Passover: Rethinking Chosen Peoplehood
Rabbi Tom Samuels
Imagine the Israelites at the foot of Mt. Sinai, just before entering the Land of Israel. God describes who and what they are supposed to be in the world: a kingdom of priests, a holy nation:
אַתֶּם רְאִיתֶם, אֲשֶׁר עָשִׂיתִי לְמִצְרָיִם; וָאֶשָּׂא אֶתְכֶם עַל-כַּנְפֵי נְשָׁרִים… אִם-שָׁמוֹעַ תִּשְׁמְעוּ בְּקֹלִי, וּשְׁמַרְתֶּם, אֶת-בְּרִיתִי--וִהְיִיתֶם לִי סְגֻלָּה מִכָּל-הָעַמִּים… וְאַתֶּם תִּהְיוּ-לִי מַמְלֶכֶת כֹּהֲנִים וְגוֹי קָדוֹשׁ
“You've seen what I did to the Egyptians, brought you our on eagles’ wings... if you obey my voice you shall be my treasure among the peoples...a kingdom of priests, a holy nation.” (Exodus 19:3-6)
This text has been classically misunderstood as a gift of chosenness, of an assumption of an unconditional, loving relationship between God, the Jewish people and the Land of Israel. That even in our most spiritually-trying times, God “chose” us. That he continues to "choose" us. Unconditionally.
I want to explore a different take on this text, and specifically through the pedagogy of the Passover Seder. First, the text clearly establishes a conditional clause whereby this holy trinity is, in the words of Professor Yehuda Kurtzer, dependent on servile responsibility, on the actualization of purposefulness.
As they are about to enter the Land, the Israelites are made into God's vessel, a nation of priests. The caveat for this construct of radical egalitarianism, however, is conditional on the Israelite's behavior, specifically on their living with, bringing in to their everyday lives, the presence of God.
The metaphor continues to when they enter Eretz Yisrael, the Land of Israel: If the Israelites enter the land but fail to live up to their Covenant with God to bring the His presence into their midst, then the Land will spit them out. (See: Leviticus18: 24-28)
How does any of this relate to Passover? The Talmud says that when we tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt, we must start with the unpleasant and finish with the pleasant:
מַתְחִיל בִּגְנוּת וּמְסַיֵּים בְּשֶׁבַח,
“You begin with (telling about) shame and conclude with praise and thanksgiving.” (Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Pesachim, 116a)
The story of Passover begins by telling about our ancestors’ servitude and immersion in idolatry; only then do we proceed to tell about our liberation. This is a pedagogy for understanding how we are to relate to God, our very identity, as refracted through the Seder's structure. We begin with the memory of Abraham’s idol-worshiping family, as well as with the recollection of centuries of slavery and oppression. This narrative of destruction and loss in turn establishes a foundational narrative which serves as a catalyst to the second part of the seder: that of freedom and national actualization.
In other words, the Pessach Seder intentionally uses the language of suffering and loss as a catalyst for attaining freedom and sovereignty. And that this happens through intention and mindfulness. That the Jewish people's narrative, our foundational story, is not one of passive observers, but rather as active participants.
Rabbi Joesph Soloveitchik taught that God created an imperfect world with a purpose. That purpose was to enable human beings to strive, to work on, continually, to perfect it. Our Covenant is one of destiny where the Jewish people take control of events, take control of history to fulfill our destiny.
The Passover Seder is the foundation of this theology, life philosophy. The Seder’s central mitzvah is Sippur Yetziat Mitzrayim, to tell the story of leaving Egypt. Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik taught that sippur, “story” in Hebrew, is related to the word sofer, “scribe,” or sefer, which means a “scroll” or a “book.” What this meaning suggests is that a sofer, a scribe, who writes a sefer, a scroll, produces something that is permanent, something that will last for generations.
On the Passover Seder night, parents are also involved in the act of fulfilling the prophet Isaiah’s command to “write an everlasting scroll:”
עַתָּ֗ה בּ֣וֹא כָתְבָ֥הּ עַל־ל֛וּחַ אִתָּ֖ם וְעַל־סֵ֣פֶר חֻקָּ֑הּ וּתְהִי֙ לְי֣וֹם אַחֲר֔וֹן לָעַ֖ד עַד־עוֹלָֽם׃
Now, Go, write it down on a tablet And inscribe it in a record, That it may be with them for future days, A witness forever. (Isaiah 30:8)
On Passover night we are to be sofrim, scribes, writing indelibly on the hearts and on the minds of our children the story that will be passed down to all succeeding generations.
According to the Midrash (Yalkut Shimoni), when Moses died, a voice from Heaven called out, בת קול משמיע ואומר וימת משה ספרא רבה דישראל, “Moses has died, the great scribe of Israel.” Why was this term used to describe Moses? Was this his greatest attribute – that he wrote Torah scrolls?
Rabbi Soloveitchik explains that “a great scribe” does not just mean that he was a scribe of Torah scrolls. Rather, Moses wrote upon the hearts of his people. He etched the wisdom of the Torah into the very soul of the nation. And he did so in a way that each generation would pass it on to the next.
The Seder is thus an opportunity, and certainly by the Rabbi’s a mandated responsibility, to reclaim a Jewish experience of depth, meaning and relevancy. For a Passover that is an aspirational calling. That through the Seder's language of suffering and loss, and through the metaphor of our sovereignty and freedom, we assume the responsibility to become that Nation of Priests.
That our goal on the night of the Seder is to impart the Torah on the very souls of our children. With this in mind, what traditions and values are most important to pass on to your children in today’s world?
(From the Torah of Dr. Yehuda Kurtzer, and Rabbis Yitz Greenberg, David Hartman and Barry Gelman)
Rabbi Tom Samuels
Imagine the Israelites at the foot of Mt. Sinai, just before entering the Land of Israel. God describes who and what they are supposed to be in the world: a kingdom of priests, a holy nation:
אַתֶּם רְאִיתֶם, אֲשֶׁר עָשִׂיתִי לְמִצְרָיִם; וָאֶשָּׂא אֶתְכֶם עַל-כַּנְפֵי נְשָׁרִים… אִם-שָׁמוֹעַ תִּשְׁמְעוּ בְּקֹלִי, וּשְׁמַרְתֶּם, אֶת-בְּרִיתִי--וִהְיִיתֶם לִי סְגֻלָּה מִכָּל-הָעַמִּים… וְאַתֶּם תִּהְיוּ-לִי מַמְלֶכֶת כֹּהֲנִים וְגוֹי קָדוֹשׁ
“You've seen what I did to the Egyptians, brought you our on eagles’ wings... if you obey my voice you shall be my treasure among the peoples...a kingdom of priests, a holy nation.” (Exodus 19:3-6)
This text has been classically misunderstood as a gift of chosenness, of an assumption of an unconditional, loving relationship between God, the Jewish people and the Land of Israel. That even in our most spiritually-trying times, God “chose” us. That he continues to "choose" us. Unconditionally.
I want to explore a different take on this text, and specifically through the pedagogy of the Passover Seder. First, the text clearly establishes a conditional clause whereby this holy trinity is, in the words of Professor Yehuda Kurtzer, dependent on servile responsibility, on the actualization of purposefulness.
As they are about to enter the Land, the Israelites are made into God's vessel, a nation of priests. The caveat for this construct of radical egalitarianism, however, is conditional on the Israelite's behavior, specifically on their living with, bringing in to their everyday lives, the presence of God.
The metaphor continues to when they enter Eretz Yisrael, the Land of Israel: If the Israelites enter the land but fail to live up to their Covenant with God to bring the His presence into their midst, then the Land will spit them out. (See: Leviticus18: 24-28)
How does any of this relate to Passover? The Talmud says that when we tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt, we must start with the unpleasant and finish with the pleasant:
מַתְחִיל בִּגְנוּת וּמְסַיֵּים בְּשֶׁבַח,
“You begin with (telling about) shame and conclude with praise and thanksgiving.” (Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Pesachim, 116a)
The story of Passover begins by telling about our ancestors’ servitude and immersion in idolatry; only then do we proceed to tell about our liberation. This is a pedagogy for understanding how we are to relate to God, our very identity, as refracted through the Seder's structure. We begin with the memory of Abraham’s idol-worshiping family, as well as with the recollection of centuries of slavery and oppression. This narrative of destruction and loss in turn establishes a foundational narrative which serves as a catalyst to the second part of the seder: that of freedom and national actualization.
In other words, the Pessach Seder intentionally uses the language of suffering and loss as a catalyst for attaining freedom and sovereignty. And that this happens through intention and mindfulness. That the Jewish people's narrative, our foundational story, is not one of passive observers, but rather as active participants.
Rabbi Joesph Soloveitchik taught that God created an imperfect world with a purpose. That purpose was to enable human beings to strive, to work on, continually, to perfect it. Our Covenant is one of destiny where the Jewish people take control of events, take control of history to fulfill our destiny.
The Passover Seder is the foundation of this theology, life philosophy. The Seder’s central mitzvah is Sippur Yetziat Mitzrayim, to tell the story of leaving Egypt. Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik taught that sippur, “story” in Hebrew, is related to the word sofer, “scribe,” or sefer, which means a “scroll” or a “book.” What this meaning suggests is that a sofer, a scribe, who writes a sefer, a scroll, produces something that is permanent, something that will last for generations.
On the Passover Seder night, parents are also involved in the act of fulfilling the prophet Isaiah’s command to “write an everlasting scroll:”
עַתָּ֗ה בּ֣וֹא כָתְבָ֥הּ עַל־ל֛וּחַ אִתָּ֖ם וְעַל־סֵ֣פֶר חֻקָּ֑הּ וּתְהִי֙ לְי֣וֹם אַחֲר֔וֹן לָעַ֖ד עַד־עוֹלָֽם׃
Now, Go, write it down on a tablet And inscribe it in a record, That it may be with them for future days, A witness forever. (Isaiah 30:8)
On Passover night we are to be sofrim, scribes, writing indelibly on the hearts and on the minds of our children the story that will be passed down to all succeeding generations.
According to the Midrash (Yalkut Shimoni), when Moses died, a voice from Heaven called out, בת קול משמיע ואומר וימת משה ספרא רבה דישראל, “Moses has died, the great scribe of Israel.” Why was this term used to describe Moses? Was this his greatest attribute – that he wrote Torah scrolls?
Rabbi Soloveitchik explains that “a great scribe” does not just mean that he was a scribe of Torah scrolls. Rather, Moses wrote upon the hearts of his people. He etched the wisdom of the Torah into the very soul of the nation. And he did so in a way that each generation would pass it on to the next.
The Seder is thus an opportunity, and certainly by the Rabbi’s a mandated responsibility, to reclaim a Jewish experience of depth, meaning and relevancy. For a Passover that is an aspirational calling. That through the Seder's language of suffering and loss, and through the metaphor of our sovereignty and freedom, we assume the responsibility to become that Nation of Priests.
That our goal on the night of the Seder is to impart the Torah on the very souls of our children. With this in mind, what traditions and values are most important to pass on to your children in today’s world?
(From the Torah of Dr. Yehuda Kurtzer, and Rabbis Yitz Greenberg, David Hartman and Barry Gelman)
