The Bread of Affliction
Rabbi Ron Shulman
Shabbat Metzora 5771
At the center of our Seder tables we set three pieces of matzah, covered and waiting to be used in our ritual celebration and retelling of Passover’s story. After reciting Kiddush over the first cup of wine, the leader symbolically washes his or her hands, and everyone shares in Karpas, the green appetizer we dip in salt water. It’s a familiar start to every Seder.
Next, the leader selects the middle matzah of the three, and splits it in half creating the Afikomen, the matzah we hide and put away for later, to be eaten after our Seder meal.
We then uncover the two and one-half remaining matzot and recite: “Ha lahma anya di akhalu…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 in need come and celebrate Passover. Today we are here. Next year we will be in the Land of Israel. Today we are slaves. Next year we will be free.”
The words are Aramaic, the common language Jews spoke in Babylonia. The custom of inviting the needy to join in the Seder began there. The words were a sincere invitation understood by all who waited their chance to join in a celebration they could not afford themselves.
There are three parts to this declaration. First, it introduces us to matzah for another year. Then it extends an invitation to the hungry and needy. Finally, it imagines a brighter future, Passover’s vision of freedom and redemption.
Preparing for Passover this week and next, these three themes caption our attention. What is matzah, actually? Why do we eat it as the main symbol of Passover?
Matzah symbolizes every good intention or simple truth. Hametz, leavened and fermented grains, represent every good intention exploited, every simple truth disguised. We clean our homes and kitchens for this religious reason, connecting our living environment to the master story of the Jewish people.
Slaves ate matzah. A slave’s life is most humble. In contrast, a taskmaster exalts himself and believes that others must do his bidding. His is a lavish style of food and life.
Matzah is made from five of the same grains that produce bread – wheat, barley, oats, rye, and spelt. Matzah is anything that has the potential to become hametz. For fifty-one weeks each year we don’t attach value judgments to our daily bread. On Passover we live the cliché – we are what we eat. Freedom and equality are what we seek. This requires humility, not arrogance. Fermented grain implies personal and social excess. Unleavened bread suggests modesty.
That’s why when the Seder opens we declare, “This is the Bread of Affliction which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt.” Although at the end of the Seder story, just before we eat dinner, Rabban Gamliel offers a different reason for matzah. He reminds us that the dough of our ancestors did not rise before their journey out from Egypt. Eating matzah, we taste slavery’s poverty and freedom’s promise.
“Let all who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are in need come and celebrate Passover.” This is our second awareness at the start of a Seder.
After Moses flees Egypt (remember he killed one of the taskmasters he saw beating an Israelite slave) he meets Yitro, the priest of Midian. Yitro’s daughters befriend Moses, offer him water in the desert, and report their meeting to their father.
Yitro, who later becomes Moses’ father in law, asks his daughters, “Where is he then, Moses?” Why did you leave the man? Ask him in to break bread.” Because of his invitation and hospitality Jewish tradition considers Yitro worthy of honor. Our rabbis teach: “Great is hospitality shown a visitor. It makes for friendship.”
According to Talmudic lore, Rabbi Hiyya opened the door to his home before every meal and proclaimed, “All who are hungry, let them come and eat.” From this act, the rabbis teach us, when a person sits down to celebrate a Seder on Pesah he or she should invite the poor saying, “Let all who are hungry come and eat. We are all equal, and though you may be poor, do not be ashamed or fearful, for so too were our forefathers in the land of Egypt.”
This is transformative. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes: “Sharing food is the first act through which slaves become free human beings. One who fears tomorrow does not offer his bread to others. But one who is willing to divide his food with a stranger has already shown himself capable of fellowship and faith, the two things from which hope is born. That is why we begin the Seder by inviting others to join us. Bread shared is no longer the bread of affliction. Reaching out to others, giving help to the needy and companionship to those who are alone, we bring freedom into the world, and with freedom, God.”
Our Seder’s opening formula has one last vision. “Today we are here. Next year we will be in the Land of Israel. Today we are slaves. Next year we will be free.”*
It’s reasonable to ask if the statement is still relevant. You and I are the most free Jews history has ever known. The majority of Jews in the world today actually do live in Israel. The Jewish people and all of humanity face many challenges. Our world is not redeemed. Far from it. But you and I are not slaves. Far from it.
We’ve considered a lot this morning. We’ve focused on setting up the Seder, understanding its welcome and vision. Here’s why.
As we meet matzah for another year and extend an invitation to the hungry and needy, it is our purpose to imagine a brighter future. A Seder places before us Passover’s vision of freedom and redemption. This we need as much as ever.
Matzah is a potent symbol of our ideals.
Our Seder hospitality represents our freedom. We live with compassion, offering our help and healing, the warmth of our hearts and hearths in response to those we love and know, in caring for those who need our attention, in balancing frustration and apprehension which seem to be the tenor of our times.
Our vision remains one of a better tomorrow. Our hope imagines a time when Israel is secure, when Jewish life is robust and engaging for many more people, and when all human beings know the dignity and goodness of life, which is God’s promise.
“Ha lahma anya di akhalu…” This is why we set three pieces of matzah at the center of our Seder table, feasting and talking, celebrating and rejoicing. We remember our people’s origin from the past. We imagine our world’s destiny for the future.
© 2011 Rabbi Ronald J. Shulman
