One way ticket out of Egypt
5766
is actually not at all in order.
In fact, on almost every level, it is totally chaotic. Why
do we do kiddush twice before eating any bread? Since when do we wash for
vegetables? Why are we talking so much?
Rebbe Nachman writes about 'in order' and 'not in order'.
In order is G-d's order. And G-d's order does not necessarily seem like order
to us. It may well look like chaos.
So we try to set things in order according to our understanding
- and as well we should. And we quite likely mess everything up in terms of
G-d's order. This very arrogation of control - of needing to set the 'order'
- is our destiny - for better and for worse.
Rebbe Nachman tells us that we must be constantly seeking out
and connecting to G-d's order. This comes through humility - the opposite
of arrogance. As we stand up on Seder night and say 'I do not understand'
and begin to ask questions, we move closer to G-d's order than ever.
Tonight we let go of our manic need to impose or find order,
and we glide effortlessly into G-d's order. We let ourselves be taken for
a ride; we trust the driver. Just like when the Jews left Egypt and had absolutely
no idea wher they were going.
Kiddush is a reflection of 'calling to holiness' - meaning,
wisdom and knowledge, which provide life-force. Through this act, the day
is sanctified. And then we are able to reveal that which is hidden.
Through Kiddush, we call out to the holiness of the day, calling
it toward us and into our sphere. Clearly, the day itself is so ripe with
possibility. We know that, every year, the same power that released the Jews
from Egypt is released into the world. It is available. But nothing comes
for free. We need to call out to the holiness of the day, to ask it to come
forward. This is done through the act of Kiddush
The words of kiddush remind us (and G-d) that we have been
chosen for this act. We have been chosen to do these mitzvot, to call to G-d
in this way. We have a special ability to use these tools to bring holiness
into the world.
Through Kiddush, we express our enthusiastic desire to engage
the awesome holiness of the day.
We all aspire to be fully human. But bipeds with opposable
thumbs do not a human make. In many ways we still act like animals - territoriality,
selfishness, and competition are just some of the ways that side of us expresses
itself. In order to become fully human, we must first recognize that we are
still very much effected - or even controlled - by our animal tendencies.
Animals, for the most part, do not show a capacity to make
choices. They will act predictably in certain situations, every time. Our
own tendency toward thoughtless reaction is a statement of our animal nature.
If you put a steak in front of a dog, said 'don't eat it',
and left, it would eat. But if you put a steak in front of a human and said
'don't eat it', there is a chance it will decide not to. When G-d told Adam
not to eat from the tree, however, he couldn't resist. He reacted like an
animal, so he was treated like an animal.
Maybe you're tired of acting like an animal? Then sweat!
Hate it! Complain! Protest! Say no! Adam, despite his fall, refused to
accept his punishment. He said, "G-d, I want to be human.' G-d said,
'Well, since you care, I'll give you the opportunity to redeem yourself.'
Sometimes we cannot fight an urge we have. But at least we
can say, 'No! I want to be more than this!'
Stop thinking that you are whole! The more we try to 'hold
it together' the deeper the internal rift.
Admit that you are not a monad, a one-thing, a one-opinion.
Admit that you are complex. Send your internal CEO on vacation, so your diverse
board of directors can have some say.
Notice that one part of you may be acting like Pharaoh over
another part of you. Notice that there are parts of you that don't fit, are
not convenient, are not PC, do not make people laugh, bring you shame, bring
you deep hidden joy, are still only 6 years old, don't know how to express
themselves, don't want to learn how to express themselves, are not 'cool',
do not match. Break open the surface - the illusion of a unified front - so
that you can become truly whole.
Admit that you are complex, so that you can become simple again.
What, ultimately, is the purpose of the seder? No, who.
Much of the seder the second cup of wine, the eating of
karpas before the eating of
the matzah, the leaning when we eat all are meant to stimulate questions.
The answer is the central mitzvah of the seder: and you shall tell to your
children.
What exactly is it that we are to tell? We are to tell not
of the leaving of Egypt, but that
we have left Egypt.
Every person must see himself as if he left Egypt. This is
not a series of words. There is no script one can only show that one has
left by being out of Egypt. This is easier said than done. Just as
THE four questions are not the only
questions that should be asked, so, too, the answer given in the script is
not the exhaustive answer.
Egypt is a mindset as well as a place. There are many ways
to describe what it is like to be in Egypt, but one well known understanding
is that daat intimate knowledge
of one another is in exile. We simply do not know each other. The Seder
night gives us the most thoughtful and yet the most simple instructions as
to how to get to know each other: ask. Learn about each other. From scratch.
We start with ridding ourselves of chometz
. Chometz
, to put it bluntly, is what we consider to be how the world
is but is actually an offshoot of our fears, desires, and limitations. If
the mind were a city, chometz
would be sprawl - an infinite series of unnecessary, annoying,
intrusive strip malls that is preventing us from seeing the beautiful world
around us.
This is expressed in the physical world in bread though
it may contain a certain amount of grams of flour and water, it is expanded
and enlarged from that actual amount of substance. This is a reflection of
how we approach the world our minds weave what we see into stories, and
we believe those stories as real.
Whats real is matzah
. Its appearance is exactly the amount of material - flour
and water that is in it, solidified with fire. On pesach, we would like
to concern ourselves with what is, and not with what was, should have been,
or should be.
The problem is, we do not know what is. All of our knowledge
of the situation is based on our own lens. The only way to get to what is,
is to ask. And we ask each of us mah nishtanah
? What is going on here? What are you guys doing.
And the answer is, I am trying to 'who' you something. What?
No, wrong question. The question is what? what has
changed between tonight and other nights? But the answer is mysterious in
its evasion of the question: we were slaves in Egypt
This is not the answer to a what question! It is the transmission
of a history of a people! It is a who! We are answering the question
as if who are we? had been asked.
But this is the answer to the question what this is
is only meaningful in context of who we are. Otherwise the answer is,
what do you think it is? Its a bunch of people lounging around eating
funny-looking bread, drinking more than they should, singing, and talking history.
This is important because it is real to us, and it informs who we are as people.
'What' we do is a function of 'who' we are.
This Pesach, we will find ourselves among interesting people.
Some of the relationships around the table are fraught with meaning, some
of us will meet for the first time. Whatever the case, we cannot truly say
that we know each other, until we start from scratch and take the time and
love to find each other.
4 Sons
The first Rebbe of Chabad writes beautifully of the concept
of Pesach: The journey toward freedom is a process. We must attain certain
skills and learn certain lessons. It takes time to make the impressions of
the journey last - they must be integrated thoroughly into our personalities;
we must remove or modify all internal or external impediments so that we will
not regress.
And sometimes you just gotta jump on the bus, Gus. Make a
new plan, Stan. Drop off the key, Lee. Set yourself free.
Sometimes the process itself of how we deal with our problems
is what is flawed. Sometimes it is a problem with the hardware, and the virus
will be transmitted if we run our problems through the same process. And then
we have to not work through
it in order to get it.
This is Pesach - which means, literally,
to skip. On this day, we can jump over our problems and not
look back. We can just stop the cycle. We can quit our addictions cold turkey,
turn over a new leaf - a new tree, even.
Every year, there is a process that begins at Pesach and ends
at Shavuot. It starts with the birth of a people, as the Jews leave Egypt.
It ends with the receiving of the Torah, and the sense of mission, meaning,
and purpose that results.
Pesach is marked by the eating of copious amounts of Matzah
- the unexpanded, or 'compressed' bread. It represents our capacity to embark
on our mission without hesitation. 'Without letting the bread rise' is another
way of saying 'before it even made any sense'.
Shavuot is marked by a unique offering - two loaves of fully
leavened bread. Once we have received the Torah, and accepted upon ourselves
the basic fundaments of faith that are explicit in the Torah - the ideas of
G-d, Mitzvah, learning, humility, concern for the well-being of the world,
etc - then we are encouraged to 'make sense'. Looking back, we notice that,
without the Torah, leaving Egypt could not have made sense.
When we eliminate chometz from home and diet, we are not rejecting
what already makes sense. We are not looking back on a year of chometz and
criticizing it - since Shavuot, we have been eating 'approved' chometz. We
are not so much eliminating chometz as choosing matzah. We are choosing next
year's Matzah which will eventually become next year's chometz. We are going
to a higher level.
We are always in a cycle of not-knowing and knowing. It always
happens in that order. First we don't know - we ask, we wonder, we pray -
and then we know. And then we realize that we do not know, and we ask and wonder
and pray, and then we know.
This is the cycle of the four sons. First, he thinks he's
smart, so he asks a clever question. But he doesn't like the answer, so he
says 'what is this junk?' Then he realizes that maybe he didn't know so much
to begin with, and he has to ask on a deeper level - 'what is this?' Then
he realizes that he will need an entirely new approach in order to know more.
he will have to ask his questions differently, but he does not know how, because
he is still stuck in the old way, so he is silent. Then his father finally
opens up and tells him everything. And then he thinks he's pretty clever,
so he asks a clever question, and...
Matzah and Marror represent the two opposite forces that are
necessary for the perpetuation of life. If the relationship between them is
out of balance, then life suffers.
When we eat Marror, we take upon ourselves the necessity of
the hardships of life; we accept that, though we may not understand, it is
important.
Marror is faith. Faith is a bitter pill. Faith requires that
we see beyond our own feelings and instincts to a higher reality - to G-d's
Order.
We have to learn not to run away from bitterness and challenge.
You have to say this like you mean it. You can't say 'next
year in Jerusalem' but mean 'I am completely satisfied with my life the way
it is.' It is a very deep prayer.
Try to realize that a world redeemed is better than your car(s),
your job, your house with hot tub, your mountain home, your high-speed, and
your stock portfolio.
Try to imagine leaving your job as custodian at the library,
driving around in your 1983 Citroen Turbo deluxe with the muffler dragging
against the road and pulling up to your converted shipping crate-turned-home,
but knowing that Moshiach has come.
Remember, only 1 out of 5 Jews actually left Egypt. The other
4 out of 5 thought it would probably be better to stick around, because the
public schools are better.
There is purpose beyond purpose.
Pesach is a journey, but not so much a journey toward as a journey away.
The very essence of Pesach is trust - we do not know where we are going; we
only know what we are leaving.
Essential to the impact of Pesach is the belief that where I am going is
better than where I was. The challenge is that were I was was comfortable
and familiar. It gave me what I thought I needed. And now I have to choose
to leave that, going to a new place where I cannot say for certain that I will
get what I need.
And many chose, and choose, to stay. The Midrash tells us that only one
in five - or one in five hundred, according to others, actually left. The
others felt it was easier to be on top of your game than to have to learn new
skills. Easier to be certain than to trust.
With kids, there about 50 of us here tonight. That means, given that we
are an average cross-section of the Jewish people, only 10 of us leave. Or,
according to the one in five hundred rule, maybe one of us would leave.
It seems like all of us would like to think that we would be the ones to
leave, but how do we know? Perhaps we are stuck like everyone else, and next
year will be like last year, until the end of time.
Or, perhaps, we are all together because we all really want to leave. If
that is so, we must give each other strong support. It is like a group of
friends who choose to quit cigarettes. If they all choose, but one of them
decides to smoke again, they will all eventually fall. If we are to leave,
then we must leave together, and we may stay 'left' together. If one of us
falls back into old habits, we are all in danger of falling.
This is our evening's task: Mitzrayim is our habitual outlook on the world.
It keeps us stuck. And it ultimately keeps us isolated from each other, for
our illusions about the world - replete with judgment of others and self, capacity
to use others for personal gain, sense of self-importance, etc - keep us in
our own private bubbles. Our task is to emerge from our isolation into the
freedom of relationship with each other.
Thus, when the romance of the evening wears off, we will be left only with
the impressions we have made on each other. We will not have to wonder whether
anything happened, because our relationships will be different. Our world
will be different tomorrow.