One of the central commandments on Passover is "And you shall tell your son", the commandment to tell the story of the Exodus. The Hagada emphasizes the centrality and importance of this commandment when it says:
And even if all of us are smart, all of us are wise, all of us know the Torah – we are [still] commanded to tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt, and the more one tells the story – this is seen as praiseworthy.
The Mishna in tractate Psachim describes how we should go about telling the story of the Exodus at the Seder table.
How Should the Story Be Told?
At first glance it is surprising to notice that the description offered by the Mishna is only an outline and not more detailed. The Mishna states: "One begins with rebuke and ends with praise and learns the verses of 'My father was an Aramean' until he finishes the entire section." (Mishna Pesachim, ch. 10, mishna 4) When looking at the 10th chapter of Mishna Psachim more closely however, we notice that the Mishna offers a detailed account of the questions the child asks at the Seder, questions from which the father's story departs:
They poured the second cup for him and here the son asks his father, and if the son is not yet intellectually aware then his father teaches him: What makes this night different from other nights? On all other nights we eat chametz and matzah, but on this night we eat only matza. On all other nights we eat various vegetables, but on this night we eat only bitter vegetables. On all other nights we eat meat that is grilled, scalded and cooked, but on this night we only eat meat that is grilled. (Ibid)
According to the Mishna, the ideal situation is one in which the story of the Hagada opens with a question presented by the child. We hope that the child will ask his father a spontaneous question that will then lead to a conversation. The second cup is poured with the hope that the child will notice how different this evening is, how the routine order has changed and broken. Throughout the Seder we search for ways to spur our children's questions, questions we hope flow naturally from their innate curiosity. If the child does not ask and his questions do not flow naturally, it is then the father's responsibility to appeal to his child's curiosity and urge him to ask. The father should create an environment around the table within which questions and queries, tentative answers and original ideas – are all welcome. Only if his child is not intellectually aware is the father to initiate the process and teach his child. Even in the instance when the father begins the conversation - he is to do so by asking a question.
The Baraita expands the ruling of the Mishna and notes that the Seder night must open with a question even if young children are not present, and even if all participants are wise and learned:
Our rabbis taught: If his son is wise – his son asks him, and if his son is not wise - his wife asks him, and if not – he asks himself. And even if [they are] two sages who know the laws of Passover – they ask one another. (Talmud Bavli, Psachim, 116a)
It is questions that stand at the center of Seder night. The ability to tell the foundational story of the people of Israel depends upon the listener undergoing an experience of doubt, of breaking, of yearning for an answer.
Fractured Tablets and Questioning Individuals
According to the Midrash, inside the Ark of the Covenant, next to the second tablets which were whole, rest the fragments of the first tablets which Moshe broke. Looked at symbolically, it is a moment of brokenness that occurred in the history of the people of Israel, something akin to an open wound, that rests in the Ark for eternal memory.
Looked at in this way, the fragments of the first tablets that rest in the Ark are a visual representation of the story of our history. According to the verses, the breaking of the Tablets is Moshe's response to the sin of the golden calf, the sin that created a rift between the people of Israel and God. While the commentators do discuss the question of – When exactly did the sin of the golden calf occur vis a vis the command to build the Tabernacle – it is interesting to note that the Torah chose to tell this story in the middle of the story of the building of the Tabernacle. Perhaps placing the sin of the people amidst the building of the Tabernacle implies that the Torah does not want to forgo the fall, does not want to hide the rift. The making of the golden calf, the great crisis of the people of Israel in the desert, is a central part of the process of constructing the building that brings God's presence into the world. It seems that the Torah does not ignore crisis. To the contrary - the Torah sees the crisis as an integral part of the building process.
The fragments of the Tablets that rest in the Ark help us understand that rifts and fractures are essential pieces of any constructive process. According to this approach, the fissures and the cervices act as motivating factors in the creative process, factors that are cannot be skipped or diminished.
Our personal lives are full of fissures and crevices, questions and rifts. Sometimes our questions can be dramatic and existential, like open wounds in our heart. At other times our questions are delicate, not unlike a small abrasion that troubles us in a way that might turn into an infected wound if it is not treated properly. These questions arise in those who are curious, in those who cannot accept not knowing, in those who look at the world and its institutions with a critical and rebellious eye. When we do not yet have an answer, we are in a state of unrest. When our questions are deep and existential, they are often paradoxical and unsolvable by nature, remaining foreign to binary thinking. This state will often be accompanied by feelings of confusion and bewilderment. Even so, it is through questions that we grow and develop.
When Questioning Replaces Recitation
The midrash ranks the four sons according to their ability to ask questions. According to this midrash the simple son and the son who does not know how to ask are on a lower level because we use only information when teaching them. The simple son asks a simple question – "What is this?" – and the answer to his question remains on this level – "With a strong hand [God] brought us out of Egypt." The son who does not know how to ask is the son who is described in the Mishna as not being intellectually aware. This son depends on his father's initiative who must "open" the discussion with him. As opposed to these two sons, the questions of the wise son and the wicked son go beyond needing to know the facts and engage the father on an existential level. The wise son asks: "What are the testimonies and the statutes and the judgements that God commanded us?" The wicked son asks his father: "What is this (Pesach) service to you?" Both of these questions are deep existential questions that express a search for identity. Even if these two questions are different from one another and stem from different points of departure, both emerge from deep contemplation. Both the wise son and the wicked son ponder their surroundings and wonder about its meaning. Put differently, both the wise son and the wicked son ask questions that grow from a rift they sense inside themselves.
Over the years, the questions that stand at the heart of Seder night have undergone a process of formalization. The same "Ma Nishtana" questions are now recited by all those who possess a Hagada and the questions asked by children spontaneously are sometimes absent from the Seder table. Sometimes fathers offer their sons answers for questions that were never really asked. If offered before a child has expressed their own curiosity, answers will often not touch the child. Answers are constructive contributions when they are preceded by a rift experienced by the individual. The gemara expresses this idea in the following story:
Abaye sat before Raba. He saw that his table was being removed. He said to them: We have yet to eat, and you come and remove the table from before us? Raba said to him: You have exempted us from saying "Ma Nishtana". (Talmud Bavli, Pesachim, 115b)
This story most likely occured during Abaye's childhood, inside Raba's home, Abaye's uncle and adoptive father. Raba teaches us that a spontaneous question that really troubles a child is more valuable than the recitation of "Ma Nishtana" from the Hagada. The Mishna is telling us to make space for questions, to place the rift inside the Ark. Sometimes following educational guidelines cultivates questions that are artificial and forced while the real goal is to cultivate questions that come from the depths of the heart, questions that rise up from the personal rift of each and every one of us.
Through Questions Man Finds a Place for Himself in the World
In the past decades we have seen attempts, made by certain schools of thought, to make the Torah simpler, clearer and more absolute. In pursuit of this goal, these schools of thought choose to silence questions and make them disappear. In so doing their students learn to hide their questions and they stop searching for answers. When students go down this path they do not go through a process of their own "kiymu ve'kiblu" - a process of upholding the Torah and choosing to reaccept it, a process that is only possible if the asking of spontaneous questions is allowed.
Man searches for a home. He wants to rely on something, but following lies is not the solution. Even if the silencing of the questions can help initially, after a while this will only make the situation worse and increase the rift that grows beneath the surface. A simple student who is immersed in questions feels confused when he cannot find a way to express his inner rift. Such a student, if he does not know that his rabbis also experience moments of doubt and of fragmentation, will not be able to move forward and will not be able to find his place within the world of Torah. When we try to enter the world of Torah without rifts, we meet a Torah that is unnatural.
The commandment that stands at the center of Seder night - telling the story of the Exodus - places the question at the center. Taking the historical story of the Exodus and transforming it into the foundational story of the people of Israel is where man's ability to see himself as part of the story hides. As the Mishna says:
In every generation man must see himself as if he left Egypt, as it is written: "And you shall tell your son on that day – It is because of this that God did for me when I went out of Egypt." (Mishna Pesachim, ch. 10, Mishna 5)
Seeing himself as part of the story, can be created only if he really believes that the national story is part of his personal story. The process of "buying in" can only occur through asking real queries and spontaneous questions that come from the depths of his heart, from a place that is not whole.
But let us not see the rift as something that is necessarily negative and full of pain. Questions are constructive for us as human beings. Questions create individual space that is natural and unique. In most cases, answers from other people will not satisfy us. Man searches for a place in this world and only he is capable of finding his place. Questions and individual answers create a place for man in the world in general, and in the world of Torah specifically. Through learning and searching for answers, students internalize the world of Torah and cultivate the area of Torah that is to become their unique plot. Placing the fragments of the Tablets in the Ark invites us to adopt an orientation of asking questions and celebrating them.
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This discussion of the importance and significance of questions was written a number of years ago, but the relevance of these ideas is especially powerful amidst the pandemic we are experiencing this year.
Prayer During the Time of Corona – An Expression of Our Dependance
Currently, the world is fighting the greatest epidemic it has seen in the past one hundred years. The Corona virus is forcing us to modify our behavior and also is also leading us to pray more fervently for ourselves, our loved ones and humanity. It is during these times that we can understand the nature of prayer more deeply.
The disagreement between the Rambam and the Ramban regarding davening is well known and discussed often. The Rambam holds that from the Torah one must daven once a day, whereas the Ramban holds that davening three times a day is d'oraita. However, it is at this time that we must remember that the Rambam and the Ramban agree that prayer during a time of distress is d'oraita. This is something we have forgotten. We have forgotten this not because it is not known but because of something that has happened to humanity over the past 150 years.
Many people think that what happened to humanity is the discovery of scientific knowledge which has caused us to be conscious of the scientific reasons for why troubles come to the world, leading us to think less about the fact that these troubles depend on something that is beyond man. But I don't think that this explanation touches upon the heart of the matter. I think that the real explanation has to do with human hubris. It is not the scientific explanation, the causation we have discovered, that hinders us, but rather that humanity has developed a hubris that all is in our hands.
The truth is that the belief that - our outcome depends on our actions - comes with certain advantages, because it places responsibility on our shoulders. Rav Hutner is an example of someone who discussed the fact that modern man feels more responsible for himself and his surroundings. The advantage of humans taking responsibility for their lives has practical implications, including groups of scientists who are now working intensely at developing vaccines, medications, and other possible solutions for stopping the spread of this epidemic. However, the disadvantage of this stance is that it is difficult to pray when we think that everything depends on us.
Unfortunately, now, during the days of the Corona disease, we are obligated to pray d'oraita. We are truly in trouble. We do not fully understand how to deal with this danger, and no one knows how this will end. This epidemic has torn a rift inside our communities and inside ourselves. We have become, again, like humanity before the scientific revolution. We have been reminded how much we depend on He who is beyond us. Prayer stems from this dependence, this rift. Our current situation calls upon us to turn towards He who is beyond man. We are torn because we have no idea how humanity will overcome this, and we choose to express our confusion and our helplessness in the form of prayer.
This prayer, during the time of Corona, must be done out of an identification with humanity. Identifying with someone else can be done when you can imagine yourself in the exact situation of the other. For example, if your friend is sick and you go visit him in the hospital, what really helps you be with him is the understanding that your roles could easily be reversed. Today, each of us can imagine what it is like to be in Italy today or in Spain. As I write these lines Corona is spreading both in Israel and in America. It is during these times that we can identify with all of humanity across the globe.
And it is at this time that we pray that this epidemic stop and that each and every infected individual, wherever they might be sick, find a speedy recovery and full healing.
Wishing you and your families a Passover filled with questions and with health.
[The majority of this drasha is based on a sicha given by Rav Bigman on 21st Adar 5775. The Hebrew version was written by Ravid Yaniv and edited by Aviad Evron. The English version was translated and edited by David Lester.]
