The Roundabout Way To Freedom

Having observed the Seder just one week ago, we would do well to reflect back in order to glean new insights for everyday life. For example, why did we recline while eating matzah? In what is a teaching that captures the essence of Passover, our Sages state that at the Seder, “even a pauper should not eat until he reclines, and he should be given not less than four glasses of wine, even if he is so poor that he eats by means of the community charitable fund” [Mishna Pesachim 10:1].

One night a year, even the destitute throw off the shackles of their misery and feel as if they, too, have been freed from Egypt. They, too, celebrate the festival, which speaks of a nation of slaves transformed into a free people. And all of us must make sure that every last Jew, no matter how poor, shall be given the opportunity to recline like the freest of people.

It is fascinating that our Mishna’s concern that even the poorest recline is based on a Midrashic comment to a verse in Exodus, where we read that when Pharaoh finally lets the Israelites go, “God made the people take a roundabout path, by way of the desert” [Exodus 13:18].

The Hebrew word for “being made to take a roundabout path” (vayasev) has, curiously enough, the same root of the Hebrew word “reclining” (yesev). The Torah explains that God takes the Israelites on a roundabout path because the most direct route would have caused the Hebrews to pass through land of the Philistines. This act could have provoked the Philistines, an aggressive nation, who might very well have attacked, frightening the Israelites into retreat.

Despite having witnessed the fall of the Egyptian empire, the miracles of the Ten Plagues and the splitting of the Reed Sea (“Reed” is the proper name for the sea, not “Red”), the Israelites are still frightened to wage war. God knows that they are still slaves at heart. One of the manifold tragedies of slavery is the psychological impact on the victim whereby he believes himself to be worthless and incapable of fighting for his rights.

Indeed, Moses learns this lesson after he slays an Egyptian taskmaster for beating an Israelite, an act that Moses probably hoped would incite and inspire the Hebrew slaves to rise up against their captors, demanding freedom. Instead, the very next day, when Moses tries to break up a fight between two Hebrews, they taunt him, instead of hailing Moses as a hero who risked his own life to save a fellow Jew. Slavery corrupts captor and captive alike.

If power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely, then powerlessness corrupts most of all. A magnificent post-Holocaust Australian play, “The Edge of Night,” has a former kapo declare: “There were no heroes in Auschwitz; there were only those who were murdered and those who survived.”

A slave feels helpless: uncertain of his ability to obtain food, he becomes almost obsessed with the desire for a piece of bread — almost at any cost. From this perspective, the desert possesses not only a stark landscape, but also a stark moral message concerning the transformation of an enslaved Hebrew into a freed Hebrew.

The manna, which descended daily from heaven, was intended to change the slave mentality of Egypt into a nation in which “the one who had taken more did not have any extra, and the one who had taken less did not have too little. They gathered exactly enough for each one to eat” [Exodus 16:17-18].

The Haggadah begins, “This is the bread of affliction that our ancestors ate in the Land of Egypt. Whoever is hungry, let him come and eat; whoever is in need, let him come and join celebrating the Passover offering.” This is more than just generous hospitality; it is fundamental to Jewish freedom; the transition from a frightened, selfish and egocentric mentality of keeping the food for oneself into a free and generous people who share with the less fortunate.

Now we understand why the Midrash connects “reclining” with a “roundabout” path. Far beyond use of the same root, the very purpose of this path is intended to purge the state of mind that still thinks like a slave, frightened not only of Philistines, but of another mouth waiting to take away the little bit that one has. Therefore, when we give so that others, too, may have and thus feel free, we demonstrate in a most profound way that we are no longer slaves but are truly free. 

Rabbi Shlomo Riskin is chancellor of Ohr Torah Stone and chief rabbi of Efrat.

Candlelighting, Readings

Candles: 7:07 p.m. (Thu.); 7:08 p.m. (Fri).

Torah: Ex. 13:17-15:26 (Fri.);
Deuteronomy 14:22-16:17 (Sat.);
Numbers 28:19-25 (both)

Haftarah: II Samuel 22:1-51 (Fri.);
Isaiah 10:32-12:6

Havdalah: 8:09 p.m.