Preparing the Home (of Your Heart)
Why is this night different from all other nights?
Rabbi Yisrael Hopstein, the Maggid of Kozhnitz (1737-1814, Poland): Pesach (Passover) is linguistically related to pisuach (skipping) and dilug (leaping). On all other holidays, holiness doesn’t come to us all at once. Rather, we must draw it into ourselves [gradually], through the evening, morning, and afternoon prayers. But on Pesach, holiness comes to us all at once, as implied by the very word Pesach, as we just mentioned, which is why we need preparation.
Wait, why do we need preparation? You just said the holiness comes all at once on Passover! Maybe we don’t actually need to stress the seder details and the food preparation and the house cleaning…? Or is that just wishful thinking?
The Maggid of Kozhnitz: Let me explain. For even though the radiant, clear light (or habahir) comes to us, nevertheless, each of us must purify ourselves in order to be able to receive this light.
Um…
The Maggid: …
I don’t think that explains as much as you think it explains.
The Maggid: So ask a question! That’s what we do on Pesach, correct?
Okay. What is this light, the “or habahir”?
The Maggid: That’s one way we think about God’s presence. Imagine becoming aware of God’s presence in the same way that you notice light.
Oh, I get it! So if God’s holiness arrives all at once on Pesach, if we aren’t prepared we are just going to squint and look away. Too much light all at once.
Emily Dickinson (1830-1866, Massachusetts): “Tell all the truth but tell it slant — / …Too bright for our infirm Delight / The Truth's superb surprise…”
What she said, but about encountering God!
The Maggid: Perhaps. But that isn’t the point I’m making here. Rather, compare it to the sun: even though it shines intensely, if the windows are closed, the light cannot enter the house. Do you understand?
So the point isn’t that we won’t be able to see because the light is so bright, but because we will have sealed ourselves off from seeing. So the house in the metaphor is…how we live our lives? And the real preparation of Pesach is a process of opening up so divine light can stream in?
John O’Donohue (1956-2008, Ireland): Each one of us is alone in the world. It takes great courage to meet the full force of your aloneness. Most of the activity in society is subconsciously designed to quell the voice crying in the wilderness within you.
I love that you poets are joining the chat. But what does being alone have to do with Pesach?
John O’Donohue: Until you learn to inhabit your aloneness, the lonely distraction and noise of society will seduce you into false belonging, with which you will only become empty and weary. When you face your aloneness, something begins to happen. Gradually, the sense of bleakness changes into a sense of true belonging. This is a slow and open-ended transition but it is utterly vital in order to come into rhythm with your own individuality. In a sense this is the endless task of finding your true home within your life.
Ah. If our life is a house, we have to be truly living there in the first place to do any inner remodeling. I have to be at home with myself in order to welcome guests.
John O’Donohue: As soon as you rest in the house of your own heart, doors and windows begin to open outwards to the world.
And the divine light streams inon Pesach. But why Pesach? Why not any other holiday?
The Maggid of Kohznitz: On Pesach, since Israel had to leave Egypt [immediately]—for had they remained there even a moment longer, they would have been unable to leave—the redemption had to come in haste… Instead, the radiant, clear light came [in a manner of] skipping and leaping.
Hm. So the very first Pesach everything happened quickly, and the people were saved at the last minute. And every year, we relive that story - as if we were there ourselves. This year too, it feels almost unbearable to remain in the shadows of cruelty and corruption one minute longer. In fact, a bunker with no windows feels uncomfortably appealing.
The Maggid: Even so, each of us must prepare ourselves—just as in the parable of the sunlight and the windows, as I mentioned.
Keep resting in the house of my own heart. I guess that’s one way to talk about integrity and living my values.
Anonymous contributor to the Haggadah (~9th century): Let all who are hungry come and eat.
Let’s keep our doors open to each other, our windows lit with hope, connection, and resolve, our life-home warm and cozy with presence.
Chag sameach!
Rabbi Jay LeVine
P.S. Questions for Discussion:
The Maggid of Kozhnitz assumes we need to or yearn to encounter the light of God’s presence. What might this mean to you? What spiritual aspirations do you hold?
Even when we don’t know what to do exactly, and even when now isn’t the right time to act, we can always prepare. What vision of the world are you preparing to lay the groundwork for? What does preparation look like for you?
What habits of mind and heart help you be present to your life, to rest in the home of your heart?
