{ "clip_details": { "clip": { "is_admin": 0, "is_owner": 0, "handle": "inversion-pesach-and-yom-kippur", "title": "An Inversion: Pesach and Yom Kippur", "author": "Josh Feigelson", "author_handle": "jfeigelson", "author_initials": "JF", "covertext": "Yom Kippur is a deeply personal holiday in many respects. It is the day when we each, individually, account for our acti...", "user_image": "", "user_image_original": "", "body": "<p>Yom Kippur is a deeply personal holiday in many respects. It is the day when we each, individually, account for our actions and renew our relationship with God. It has a national aspect as well, but this is in large measure subordinated to the personal—this despite the fact that the holiday is generally observed in large communal settings, most notably synagogue. Passover, by contrast, is our national holiday. While there is an important individual aspect to it, the thrust of the holiday is national renewal and remembrance of the national narrative. In contrast to Yom Kippur, Passover is observed primarily in the home, not in the synagogue.</p><p>Whereas the Yom Kippur ritual is fixed and essentially unchanging from year to year, the Seder invites and encourages play and change within its structure. The Kohen Gadol performed the same ritual year after year in the ancient Temple, and we read the same words about his activities year after year. But the Haggadah of the Seder is reprinted with new commentaries, new midrash, new ideas every year, and no two seders ever look the same.</p><p>The Mishnah draws a further comparison between the two holidays in analyzing the preparation undertaken for each:</p><p>We do not worry that a mouse may have dragged hametz from house to house or from place to place, for if we did, we would have to worry that hametz had been dragged from courtyard to courtyard or from city to city, and there would be no end to the matter. (Mishnah Pesachim 1:2)</p><p>Seven days before Yom Kippur they would take the High Priest from his house to the Palhedrin Chamber. They would appoint another priest to act in his stead in case he became unfit to perform the service. Rabbi Yehudah says: They would even appoint another wife for him, in case his wife died, since the Torah says, “And he will atone for himself and his household” (Lev. 16). His wife is his household. The Sages replied, “If so, there would be no end to the matter.”</p><p>The discussion of the Rabbis in both these cases elaborates on one of the challenges common to both Pesach and Yom Kippur: the yearning for finality and the insecurity of uncertainty. Despite all our cleaning, despite all our preparations, nothing is static—hametz could land on our doorstep as we begin the seder, something could happen to the High Priest’s wife as he enters the Holy of Holies. These things are beyond our control, and yet we worry lest they happen. The position of Rabbi Yehudah, and the unspoken position rebutted by the Mishnah in Pesachim, give voice to these doubts and uncertainties: batten down the hatches, take every possible precaution, you can never be too prepared. But then the voice of reality sets in, and the Sages rule: If so, there would be no end to the matter.</p><p>We are likely not worried about mice, and we are not concerned today that something might happen to the High Priests. Yet our insecurities remain: Did we clean enough? Did we ask for forgiveness from everyone whom we wronged? We can always do more. Yet the Torah responds to human needs on human scale: At a certain point, we have to say enough is enough. At Yom Kippur, that exercise is known as accepting forgiveness, truly believing that God has granted selicha and mechila. At Pesach, it comes in the form of bitul: on the morning before Passover, we relinquish ownership of all our hametz, such that, as Maimonides says, we could see a loaf of bread on our dining room table and have no thought that it belongs to us.</p><p>Yom Kippur and Pesach are two moments of our most intense encounters with the Jewish calendar, when we are challenged to find the point of integration between ourselves and the larger covenantal community of the Jewish people throughout space and time—a community that includes Jews throughout the ages and the God who took us out of Egypt and forgives us year after year. Each holiday emphasizes a different dimension of this process, but the endpoint in both is renewal and temimut, integrity.</p>", "cliptype": "text", "clipsource": "www.rabbijosh.com", "featured": 0, "featuredIn": null, "is_public": 1, "is_published": 1, "media": { "image": null, "audio": null, "video": null }, "thumbnail": null, "clip_section": [ { "haggadah_section": "Maggid - Beginning", "slug": "maggid-beginning" } ], "likes": 0, "downloads": 256, "tags": [], "themes": [], "language": "0", "is_bookmarked": "0", "is_liked": 0, "meta_tags": { "title": "An Inversion: Pesach and Yom Kippur | Passover haggadah by Josh Feigelson", "description": "Our simple platform allows you to create a custom Passover Haggadah, with access to unique content contributed by our community. Find artwork, family", "keywords": "", "og:type": "article", "og:url": "https://www.haggadot.com/clip/inversion-pesach-and-yom-kippur", "og:title": "An Inversion: Pesach and Yom Kippur | Passover haggadah by Josh Feigelson", "og:description": "Our simple platform allows you to create a custom Passover Haggadah, with access to unique content contributed by our community. Find artwork, family", "og:image": "" } } }, "contributed_by": { "author": "Josh Feigelson", "handle": "jfeigelson", "author_initials": "JF", "total_books": 1, "total_clips": 3, "total_followers": 0, "is_following": 0 }, "user_book": null, "clips_by_author": [ { "clip": { "is_admin": 0, "is_owner": 0, "handle": "not-all-questions-are-created-equal", "title": "Not all questions are created equal", "author": "Josh Feigelson", "author_handle": "jfeigelson", "author_initials": "JF", "covertext": "Judaism is all about asking questions!” Jews are a people who love questions, who are characterized by questions, who “a...", "user_image": "", "user_image_original": "", "body": "<p>Judaism is all about asking questions!” Jews are a people who love questions, who are characterized by questions, who “answer a question with a question.” Or so we tell ourselves.</p><p>At Passover we encounter this line of thinking a lot. The Haggadah’s Four Questions, its question-and-answer of the Four Sons, the Talmud’s instruction that if one is having a seder alone, one must still ask oneself, What makes this night different? – all of these elaborate on the basic theme of Judaism’s love of questions. In his outstanding Haggadah, Rabbi Mishael Zion quotes Rabbi Steven Greenberg, who puts the sentiment beautifully: “Autocrats hate questions. We train children at the Passover Seder to ask why, because tyrants are undone and liberty is won with a good question. It is for this reason that God loves it when we ask why.”</p><p>But the Jewish People has no monopoly on questions. The most famous questioner in history was Socrates. The great philosophers, artists, writers, and political leaders who have asked powerful questions are, by and large, not Jews. Yes, Talmudic reasoning is animated by question-and-answer, but so are most quality intellectual traditions. So to say that asking questions is an inherently Jewish activity isn’t true. Jews may revel in questions more than some others, but the act of questioning belongs to all human beings.</p><p>Nevertheless, there is no disputing that the Seder is a night of questions. It is a night for discovery of the new. But it is also a night for rediscovery of what we already know. Questions become gateways to new reading, to new understanding, to “modes whereby to discover, interminably, new relationships or subtle correspondences, beauty kept secret or hidden intentions,” in the words of French philosopher (and Jew) Vladimir Jankelevitch. The questions of the Seder express the rebirth and renewal of the spring, the Jewish people’s season of redemption.</p><p>But not all questions lead to this kind of experience. There are different types of questions, and there are different ways to use questions. Questions can lead to connection and learning, but they can also lead to disconnection and disintegration. Questions can be used to build up, but they can also be used to destroy. All questions are not created equal.</p><p>Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner, one of the great Torah scholars of the twentieth century, elaborated on this theme in explaining the answer prescribed for the Wicked Son in the Haggadah. The Haggadah reads:</p><p>The Wicked Son, what does he ask? ‘What does this ritual mean to you?’ To <em> you</em>, and not to <em> him</em>. By thus excluding himself from the community he has denied that which is fundamental. You, therefore, blunt his teeth and say to him: ‘It is because of this that the Lord did for me when I left Egypt’; for <em>me</em>, but not for him. If he had been there, he would not have been redeemed.</p><p>Among the striking elements of this passage is the fact that in the previous paragraph, the Haggadah tells us that the Wise Son also asks a question in the second person: “What are the testimonies, the statutes and the laws which the Lord our God has commanded you?” Like the Wicked Son, the Wise Son refers to “you,” and not to “us.” So why does the Haggadah come down so hard on the Wicked Son?</p><p>Rav Hutner comments that the issue here is the Wicked Son’s stance in asking his question. “The Wicked Son does not contribute to fulfilling the commandment to discuss the Exodus through question-and-answer,” he writes in his work, the <em>Pachad Yizchak</em>. “Only a question genuinely asked as a question contributes to fulfillment of the commandment.” The spirit, the tone, the emotion behind, surrounding, and within a question, matters just as much as the words of the question itself.</p><p>This is one of the most important insights of the Seder into the dynamic of questions: Questions don’t exist independent of a questioner. A question must be asked in order to exist. And thus a question implies a relationship, a stance of the questioner to the one to whom the question is asked. Yes, as Steven Greenberg reminds us, questions can be sources of instability, harbingers of revolution. But questions, when asked genuinely and coupled with real listening, are also seed-bearers of conversation and mutual understanding, of empathy and community.</p><p>The Wicked Son is the person who uses his question as a weapon, who is not interested in listening. He is there to remind us, through a negative example, of the amazing potential of questions.</p><p>The Seder is a night of questions. But more than this, the Seder is a night of <em>questions and stories. </em> It is a night of renewing relationships—to one another, to ourselves, to our tradition, to God. The Seder calls us to ask our questions with generosity. It demands of us to take our questions seriously, not only as an intellectual or rhetorical exercise, but with our whole self.</p><p>So when we say that the Jewish people are a people of questions, and that Passover is a holiday of questions and questioning, let’s delve a little deeper into what we mean. The great questions—the Big Questions—of Jewish tradition are ones that invite us into an eternal conversation. They are questions asked by everyone in every generation, questions that matter to everyone and that everyone can and must answer. In asking those questions, in having those conversations, we renew our lives and our commitments. That is what we aim for in the questions of the Seder.</p>", "cliptype": "text", "clipsource": "www.rabbijosh.com", "featured": 0, "featuredIn": null, "is_public": 1, "is_published": 1, "media": { "image": null, "audio": null, "video": null }, "thumbnail": null, "clip_section": [ { "haggadah_section": "-- Four Questions", "slug": "four-questions" } ], "likes": 0, "downloads": 283, "tags": [], "themes": [], "language": "0", "is_bookmarked": "0", "is_liked": 0, "meta_tags": { "title": "Not all questions are created equal | Passover haggadah by Josh Feigelson", "description": "Our simple platform allows you to create a custom Passover Haggadah, with access to unique content contributed by our community. Find artwork, family", "keywords": "", "og:type": "article", "og:url": "https://www.haggadot.com/clip/not-all-questions-are-created-equal", "og:title": "Not all questions are created equal | Passover haggadah by Josh Feigelson", "og:description": "Our simple platform allows you to create a custom Passover Haggadah, with access to unique content contributed by our community. Find artwork, family", "og:image": "" } } }, { "clip": { "is_admin": 0, "is_owner": 0, "handle": "what-child", "title": "What is a child?", "author": "Josh Feigelson", "author_handle": "jfeigelson", "author_initials": "JF", "covertext": "Passover is the Jewish people’s most child-centered holiday. From the game of hide-and-seek during the search for hametz...", "user_image": "", "user_image_original": "", "body": "<p>Passover is the Jewish people’s most child-centered holiday. From the game of hide-and-seek during the search for hametz on the night before the seder, to the bookend game of finding the afikomen that enables the seder to conclude, children are the focus of much of the attention of the holiday. The Torah itself directs our minds to our children in the verse that forms the basis of the seder itself: “On that day tell your son, ‘I do this because of what the LORD did for me when I came out of Egypt.’” (Exodus 13:8)</p><p><img src=\"http://ireneolszewski.com/ctlawblog/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/parent_child1.jpg\" alt=\"parent_child1.jpg\" /><strong>The Answers We Give the Child</strong><br /> Of course the centerpiece of the child’s involvement in the seder is in the asking of questions. The universal custom is for the youngest child at the seder to ask the Four Questions—observing “how different is this night from all other nights!” It is not simply that we tell our children the story; the point is to engage them in a dialogue, in a night of questions and answers. Again, this gesture is commanded by the Torah, which instructs, a few verses after the one we just quoted: “”In days to come, when your son asks you, ‘What does this mean?’ say to him, ‘With a mighty hand the LORD brought us out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.’” (Exodus 13:14) The child will ask, and the child must be led to ask.</p><p>But what answer do we give? The Mishnah tells us to “begin in lowliness and conclude in praise.” The sages of the Talmud disagreed on what this meant: “Rav said: In the beginning our ancestors were idol-worshippers. Shumel said: We were slaves.” (Babylonian Talmud Pesachim 116a) The commentators on the Talmud offer different understandings of what the Talmud means, but the custom has already been well-established for many centuries: We first say “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt…” (Shmuel’s answer) and, after several interludes, we say “In the beginning, our ancestors were idol-worshippers” (Rav’s answer).</p><p>In his code of Jewish law, the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides records the law as follows:</p><div>It is a commandment to teach one’s children, even if they did not ask, as it is stated, “And you shall tell your child.” The father teaches his son according to his intelligence. How so? If he was a child or a fool, say to him, “My son, we were all slaves–like this maidservant, or this manservant–in Egypt. And on this night, the Holy One Blessed Be He redeemed us and took us out to freedom.” And if the son is grown or wise, teach him what happened to us in Egypt, and the miracles that were done for us by Moses. All is according to the intelligence of the child…<p>And one must begin in lowliness and conclude in praise. How so? Begin and tell of how originally our ancestors, in the days of Terach and before him, wrongly and falsely followed after vanity and chased after idolatry. And conclude in the true worship, that God brought us near to Him and separated us from the wayward, and drew us to his uniqueness. And likewise begin and make known that we were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, including all the evil that they did unto us; and conclude with the miracles and wonders that were done for us, and our freedom. And this is where one expounds from “My ancestor was a wandering Aramean” until he finishes the section. And all who elaborate upon the expounding of this section–this is praiseworthy. (Laws of Hametz and Matzah Ch. 7, laws 2 and 4)</p></div><p>In the first law, the Rambam focuses on Shmuel’s answer of “We were slaves,” and makes the educational task very concrete. If one has a slave in one’s house (and this is not the place to take up the question of Jews owning slaves), one uses the slave as a prop in the drama. Interesting the Rambam mentions that we teach our children about the works of Moses, who is of course not mentioned in the Haggadah.</p><p>In the second law, the Rambam seems to indicate that we begin with Rav’s answer, focusing on the wayward worship of our ancestors. Once that context has been laid, we can talk about slavery and liberation. But, showing his theological tendencies, the Rambam here emphasizes the overarching goal not only of the seder, but of all commandments: to know and serve the one true God.</p><p>Is there an inconsistency here? Is the Rambam contradicting himself?If we recall that there are two separate commands in Exodus 13, we might say no: There is, as Maimonides says, an independent commandment to tell one’s child the story of the Exodus—whether or not they have asked. But there is also a commandment to engage in conversation, which begins with the child’s question. And so, perhaps, the Rambam is signaling that there are indeed two separate acts that have to occur.</p><p>Rabbi Menachem Kasher, in his Haggadah Shleima (p. 25), explains the Rambam along these lines: “We can explain the reasoning [of the seeming contradiction in the Rambam]: When one is telling it to oneself, one needs to state it according to the way it was, that we were originally idol worshippers, etc. But when one teaches one’s child, the obligation is to teach him only that which is the commandment of the evening, and to answer his questions of ‘How is this night different?’ and therefore he begins with ‘We were slaves.’”</p><p><strong>What is a Child?</strong><br /> Kasher’s read of the Rambam seems very plausible. But it begs a larger question: If we have different goals in telling the story to adults and to children, why is that the case? And how do we distinguish an adult from a child? On the basis of age, or understanding, or something else? Bringing all these questions together into one simple and big question, we could ask, What is a child?</p><p>Maimonides himself has much to say on this subject. If we look throughout his Mishneh Torah, we find that that, of necessity, he defines children in many different areas of the law.</p><p>To begin with something close to home, the Rambam states that “All may perform the search for hametz [before Passover]… even a child, so long as the child has the intelligence to search.” (Laws of Hametz and Matzah 2:17) In the laws of divorce, he writes that, while in general we accept hearsay as evidence that a woman’s husband has died (thereby freeing her to marry another man), “we do not rely on the words of one who testifies after hearing [the news] from a fool or a child.” (Laws of Divorce 13:8)</p><p>The Rambam here distinguishes between ritual matters and civil law. In the case of the search for hametz, the task is relatively simple: know what the objects you’re looking for look like, and find them. Anyone of basic competence should be able to do this task. But in the case of testimony about something as grave and potentially complicated as marital status, and in the particular case of admitting hearsay evidence, which we already judge to be a leniency, we maintain an adult standard.</p><p>So we already have an indication that the Rambam understands the status of children to be largely about intelligence, about how they view the world. The two cases we have already seen are good examples: One deals with very concrete matters, with objects, and is suitable for children; the other deals with more abstract matters, with concepts, and is only suitable for adults of sound mind.</p><p>This distinction receives even greater treatment in the Rambam’s laws of sale. Here  Maimonides compares a fool—that is, a person without adult intelligence—to a child: “The court establishes a guardian for a fool just as it does for a child.” Yet here he also distinguishes between different types of children: “Until the age of six, a child’s transactions with others are null. From six until he is grown, if he knows how to do business, then his transactions are valid… though this only applies to movable property. He cannot transact real estate until he is grown.” Significantly, this only applies if the child does not have an adult guardian; if the child does have a guardian, then “his actions are null… unless they are taken with the knowledge of the guardian.” The Rambam sums up this section by stating that the court must examine the child, “for there is the child who is wise, discerning and knowledgable at the age of seven, and there is the child who even as old as 13 does not know business.” (Laws of Sale ch. 29, law 4-8)</p><p>In this section we see the Rambam showing some dexterity in defining who is and who is not a child—or perhaps more aptly, who is a child for the purposes of this particular law. And what makes this law unique? Perhaps it is that the sale of property stands somewhere between the object-oriented activity of the search for hametz and the conceptual awareness required for the laws of marriage. A child who is not under the care of an adult, and is of sufficient intelligence, can buy and sell objects—that is, she can change the status of objects and the rules that govern them. This is, in essence, like the search for hametz, the heart of which is understanding that this object, which has been governed by a particular set of rules up until now, is now governed by another set of rules. And, as the Rambam himself states, the essence of the search for and destruction of hametz is bitul: nullification, the point at which we could see hametz in our own home and treat it as dust of the earth. This is something a child can do.</p><p>But a more abstract understanding is required for understanding concepts like marital status, death, or the sale of land. These deal not with small objects which can be manipulated by a child, but with human subjects or, in the case of land, human rule conventions on a much larger scale. These require some greater level of intelligence, which Maimonides would define as adult intelligence. To see a woman and understand that she is married and all that that implies; to know with certainty that a person is dead; to buy land or sell land and assume responsibility for it—all of these require a level of abstraction that most children have not achieved.</p><p>Or, put another way, when one achieves that level of abstraction, one is an adult. A child then is one who lives in a world somewhere between the concrete and the abstract. For the purposes of the seder, the Rambam emphasizes the concrete nature, the objective reality, of slavery—point to your servant and say, This is who we were! But for the adult consciousness, such concretization is not necessary. The point of the evening should rather be on the more abstract reality, that of God’s ultimate sovereignty and our service of Him. When one can apprehend that reality, one is an adult. Until then, one is a child.</p><p><strong>The Teaching of Children</strong><br /> When we put it this way, though, how many of us actually achieve the kind of adult consciousness the Rambam seems to be talking about? Certainly we can achieve a kind of abstract awareness of the divine. But we know from our own history that we seem to need tangible, physical objects towards which we can direct our spiritual faculties—this is a normative reading of the story of the Golden Calf and the construction of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle. So perhaps on seder night we can’t simply delve into the theological. Perhaps we adults also need to focus on the objects of the seder, on the symbols. Perhaps we are not as adult as we’d like to think (or as this reading of the Rambam would like to think).</p><p>Rabbi Kalonymos Kalman Shapira, rabbi of the Warsaw Ghetto, provides a wonderful counterpoint to our discussion. In his sermon on the seventh day of Passover in 1941, collected in the book Eish Kodesh (Holy Fire), he commented on the following Talmudic story:</p><p>Children once entered the study house and uttered insights that had not been heard even in the time of Joshua ben Nun: Aleph, Bet means Go and teach knowledge (Aleph Bina). Gimmel, Dalet means Be generous to the poor (G’mol Dalim). Why is the foot of the Gimmel pointed toward the Dalet? To teach that the feet of those who are generous should always be ready to find benficiaries. And why is part of the the Dalet pointed back toward the Gimmel? In order that the poor man may know that he must not hide from his benefactor. And why does the Dalet turn its face from the Gimmel? In order to teach us that the benefactor should give to the poor without ostentation, and the poor man should not be embarrassed. (Shabbat 104a)</p><p>The children’s insights continue through the entire Hebrew alphabet.</p><p>Commenting on the story, Rabbi Shapira says:</p><div>When a child first learns the shapes of the Hebrew letters, there is a fresh revelation in Heaven concerning these letters. And this fresh revelation, occurring in Heaven through the child’s learning of the letters, is drawn downwards, so the child draws down upon himself a fresh revelation as the to the meaning of the shapes of the letters.<p>This is not the case with adults, who are too familiar with the shapes of the letters. When we look at them we are not learning anything new, so we do not have God teaching us anything directly.</p><p>When the Talmud describes “children” who explain the mystical meanings in the shapes of the letters, it is actually referring to holy people who can still approach the text as children. They bring out new revelations even in the shape of the letters, and not just in the meaning of the text. They can still learn like children, and so are able to look at the aleph and bet and gimmel and ask, “Why is the leg of the gimmel stretched out toward the dalet?” (Translation by Debbie Miller from A Night to Remember by Mishael and Noam Zion)</p></div><p>Rabbi Shapira reminds us that childhood is not simply a biological reality—it is also a state of mind. Maimonides would agree. But in the wonderful language of the Eish Kodesh, we hear something very different from the Rambam, or at least the way we have been reading him up to now. In all the talk of the concrete versus the abstract—which corresponds so well with Piaget’s theories of child development—we can all too easily forget how important and real are our bodily perceptions, our ways of knowing through the senses. We can focus so much on the abstract that we minimize or even forget the importance of the physical. This is the world where children excel, and where we adults—particularly we university-educated adults—are too apt to fail.</p><p><strong>Conclusion: A Night of Adults and Children</strong><br /> Passover is both our most child-centered holiday and our most physical one. The seder is the only time we are actually commanded to eat specific foods—the Passover sacrifice, the matzah, the maror, the four cups of wine. As Rabban Gamaliel instructs, actually pointing to these items and making meaning of them is the essence of the seder: that is, ingesting and imbibing the physical stuff, while noting its significance in the world of abstraction.</p><p>On this level, as on so many others, leil seder is a night that is not about children or adults, but rather about both. It is a night for both recognizing those distinctions and blurring them at the same time. It is a night that leads us to the vision of Malachi in the haftarah for Shabbat Hagadol: “Behold I send you the prophet Elijah before the great and awesome day of the Lord. He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers.” (Malachi 4:5-6) On Pesach we tell both stories of freedom—physical liberation from slavery, and spiritual liberation from idolatry. On this night, especially, we are simultaneously adults and children, operating in both the physical and the spiritual worlds.</p>", "cliptype": "text", "clipsource": "www.rabbijosh.com", "featured": 0, "featuredIn": null, "is_public": 1, "is_published": 1, "media": { "image": null, "audio": null, "video": null }, "thumbnail": null, "clip_section": [ { "haggadah_section": "-- Four Children", "slug": "four-children" } ], "likes": 0, "downloads": 246, "tags": [], "themes": [], "language": "0", "is_bookmarked": "0", "is_liked": 0, "meta_tags": { "title": "What is a child? | Passover haggadah by Josh Feigelson", "description": "Our simple platform allows you to create a custom Passover Haggadah, with access to unique content contributed by our community. 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