This is Shabbat Hagadol. The Great Sabbath. The Big Sabbath. This is the week in days of yore that the rabbi would give one of two sermons a year. This one to help you prepare for Passover. So, to be clear: Passover begins Weds night at sundown. In this community it lasts for eight days. (In Israel and the Reform Movement it lasts for 7 days which is the Biblical mandate.) Our community seder is back to pre-pandemic levels and we are excited about welcoming you home. It is a pilgrimage festival, when all the Israelites would have a family reunion of sorts in Jerusalem to offer the paschal sacrifice. It was centralized worship. So welcome home.  

Let’s think more about this. In even days of older yore, Passover was about three things. Matzah. Lamb, and bitter herbs. That’s it. No chocolate covered matzah. No charlotte with wine cream. No Passover blintzes. No carefully purchased cakes from the kosher Jewel. It was all about the matzah. 

The poor bread. The bread of affliction. Just wheat flour and water. Carefully watched. The bread that didn’t rise because the Israelites hurried to flee Egypt. No rye. No spelt. No gluten free. And certainly no egg matzah (my favorite) or that with grape juice or apple juice.  

It was all about getting the children to ask a question. “Why are we doing this?” 

And the response is to be: “It is because of what the Lord did for me, when I went forth from Egypt, out of the house of bondage.” (Ex. 13:8).  

Mitzrayim in Hebrew means Egypt, the narrow places. Each of us, even today, has been freed from some narrow place. This makes the telling of the story of Passover, the maggid section of the Haggadah rich with layers of meaning and discussion. Praised are those who linger over the telling, as the Haggadah itself says. The rabbis of Bnei Brak had to stop their seder to go say the morning Sh’ma! Also a story in the Haggadah. And if you know Simon, his ideal seder goes to midnight with lots of discussion. (Don’t worry, it rarely goes that long!) 

Today’s Torah reading is a little obtuse to our modern sensibilities. We no longer have centralized worship in Jerusalem. We may not care at all about animal sacrifice or the priestly class. Some of that seems to be the focus of today’s Torah portion. Unleavened cakes, yes, that’s matzah, make an appearance in today’s portion.  

Yet there are still implications for us today. Priests were born into the priestly class. After the destruction of the Temple, we don’t have a priestly class per se. Rather, the rabbis taught that each home was a mikdash me’at, a small sanctuary, and that we re-enacted the ritual that priests did. Each of us, then is a priest (pr a priestess) in our own home. That is clear during the Friday night table service, with candles, kiddush and motzi. Perhaps it is even clearer during the Passover seder. 

We are also told that Shalom Bayit, peace of the house is an important Jewish value.  

Today’s haftarah has an important verse that relates to how we tell the story to our children.  

“Lo, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before the coming of the awesome, fearful day of the LORD. He shall reconcile parents with children and children with their parents, so that, when I come, I do not strike the whole land with utter destruction.” 

This is a verse that hints at the messianic age, where everything and everyone will be at peace. We hint at this at the seder when we open the door for Elijah and welcome him to every seder. We hint at it when we welcome Elijah to havdalah and most especially to brises and baby namings with a special Elijah’s chair. We pray at those moments that Elijah will turn the hearts of parents to children and children to parents. 

On Wednesday morning, we will explore another aspect of the Haggadah, the Four Sons, or as I prefer, the Four Children. (Spoiler alert, We’re back to the same verse, Tell you child on that day…and I have a new interesting interpretation.)  It is again about how we tell the story. What did G-d do for me, for you, for each of us as we went forth from Egypt, out of the narrow places.  

In our Saturday morning service we have a reading between Ein Keloheinu and the Aleinu. “Rabbi Elazar taught in the name of Rabbi Hanina: Peace is increased by disciples of sages: as it was said: When all of your children are taught of Adonai, great will be the peace of your children. (Isaiah 54:13)” It goes on to explain why there are two mentions of the word children. They explain that the peace of our children will be great if we teach peace and if we have “true understanding.” It adds, “May there be peace within your walls, security within your gates.” (Berachot 64a) 

Often times I hear things like “the younger generation just doesn’t understand.” Or “we don’t have to listen to them. What do they know, anyway? “ Or “They don’t care.” 

But these texts make clear that we have an obligation to tell our children. To teach our children.  

And then to listen and respond to our children. They are our legacy. Like Honi, before us, it is our obligation to plant for our children—and our children’s obligation to grow those gifts. That’s what stewardship is. That’s what Passover is all about. Leaving a legacy for our children—the story of what G-d did for our ancestors, and for each of us as we went forth from Egypt, out of each of our narrow places. 

I think I may have used this quote recently. Some say it is apocryphal, but it is sourced at leat of Goodreads.com as follows: 

“When peace comes we will perhaps in time be able to forgive the Arabs for killing our sons, but it will be harder for us to forgive them for having forced us to kill their sons. Peace will come when the Arabs will love their children more than they hate us.” 
― Golda Meir, A Land of Our Own: An Oral Autobiography 

Earlier this week, there was yet again another school shooting. Three staff people killed. Three children, nine year olds murdered. I don’t have all the answers. It seems clear to me we need to limit access to guns, enact red flag laws and do background checks. It seems clear to me that we need more access to mental health services. There is no one solution. I will continue to advocate for less violence in general and less gun violence in particular. 

In the predictable responses, one stood out because it parallels what Gold Meir said. “I want to live in a country that loves its children more than it loves guns.” 

I want to live in a country where children are not afraid to go to school. I want to live in a country where we listen to our children. Where a dear friend doesn’t tell me there is no place that is safe and she is afraid to go anywhere. She still does.  

My friend Rabbi Menachem Creditor teaches Torah on youtube and Facebook every morning for UJA-New York. Citing his teacher Rabbi Bradly Shavit Artson from the University of Judaism talks about another part of our extended Torah reading this week. In Chapter 8 of Leviticus, we learn about the ordination of priests. It is a messy, bloody mess. It is not how rabbis today are ordained. Part of what was done was to put blood on the right ear, the thumb of the right hand and the big toe of the right foot. Judaism teaches that faith is what our body does. He didn’t say this, but I am reminded of the verse “We shall do and we shall hear.” The doing comes before we even know what we are supposed to do.  

They cite Philo who explained that the fully consecrated, the priests must be pure in words and action and life because words are judged by hearing. (Reminds me of the Girl Scout law!) For Philo, deeds, actions and our lifes’ journey must be how I devote myself. That’s how we show our service. our faith. Ibn Ezra centuries later said that we must attend to what one has been commanded and that the thumb is the origin of activity. I have to listen well. My feet must walk this earth with purpose, until we take responsibility. Pesach is a journey of freedom. And Tzav tells us we must listen well, we must use our bodies for good and we must keep going.  

Our obligation then, from this Torah portion is to listen, to do and to journey.  

Tell the story. Make peace where there is strife. Listen to our children. To do. And to march. To leave this world a better place.  

Last week, our ritual chair, Gene Lindow, taught some Torah that he noticed because of the calligraphy of the Torah scroll itself. Each paragraph began with “and if.” I am grateful for his noticing and his teaching. And if. What if we live in a world of “And if” or as Judy Chicago put it in a poem I know I have used before.: 

And then all that has divided us will merge

And then compassion will be wedded to power

And then softness will come to a world that is harsh and unkind

And then both men and women will be gentle

And then both women and men will be strong

And then no person will be subject to another’s will

And then all will be rich and free and varied

And then the greed of some will give way to the needs of many

And then all will share equally in the Earth’s abundance

And then all will care for the sick and the weak and the old

And then all will nourish the young

And then will cherish life’s creatures

And then all will live in harmony with one another and the Earth

And then everywhere will be called Eden once again.

Go tell the stories, of our ancestors’ liberation and your own. Go listen to your children. Go make peace.