— Leroy Satchel Paige
For most of the years I have been married, beginning exactly one year after our wedding, the husband and I have hosted Pesach seder in our home. We have gone to friends a few times over the years, and twice to family, but, overall, we’ve done it ourselves. The smallest seder we made was the first; we were 6 people.
That is, until this year – the year of Corona. Our seder was only four people: me, the husband, and the two kids (who aren’t kids) who still live at home.
While I have cried myself to sleep most nights since we’ve been in lockdown, thinking of the kids not coming for the holiday, and of the grandkids I can’t hold, and all those people who are all alone (including family members), my Pesach has been really easy. I had all the time in the world to clean, so I didn’t exhaust myself; I had no guests that I had to please with their likes and dislikes; I had fewer cookies to bake, fewer kneidlach to boil, fewer dishes to wash, and overall, FAR fewer hours in the kitchen.
All this gave me more time to think about symbols and lessons, and all those things one never has time to think about because one is thinking about how many kneidlach to make and what else to make with matzah if matzaroni and cheese isn’t a hit.
I had meant to say all sorts of things at our compact seder, but the wine went to my head faster than I anticipated and I became even more inarticulate than usual. What follows is a somewhat more thought-out oration than what I had planned to give, but thankfully, for the attendees, did not.
I will begin with a question.
Why do we begin the Seder with eating the Karpas (a small bit of green vegetable, usually either parsley or celery, though some people eat a bite of potato, which really doesn’t make any sense to me because karpas is supposed to be green and if the potato is green then I, for one, certainly don’t want to eat it. But I digress.)?
Generally, the reason given for eating the Karpas is that it symbolizes spring (being green, which potatoes certainly are not) and Pesach is celebrated in the spring. We dip the karpas into salt water/vinegar, which symbolizes the tears of slavery. That’s what I learned in school, anyway.
It turns out that there is another reason for beginning with Karpas.
The one and only time that the word Karpas is mentioned in the Bible (note – not only the Torah, but in the entire Bible) is in Megillat Esther:
Karpas (the second word in the Hebrew) was taken to mean fine cotton, or perhaps linen, or even wool. Nobody was quite sure of the exact meaning but it was understood to mean a high-quality cloth material.
Rashi uses this meaning when he describes the ‘Coat of Many Colours’ that Jacob gave to Joseph.
This gifting of the coat to Joseph is, of course, the first act that sets in motion the chain of events that lead to Bnei Yisrael becoming slaves in Egypt. Therefore, it’s appropriate to begin the seder with a symbol of this act.
Joseph’s brothers, after selling the youth to Midianites/Ishmaelim, dip his coat into the blood of a goat and tell father Jacob that Joseph was killed by a wild animal.
This mirrors our dipping the karpas (symbolizing the coat) into salt water/vinegar (symbolizing the blood).
Things can be taken a step further if we continue with the details of the sale:
First of all, how is it that after throwing a boy down a pit, can his brothers calmly sit and eat lunch. But never mind that. I know a fair bit about sibling rivalry and the difficulties that arise from it…. What strikes me more is the description of the loads the Ishmaelite caravans are carrying; aromatic gum, and balm, and ladanum.
Now, we know that the Torah never wastes words. It doesn’t believe in descriptions to make more interesting reading. There is a reason that the Torah tells us what the camels that are taking Joseph to Egypt are carrying. They are carrying aromatic gum, balm, and ladanum. (I looked up ladanum in the dictionary – in case anyone was wondering. It’s the juice extracted from certain rose plants and used to make perfume.)
We know that the sale of Joseph to the Yishmaelim is the first part of a divine plan. We know that he goes to Egypt so that he can eventually attain a position in which he is able to save his family from famine. We know that God wants the sons of Jacob to go down to Egypt. God’s plan is for Bnei Yisrael to become slaves, but to leave Egypt as a nation, and receive His Torah and be brought to the Land as a nation.
We know this, but Joseph doesn’t.
Therefore, the Torah tells us that the caravans were full of aromatic gum, balm, and perfume. This is a hint to Joseph that he is not alone in his troubles. The caravans could have been full of chickens, or fertilizer, or old boots. But they were full of perfume, making his dark journey into slavery just a little easier, a little brighter. It’s a message to Joseph – and to us – that G‑d is with us—even when we don’t understand or see the good; there is always some good to be thankful for.
Towards the end of the Seder, just before we begin to eat matzah and maror and charoset and all those other delicacies, we read/sing the Dayenu song. One of the most beloved and well-known songs of the seder, it names 15 stages of redemption; 15 things we should be thankful for.
The first five stanzas describe episodes we experienced in Egypt, the next five are those that happened as we left Egypt and experienced in the desert. The last five acknowledge our connection to God and to Judaism.
Here’s the thing – the song, obviously, and it’s been repeatedly said, does not make sense. How could it be that had God split the sea, but not led us to dry land (i.e., He would split the sea, but we would have drowned anyway), that would have been enough? Or how would it have helped if he ‘drowned our oppressors in the sea but not supplied our needs for forty years’, and we would have died in the desert? How could we say that even if we had died in the desert, it would have been enough?
We know, today, that God brought us out of Egypt, and freed us from slavery in order to give us the Torah and bring us to the Promised Land. Why, however, did He have to go through that whole rigmarole of plagues and splitting of the seas, and slavery etc. Why couldn’t God, being God, simply take us out and bring us to Israel on, say, the wings of eagles? Or the backs of camels? Or on an El Al jet? Why the theatrics?
Going back further, why the need to send Joseph down to Egypt at all? The children of Israel were already in Israel! Why the need to bring them into exile, enslave them, and then, with SUCH pomp and majesty, free them, only to have them wander the desert for forty years.
What’s with all that?
This is where dayenu comes in.
In the same way oppression doesn’t come all at once, but is usually very circuitous, redemption doesn’t come in one go either. Each step is essential; each step is critical, and sometimes, some of those steps don’t seem very redemptive.
The Dayenu song is telling us that each step is something to be grateful for, for each step –whether it is up or down – is one step closer to redemption, one step closer to God. Dayenu tells us that there is a plan, even if we can't see it; even if we won't see it in our lifetimes or even for 1000 years. A plan is in motion to bring us to God.
In these days of plague, and quarantine, and lock-down, and curfew, and lonely sederim, we don’t know what the next day will look like, what the next step will be. We are told the world will change, but we don’t know how.
Maybe Netflix, zoom, and whatsapp are our aromatic gum, balm, and ladanum.
Maybe the vaccine against the Coronavirus will be our splitting of the sea.
As we sit in our homes as did our ancestors in Egypt waiting for redemption, all we have is faith.
Dayenu.
For most of the years I have been married, beginning exactly one year after our wedding, the husband and I have hosted Pesach seder in our home. We have gone to friends a few times over the years, and twice to family, but, overall, we’ve done it ourselves. The smallest seder we made was the first; we were 6 people.
That is, until this year – the year of Corona. Our seder was only four people: me, the husband, and the two kids (who aren’t kids) who still live at home.
While I have cried myself to sleep most nights since we’ve been in lockdown, thinking of the kids not coming for the holiday, and of the grandkids I can’t hold, and all those people who are all alone (including family members), my Pesach has been really easy. I had all the time in the world to clean, so I didn’t exhaust myself; I had no guests that I had to please with their likes and dislikes; I had fewer cookies to bake, fewer kneidlach to boil, fewer dishes to wash, and overall, FAR fewer hours in the kitchen.
All this gave me more time to think about symbols and lessons, and all those things one never has time to think about because one is thinking about how many kneidlach to make and what else to make with matzah if matzaroni and cheese isn’t a hit.
I had meant to say all sorts of things at our compact seder, but the wine went to my head faster than I anticipated and I became even more inarticulate than usual. What follows is a somewhat more thought-out oration than what I had planned to give, but thankfully, for the attendees, did not.
I will begin with a question.
Why do we begin the Seder with eating the Karpas (a small bit of green vegetable, usually either parsley or celery, though some people eat a bite of potato, which really doesn’t make any sense to me because karpas is supposed to be green and if the potato is green then I, for one, certainly don’t want to eat it. But I digress.)?
Generally, the reason given for eating the Karpas is that it symbolizes spring (being green, which potatoes certainly are not) and Pesach is celebrated in the spring. We dip the karpas into salt water/vinegar, which symbolizes the tears of slavery. That’s what I learned in school, anyway.
It turns out that there is another reason for beginning with Karpas.
The one and only time that the word Karpas is mentioned in the Bible (note – not only the Torah, but in the entire Bible) is in Megillat Esther:
חוּר כַּרְפַּס וּתְכֵלֶת, אָחוּז בְּחַבְלֵי-בוּץ וְאַרְגָּמָן, עַל-גְּלִילֵי כֶסֶף, וְעַמּוּדֵי שֵׁשׁ; מִטּוֹת זָהָב וָכֶסֶף, עַל רִצְפַת בַּהַט-וָשֵׁשׁ--וְדַר וְסֹחָרֶת
There were hangings of white, fine cotton, and blue, bordered with cords of fine linen and purple, upon silver rods and pillars of marble; the couches were of gold and silver, upon a pavement of green, and white, and shell, and onyx marble. (Esther 1:6)Karpas (the second word in the Hebrew) was taken to mean fine cotton, or perhaps linen, or even wool. Nobody was quite sure of the exact meaning but it was understood to mean a high-quality cloth material.
Rashi uses this meaning when he describes the ‘Coat of Many Colours’ that Jacob gave to Joseph.
..פסים. לְשׁוֹן כְּלִי מֵילָת, כְּמוֹ כַּרְפַּס וּתְכֵלֶת
Of (many) colors: denotes a cloak of fine wool. as "fine cotton" and blue...
This gifting of the coat to Joseph is, of course, the first act that sets in motion the chain of events that lead to Bnei Yisrael becoming slaves in Egypt. Therefore, it’s appropriate to begin the seder with a symbol of this act.
Joseph’s brothers, after selling the youth to Midianites/Ishmaelim, dip his coat into the blood of a goat and tell father Jacob that Joseph was killed by a wild animal.
This mirrors our dipping the karpas (symbolizing the coat) into salt water/vinegar (symbolizing the blood).
Things can be taken a step further if we continue with the details of the sale:
וַיֵּשְׁבוּ, לֶאֱכָל-לֶחֶם, וַיִּשְׂאוּ עֵינֵיהֶם וַיִּרְאוּ, וְהִנֵּה אֹרְחַת יִשְׁמְעֵאלִים בָּאָה מִגִּלְעָד; וּגְמַלֵּיהֶם נֹשְׂאִים, נְכֹאת וּצְרִי וָלֹט--הוֹלְכִים, לְהוֹרִיד מִצְרָיְמָה
And they (the brothers) sat down to eat bread, (after throwing Yosef in a deep pit with the thought of leaving him there to die) and they lifted up their eyes and looked, and behold, a company of Yishme'alim came from Gilad with their camels carrying aromatic gum, balm, and ladanum, going to carry it down to Egypt. (Genesis 37:25)
First of all, how is it that after throwing a boy down a pit, can his brothers calmly sit and eat lunch. But never mind that. I know a fair bit about sibling rivalry and the difficulties that arise from it…. What strikes me more is the description of the loads the Ishmaelite caravans are carrying; aromatic gum, and balm, and ladanum.
Now, we know that the Torah never wastes words. It doesn’t believe in descriptions to make more interesting reading. There is a reason that the Torah tells us what the camels that are taking Joseph to Egypt are carrying. They are carrying aromatic gum, balm, and ladanum. (I looked up ladanum in the dictionary – in case anyone was wondering. It’s the juice extracted from certain rose plants and used to make perfume.)
We know that the sale of Joseph to the Yishmaelim is the first part of a divine plan. We know that he goes to Egypt so that he can eventually attain a position in which he is able to save his family from famine. We know that God wants the sons of Jacob to go down to Egypt. God’s plan is for Bnei Yisrael to become slaves, but to leave Egypt as a nation, and receive His Torah and be brought to the Land as a nation.
We know this, but Joseph doesn’t.
Therefore, the Torah tells us that the caravans were full of aromatic gum, balm, and perfume. This is a hint to Joseph that he is not alone in his troubles. The caravans could have been full of chickens, or fertilizer, or old boots. But they were full of perfume, making his dark journey into slavery just a little easier, a little brighter. It’s a message to Joseph – and to us – that G‑d is with us—even when we don’t understand or see the good; there is always some good to be thankful for.
Towards the end of the Seder, just before we begin to eat matzah and maror and charoset and all those other delicacies, we read/sing the Dayenu song. One of the most beloved and well-known songs of the seder, it names 15 stages of redemption; 15 things we should be thankful for.
The first five stanzas describe episodes we experienced in Egypt, the next five are those that happened as we left Egypt and experienced in the desert. The last five acknowledge our connection to God and to Judaism.
Here’s the thing – the song, obviously, and it’s been repeatedly said, does not make sense. How could it be that had God split the sea, but not led us to dry land (i.e., He would split the sea, but we would have drowned anyway), that would have been enough? Or how would it have helped if he ‘drowned our oppressors in the sea but not supplied our needs for forty years’, and we would have died in the desert? How could we say that even if we had died in the desert, it would have been enough?
We know, today, that God brought us out of Egypt, and freed us from slavery in order to give us the Torah and bring us to the Promised Land. Why, however, did He have to go through that whole rigmarole of plagues and splitting of the seas, and slavery etc. Why couldn’t God, being God, simply take us out and bring us to Israel on, say, the wings of eagles? Or the backs of camels? Or on an El Al jet? Why the theatrics?
Going back further, why the need to send Joseph down to Egypt at all? The children of Israel were already in Israel! Why the need to bring them into exile, enslave them, and then, with SUCH pomp and majesty, free them, only to have them wander the desert for forty years.
What’s with all that?
This is where dayenu comes in.
In the same way oppression doesn’t come all at once, but is usually very circuitous, redemption doesn’t come in one go either. Each step is essential; each step is critical, and sometimes, some of those steps don’t seem very redemptive.
The Dayenu song is telling us that each step is something to be grateful for, for each step –whether it is up or down – is one step closer to redemption, one step closer to God. Dayenu tells us that there is a plan, even if we can't see it; even if we won't see it in our lifetimes or even for 1000 years. A plan is in motion to bring us to God.
In these days of plague, and quarantine, and lock-down, and curfew, and lonely sederim, we don’t know what the next day will look like, what the next step will be. We are told the world will change, but we don’t know how.
Maybe Netflix, zoom, and whatsapp are our aromatic gum, balm, and ladanum.
Maybe the vaccine against the Coronavirus will be our splitting of the sea.
As we sit in our homes as did our ancestors in Egypt waiting for redemption, all we have is faith.
Dayenu.
3 comments:
Thank you for your article. I learned from it.
Thank you, Reesa. Thank you SO much!!
Absolutely beautiful and ever so meaningful! (BTW, I never knew about that meaning of the word כרפס.) Your writing is exquisite whether your post is humorous, or like in this, more serious. Bless you for everything you compose and share with us, dear Reesa! Kudos!
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