Pesach in a Time of Conflicting Emotions

 

(hat-tip to Rabbi Yael Ridberg for sharing this pic on her FB feed)

For many, and I include myself, the heartbreak felt at the loss of life and liberty of Israelis on and after October 7^th, sits alongside pain for the destruction and loss of life visited on Gaza. Over the past six horrid months, I’ve been informed, by some, that I shouldn’t feel the pain for the losses in Gaza and by others that I shouldn’t feel pain for the losses in Israel. There’s a line in Bereishit Rabba that comes to mind. God tells Abraham to “take your son, your only son, the one you love, Isaac.” The Midrash interpolates a conversation, imagining Abraham’s love not only of Isaac but also of Ishmael. “I have two sons,” says Abraham, “They are both the only son of their respective mothers.” And then, in one of the greatest lines in all rabbinics, Abraham utters this rhetorical question – “Eit Techumin BeMayay [roughly translated] Are there limits to my heart?”

 

There are perhaps, surprisingly, many moments for a conflicted heart to find a meeting place in the rituals of Passover.

 

The most obvious is the spilling out of wine as the plagues are chanted. There are other reasons in the tradition, but the one that speaks most clearly to me is that we diminish the wine in our overflowing cups because of the suffering of others. Rabbi Dr. Eduard Baneth (d.1930, Germany) connected this tradition to the tradition of not reciting the full Hallel at the Yom Tov services at the end of Pesach. Those sacred days are associated with the Children of Israel crossing the Sea, but Yalkut Shimoni (Emor, paragraph 654) cites the verse in Proverbs that counsels, "Do not rejoice at the downfall of your enemy" and so only a ‘Half Hallel’ is recited.

 

The eve of Pesach, this year, Monday 22^nd April, is the Fast of the Firstborn, another ritual that is predicated on the religious call to experience empathy with, even, enemies. The firstborn of Israel – and I’m one of them – are called to fast in sympathy with their fellow firstborn, murdered by the Angel of Death on that fateful night so many years ago. Traditionally, instead of a fast a Siyum is presented on a Tractate of Talmud. I’ll be teaching this year on the completing Baba Metzia. But as I teach, I’ll be feeling the conflict of a heart. All are welcome to the Siyum, of course, firstborn and otherwise – 8:30am in our regular Zoom room – www.tinyurl.com/nlssalon.

 

Even the very food we eat holds conflict resonance - the bread of affliction is the same as the bread of our freedom. The lettuce - the original bitter herb before horseradish came to the table - was chosen for its combination of both sweetness (the leafier parts) and bitterness (the root-ier parts). The same goes for the Charoset - sweet to eat, bitter in terms of what it reminds us. 

And finally, a tradition that dates back, at least, to a manuscript Haggadah from 1521 Worms. There, alongside the verses “Shfok Chamatcha – Pour out your wrath,” are verses calling on God to “Pour out your love on the nations who call upon your name.” That’s not a call to love those who wish us harm – that’s a different story. But it is an expression of broad heart, even, and perhaps most especially, at our own moments of vainglory.

 

Pesach holds more than an unbridled celebration. Judaism demands more than narrowness. The human heart can feel conflicting emotions at the same time; the pain of the self and the other especially. In fact that might be the very test of the humanity of our heart.

Chag Sameach