While the holiday of Passover, also known as Pesach (פסח), is a particularly Jewish holiday, it also has such universal themes as freedom and liberation. Three is a telling of the story of liberation known as the Exodus during Passover, which is called the Maggid (מגיד), is the fifth step of the Passover ritual feast known as the Seder. Before the Maggid begins, there is an Aramaic passage known as Ha Lachma Anya (הא לחמא עניא) that is read:
הא לחמא עניא די אכלו אבהתנא בארעא דמצרים. כל דכפין ייתי וייכל, כל דצריך ייתי ויפסח. השתא הכא, לשנה הבאה בארעא דישראל. השתא עבדי, לשנה הבאה בני חורין
This is the bread of affliction that our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. All those who are hungry, let them enter and eat. All who are in need, let them come celebrate the Passover. Now we are here. Next year in the land of Israel. This year, we are slaves. Next year, we will be free.
I have often wondered why we recite this passage before beginning telling the story of the Exodus. Every year, the head of the house opens the door reciting this phrase with some vague hope that people will come to the Seder. I have never seen anyone near the doorstep to accept the invitation. Odds are that you have not either, which would make sense given how few people actually understand Aramaic. If the expectation to invite people in for a meal is not meant to be taken so literally, how are we meant to understand this interlude?
In the first call of Ha Lachma Anya where it says "let those who are hungry come and eat" (כל דכפין ייתי וייכל), one is meant to address the hunger of others. I find it especially alluring given that moments beforehand, the afikomen is broken and hidden in the ritual called yachatz (יחץ). When I reflected on the spiritual lessons of yachatz, I pointed out how breaking food and saving it for later was a sign of poverty in ancient times. In spite of that poverty (either literal or metaphorical), the Seder teaches us the importance of developing an abundance mindset and providing part of our material wealth to those who are lacking.
However, there is a second call of "all who are in need" (כל דצריך). Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik made an interesting point on this text. This is not referring to physical hunger because that was previously covered. R. Soloveitchik saw it as addressing spiritual needs, particularly those who are lonely and need companionship and friendship.
As Soloveitchik brings up, Jews have been oppressed, exiled, and ostracized. The Jewish people know what it is like to feel alone, abandoned, and forsaken. When dealing with that level of hurt and trauma, someone who is oppressed is either faced with becoming an oppressor themselves or being kind. Rather than giving into spiritual darkness, the Seder asks us to break that cycle and open our doors with love and kindness.
I find this passage of Ha Lachma Anya to be enlightening, especially since the Seder was created in a time where extreme poverty was the norm. We are supposed to help others with their physical needs, even if we do not have much material wealth. Thankfully, there has been progress made on eradicating extreme poverty. I also acknowledge that poverty is still a reality lived by millions in this world, which means that the call of כל דכפין ייתי וייכל has sadly not lost its relevance.
At the same time, the Seder was centuries ahead of Abraham Maslow (who was incidentally Jewish) and his hierarchy of needs. It is important that basic needs of food, clothing, and shelter are met. But what about beyond that? We live in an age of unprecedented technology and progress, yet depression and anxiety are quite high.
That paradox can be answered by the fact that we are more than physical creatures. Human beings also crave connection and meaning. The need to address non-physical concerns is higher than ever. Well before its time, the Seder teaches that we are to be mindful of the plight of those around us, whether that plight is physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks astutely reminds us that the bread of affliction (also known as matzah) becomes the bread of freedom the moment that we decide to share it with others. The fact that matzah can both represent the food the Israelites ate in Egypt while in slavery and the bread eaten as the Israelites are leaving Egypt to be free allude to the idea that our perception of something and how we use it in life can make a difference in quality of life, but I digress.
We are not meant to live on an island and simply fend for ourselves. To quote Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, "The opposite of freedom is not determinism, but hardness of heart. Freedom presupposes openness of heart, of mind, of eye and ear." If you are too open, that means you have no personal boundaries and lose your freedom that way. At the same time, I agree with Heschel in that if you close yourself off to possibilities, you are equally unfree. Being open to something does not automatically mean saying "yes," but rather the awareness that allows to you consider it a possibility.
It is interesting to think that the extent to which we are open determines who free we are, particularly when it comes to the topic of giving. Slaves did not and do not have the option to give because they were deprived of autonomy or a salary. Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook believed that this gesture of Ha Lachma Anya and wanting to feed the hungry is a sign of what makes us human and signals an essential part of being a free being.
On some level, all of us have limited resources, energy, and time because are finite beings. Some have greater limits than others, to be sure. Nevertheless, we are still meant to help those who are within our sphere of influence. Ha Lachma Anya is to remind Jews that to be there for others is an essential part of a Jew's spiritual calling, as I would argue is the calling of the spiritual life of many non-Jewish practices. It is an unattributable quote, but I will end with it all the same:
"When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a taller fence."
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