We Are Not Yet Free
This evening at sunset, we will move into the Shabbat before Passover, known on the Jewish calendar by the special name "Shabbat HaGadol" ("the Great Shabbat"). The 16th century Jewish law code Shulchan Arukh (in Orach Chayim 430) records a custom that on the afternoon of this special Shabbat, people would gather in the synagogue to recite sections of the haggadah. Presumably, the goal was for the whole community to familiarize themselves with its contents in preparation for their own home-based seder rituals.
Taking up this old tradition, I want to use this opportunity, as we head into Shabbat HaGadol, to invite us to reflect on the central meaning of the Pesach festival, now just days away. The heart of the Passover seder resides in the maggid, the 5th of the 14 sections of the haggadah's ritual, where we tell the Passover story. And as you may know, maggid opens with the famous "Ha Lachma Anya" passage, an Aramaic text which translated means:
"This is the bread of affliction that our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are needed come and celebrate the Passover with us. Now we are here; next year may we be in the land of Israel. Now we are slaves; next year may we be free."
In preparation for the seder, I want to draw our attention to the last part of this declaration. Next Wednesday and Thursday evenings, as we sit down to our Passover banquets, we will open our telling of the story with these words to remind ourselves that "we are here," implying that this is not where we want to be.* [*In my reading of this text, "land of Israel" doesn't necessarily have to mean the physical land of Israel... if it did, it wouldn't make much sense that this text is still recited even at contemporary Israeli seders; rather, this refers to a redeemed, post-exilic world which we have yet to achieve/reach.] Despite the fact that we clearly have enough material sustenance that we are able to invite others to join us in our meal, we still assert that "we are slaves," meaning that we are not yet free. In other words, we enter into the core act of story-telling by highlighting that -- even as we recall a history of having moved from injustice to freedom -- we still fundamentally see ourselves a residing in a world that is, as yet, imperfect and unredeemed.
This powerful beginning to our sacred story-telling begs the question: in what ways are we "here" rather than there, enslaved rather than free? With this orientation, it is clear that it's not enough simply to read the words of the haggadah and recount what happened to our ancestors. We must consider the world we live in and pay serious attention to enslavement, oppression, and injustice as they play out around us.
This is why, in my opinion, the best seders aren't the ones where every word of the haggadah is read, taking turns around the table, but rather, seders that also feature genuine and dynamic conversation and debate about the imperfections of our world. The goal is to draw on our people's story of past liberation to inspire us to make a difference here and now, bringing us all a step closer to redemption!
Of course, the trick is that there's no one "right topic" to be talking about at the seder. The themes of the Exodus resonate when applied to our individual human psychology, to our relationships and family dynamics, to nature and the environment, to a wide range of societal issues. We explicitly ask "Why is this night different from all other nights?," but could equally use "Ha lachma anya" to ask ourselves "Why is this year different from all other years?" (or, to paraphrase, what are the particular arenas in which the seder ritual could serve as a helpful lens this year?).
At my seders this year, I imagine we'll touch on the tyranny of gun violence and the oppressive targeting of queer folks (especially trans youth) in our American society. I hope we'll talk about the events that have unfolded in recent weeks in the Israel, as hundreds of thousands of people in the streets have rallied to try to steer their country away from dictatorship and towards greater democracy. We may put something gold or silver on our seder plate again and pull out the great resource that Kavana created last year to anchor racial justice and reparations conversations in the seder. We may follow the lead of Kavana partners Vicky & Jeff, Suzi & Eric (see the invitation at the bottom of this email about an event happening this evening) who are connecting the stories of Afghani women fleeing their home country to preserve their lives and rights to our people's story, and we might talk other immigrant narratives as well, particularly as our government continues to debate asylum and immigration policy.
What will YOU be talking about at your seder this year?!? As you recite the words of "Ha lachma anya" -- "Now we are here; next year may we be in the land of Israel. Now we are slaves; next year may we be free" -- what examples of oppression, enslavement, and injustice do you feel called to address?
I send wishes to our whole community for a Shabbat Shalom and, of course, a joyous and meaningful Passover. May it inspire us to move ourselves, our community, our society, and our whole world towards liberation and justice, freedom and redemption.
Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum
