Rabbi Corey Helfand
This week’s Torah portion is Tzav: Leviticus 6:1 – 8:36
At the heart of the Passover story is Ha Lachma Anya, a passage that introduces Maggid, the storytelling section of the seder. On a typical Shabbat or festival, we make motzi over two loaves of bread, symbolic of the double portion of manna that our ancestors received in the wilderness before Shabbat. For Passover, however, we add a third matzah, the lechem oni — the bread of affliction. We take this additional matzah and break it in two during Yachatz, a literal representation of the brokenness of the past and the present. After the larger half is hidden as the afikomen, we search for the missing piece, highlighting the desire to restore the fragile and, in some cases, shattered pieces (symbolized by the crumbs) that are ever present in life.
As we lift the matzah, we recite (and many sing): “This is the bread of destitution/the poor that our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Anyone who is famished should come and eat; anyone who is in need should come and partake of the Pesach sacrifice. Now we are here; next year we will be in the land of Israel. This year we are slaves; next year we will be free people.” This becomes the open invitation to welcome all to come and participate in the meal. In retelling the Exodus, we also acknowledge that the brokenness still exists today, with hopes that in the year to come, we might get one step closer to freedom.
The 18th-century Lithuanian scholar Rabbi Elijah ben Solomon Zalman, known as the Vilna Gaon, imagines Ha Lachma Anya as hinting at four kinds of affliction:
1. People with no food — Kol Dichfin Yeyte V’Yechol.
2. People with food but not quite enough to really feel secure — Kol Ditzrich Yeyte V’Yifsach.
3. People who are on an extended journey where they feel vulnerable — Hashata Hacha, Lishana Habaah B’Arah D’Yisrael.
4. And people who know the deprivations of slavery — Hashata Avdei, Lishana Habaah Bnai Horin.
The Vilna Gaon highlights that the breads of poverty, affliction and destitution correspond to a range of existence. Of course, there are people on this earth who experience these deprivations daily. Literally. Perhaps that’s a reason why we give Maot Hittim (wheat money) before, during and after the holiday. In a time of need, we act, even if in a small way, to offer help. At the same time, even for those of us who do not currently experience these living conditions, we share an origin story of persecution and of being refugees. Of course, there are millions of people who live somewhere in between the extremes, struggling on a daily basis to make ends meet, grappling with job insecurity and, in some cases, poverty and starvation. While some suffering is visible, so many struggle alone and hidden from view. That loneliness and hiddenness makes the affliction all the more overwhelming.
When we recite this passage at the beginning of the seder, we must think about the end in mind: when we open the door for Elijah and pour water for Miriam. Yes, there is much work to be done to continue to end poverty and aid the vulnerable. Maybe, however, we can start by opening the door and extending a hand to draw close to those who feel distant. We can show up individually and in community to be a source of healing and to fill someone’s cup through presence in times of emptiness and aloneness. Ha Lachma Anya and telling our story primes us for what to do when the seder comes to a close. The seder orients us to opening our hearts to one another, including the stranger. When we experience the pain and affliction of others, especially born out of our own story, we learn the power of what it means to contribute toward creating a freer world. May this be the question we grapple with and answer so that, hopefully, next year we might in fact all know the blessing of freedom.
Rabbi Corey Helfand is the rabbi at Ohr Kodesh Congregation in Chevy Chase, Maryland.
