone at the Passover Seder table about his experiences and the miracles he witnessed as he came forth from Egypt.
  
  
  
  

And what about the burdens on the Israelites placed upon them by Pharoah.  From what can we unburden ourselves in order to march towards our own promised land?  What have we wanted to start for some time now that is bugging us?  What new thing have we wanted to learn or project to do with the freedom we acknowledge we have at Pesach?  What do we want to unburden ourselves of?  To free ourselves and enable us to progress toward our newer and brighter future?  Where would we like to start anew now at the Spring of OUR year, as we witness the rebirth of the natural world around us?

One final story.  A story of awareness and understanding, of learning and growing, of Passover becoming the teacher once again to sustain us through its many messages and layers of meaning – for the year to come.  It is called My Grandfather's Maror.   
(by Chani Newman  Copyright © 1995 - 2009 Aish.com - http://www.aish.com)

It begins, “Some bitter herbs cannot be eaten.”

"You cannot understand what it was like. You can't imagine."

Suddenly our family Seder, usually exuberant with words of Torah, song, and the telling  of our ancestors' exodus from Egypt, becomes more solemn, as my grandfather approaches the Haggadah with the baggage of a Holocaust survivor.

"What about all the times when God didn't save us?"

He can't help but ask the unanswerable questions which continue to haunt his thoughts. The younger generations sitting at the table grapple to explain the "answers" we tell ourselves to support our beliefs -- beliefs my grandfather himself puts into practice even after years of questioning. But as soon as he says it, describing just two graphic examples of the horror, I know my grandfather is right: "You were not there. You can never understand."

I distract myself by casting my gaze downward toward the bowl of maror (bitter herbs) sitting before me. I hold a plastic fork in my hand, using it to mix around the ground up pieces of horseradish. The tiny pieces move around the bowl easily, ready to be swallowed with a minimum amount of challenge to the taste buds.

And then, my fork hits something solid. Mixed up among the tiny pieces lies a large chunk of the original horseradish root, as solid as ever. I try to cut it and stab it with my fork, but to no avail. This piece will not be broken up tonight. It is too large, too hard, and too strong and bitter for anybody to eat whole.

I look up at my grandfather. I attempt to say something worthwhile, some words of comfort. We are still here, getting stronger, still praising God for the good. Thoughts that evil is man-made flit through my head. Thoughts that perhaps, regardless, we just can't understand, mortal humans as we are. But as my eyes turn back to the maror, silence is my response.

Why can't that chunk just go away? It's so much easier to deal with the mixture that has gone through the food processor. Frustrated, I stab at the chunk again, thinking how this piece is more connected to its root than the other pieces. This piece contains more bitterness than any of the ground up pieces.

The images will not go away from my grandfather's brain. He speaks of rabbis humiliated by Nazis who cut off their beards; and of public hangings. The pain and bitterness is rock solid, indigestible. But for myself, my brothers, my parents, the pain is ground up into tiny, palatable pieces. What can we do about the troubled solid chunk sitting in the bowl?

My eyes divert from the bowl before me and shift to the other symbolic foods on the table. They stop and rest on the lump of charoset (a mixture of sweet ingredients, including apples, wine, and nuts) on the Seder plate. We add sweet charoset to soften the maror's sharpness. The charoset, with its mortar-like texture and bloodlike ingredient of red wine, acknowledges the suffering and bitterness of the Hebrew slaves, while also introducing hope for sweetness in the future generations of our People.

The charoset contains fruits to which the eternal Jewish Nation is compared, and apples associated with Jewish women in Egypt giving birth to the next generation (Babylonian Talmud, Pesachim 114a). I peer at my family, seated around the table, and think of my new six-month-old nephew, my grandfather's first great-grandchild, whose family celebrates the holiday in far-off Israel.

Taking in the Passover spirit, I realize there is but one thing we can do to respond to my grandfather at such a Seder. We dip the maror in the charoset.

Maybe that action reflects our own lives.  How life is a mixture of the bitter with the sweet, how we attempt to cover up the “big pieces” and focus on the overpowering sweetness of most of life.  How we put the negative in its place.  Perhaps Passover IS really a lesson about life – its good, yes, and its bad – the challenges and the pleasures.  And we are attracted to the Seder each year – in record numbers compared to other Jewish holidays – because we celebrate as a community or a family or a group of friends together.

May any bitterness that befalls us this year always be mixed with an ever sweeter blend of happiness that God-willing, we experience.  AMEN