Dear Friends,
If you are hosting either of this year’s Seders, I’m sure your home, like mine, is currently filled with the smells of chicken soup, brisket, and kugel. The china and good silverware have been pulled out of the upper cabinet where they spend most of the year. The Seder plate and Cup of Elijah have been pulled off the shelf. And the decision regarding which Haggadah to use has been made. (Someone will still complain that they didn’t like it but at least you tried.)
Everything is in place for the most festive, structured meal of the year.
All of that, however, is merely to set the table for the real purpose of the Seder.
Regardless of which Haggadah you use, what special rituals you may add and the family-specific foods you will eat, the real purpose of the Seder is quite simple: Passover is a time to retell our people’s ancient story and discuss/debate its meaning and relevance.
Sadly, as I have frequently touched on in recent years, it seems the art of disagreement and debate, a cornerstone of what it means to be Jewish, has largely been lost in today’s society. And I wonder how we get to the point that we have lost sight of the fact that, as TSTI President Rick Staenberg of blessed memory used to say, “We can disagree without being disagreeable.”
For example, take the story in our Haggadah of the rabbis who studied in Bnai Barak all through the night. That story reminds us that no matter how learned we might be, we are still required to study the story of the Exodus on the evening of Passover. But here’s the thing—if those rabbis were in complete agreement on the meaning and relevance of the story, there would have been no need for such an extended period of learning. Had they been in lockstep their evening would have gone something like this:
“Slavery is bad.” Agreed.
“Pharoah was evil.” Agreed.
“God redeemed us from slavery.” Agreed.
“We need to use our freedom to create goodness and holiness.” Agreed.
“Great, good session. Let’s all get some sleep.”
But that is not what happened. Instead, the rabbis spent the entire night in discussion and disagreement. And in the process they all came to better understand their colleagues’ perspectives and, one hopes, gained deeper insight into one another and the story.
The rabbis of old understood that differing perspectives aren’t a personal affront; they are opportunities to grow. As a story in the Talmud teaches, at the end of a long debate that had become increasingly heated, God finally broke through and stated, “These and these are the words of the living God.”
Such a response, one that comes from no less of an authority than God, shows that two different, non-converging opinions can both reflect righteousness, holiness, and insight. Both can be the words of the living God.
My wish for all of you is that the matzah balls are at the appropriate hardness for your taste, the maror brings tears to your eyes, and your Seder table is filled with lively discussion. And I pray that, if you get to a point when the conversation becomes a bit heated, you will remember “these and these are the words of the living God.”
Chag Pesach Sameach,
Rabbi Daniel Cohen