In the aftermath of the destruction of the Second Temple, the rabbis were faced with an incredible challenge, particularly in regard to Passover. How was it possible to continue celebrating a holiday whose entirety depended on bringing an offering?
There is no other way to celebrate the 15th of Nisan at night except by going up to Jerusalem and eating the paschal sacrifice with matzah and maror (bitter herbs) in collectives of fellow Israelites. Presumably, the story of the exodus was told and retold without a clear text. Children sat with their parents and watched and wondered. However, four cups of wine, charoset, reclining, afikoman, even the four questions were absent. In short, it most likely resembled the national barbecue that takes place across the country on Yom Ha’atzmaut – but localized to the hills of Jerusalem.
The mishna in Chapter 10 of Tractate Pesachim displays incredible ingenuity as the rabbinic sages define the structure of Seder that incorporates all of the powerful themes that are part and parcel of our national origin story: freedom from affliction and oppression; religious and national identity; continuity and tradition; and more. Building off the Greek symposium (much has been written about this over the last few decades), the rabbis crafted an intentional, well-directed evening incorporating both familiar rituals such as Kiddush, matzah, and maror, which would have been part of Passover, along with many unfamiliar rituals including four cups of wine, reclining, dipping, afikoman, and the recitation of Hallel at night.
In a move to distinguish themselves from the Greeks, whose symposiums were really for aristocratic society, the rabbis declared that even poor men would recline and drink four cups. On this night, unlike all others, everyone is free and everyone, at least conceptually, is equal.
The final Haggadah: A masterpiece of experience
While it took several hundred years until the final Haggadah as we know it came to be, the end result was a masterpiece of experience that remains a touchstone of Jewish faith, identity, and practice across the world today.
One particular example of how the evening integrates past, present, and future into the experience is in the following mishna: “Rabban Gamliel would say, ‘Whoever has not said [explained] these three things on Pessah has not fulfilled his obligation, and these are: ‘Pessah, Matzah, and Maror.’”
Rabban Gamliel makes it clear that simply naming “Pessah, Matzah, and Maror” rather than the required eating of the three is enough on this night. The holiday can and will survive even without the offering. Second, the order of explanations (brought below) should follow the order in the text above, which is in line with the biblical verse to eat the Passover offering with matzah and maror. In fact, this is the order found in the print edition of the Mishna.
Interestingly, however, the more reliable Kaufman manuscript of the mishna shows a slight but very significant change as follows:
| Pessah | Because the Omnipresent passed over [passah] the houses of our fathers in Egypt. |
| Maror | Because the Egyptians embittered the lives of our fathers in Egypt. |
| Matzah | Because our forefathers were redeemed from Egypt. |
In other words, the order of Maror and Matzah are inverted so that Matzah is the third and last on the list rather than the middle item. The mishna closes with the following text: “Therefore, we are obligated to thank, to praise, to laud, to glorify, to exalt, to adorn, to bless, to elevate, and to honor Him Who did all these miracles for our fathers and for us; He brought us forth from slavery to freedom, from grief to joy, from mourning to festival, from darkness to a great light, and from servitude to redemption. And we shall say before Him, Hallelu-yah.”
By making the aforementioned switch, Matzah is now juxtaposed with our obligation to say Hallel on this night. This sends a profound post-Temple message: We may not have the Temple or the Passover offering. We will be exiled from our land for thousands of years, facing discrimination, oppression, and worse. Yet, as long as we have the matzah, we can still say Hallel in the way that the Levites once did as they watched the nation bring its Passover offering.
Matzah holds a unique duality on Seder night. It is poor man’s bread, symbolizing our slavery in Egypt; but as the evening continues, it evolves into a symbol of freedom and redemption. Matzah gradually but surely turns us all into Levites singing our praises to God as the stages of the Seder cycle us through past and present and into the future.
This year more than ever, there will undoubtedly be a conscious awareness of the duality embedded in the entire Passover experience, for it is a night that is particularly characterized by collective remembrance. We can hardly fail to remember the journey we have been on as a people, from the outbreak of the war on Simchat Torah to this holiday that symbolizes our incredible ability to outlast all those who seek to destroy us. This year will be a Passover like no other.
We will sit down more bruised and battered than we were last Passover, acutely saddened by the absence of those missing in captivity. While we may not actually be smearing blood on the lintels and door posts as they did on the first Passover so many years ago, the blood of all of those who have been killed or died fighting – all beloved members of our collective national family – will infuse this night with a sense of affliction, even as we raise our voices in Hallejuah. ■
The writer teaches contemporary Halacha at the Matan Advanced Talmud Institute. She also teaches Talmud at the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies, as well as courses on sexuality and sanctity in the Jewish tradition.