I often worry that my kids get bored of me telling the same stories and using the same commentaries at seder, but some of them hit differently every year. At our seder we always make a note of talking about the removal of wine from our kiddush cups as we read the 10 plagues, in part because the Ashkenazi and Sephardi customs are ever so slightly different. The Ashkenazi custom is to dip your little finger in the wine, our symbol of joy, and take out a drop for each of the 10 plagues, leaving 10 splodges on our side plates or napkins. My Sephardi husband, however, follows the custom of not just removing a little drop, but pouring wine out into a saucer for each plague. The origins to this custom are well known – we reduce our joy because we shouldn’t celebrate the suffering of our enemies. The plagues may have become play things around the Jewish world, but at seder itself, we remember that we do not celebrate the suffering of others, whatever they might have done to us. This has been something even more important to remember over the last couple of Pesachim, hard as it might be to hear.
As we celebrate 7th day Pesach today, we commemorate the crossing of the Reed Sea, and another of my favourite midrashim comes to mind. The last time I remember quoting it in a sermon was in May of 2011, the shabbat after Osama Bin Laden was assassinated. American congregants were very unhappy with me. The midrash recalls the jubilant song and dancing we have heard leyned so beautifully by Cantor Tamara today as the children of Israel stood on the banks of the sea, looking forwards to their freedom, and looking back as the Egyptian army that would have killed them or returned them to slavery drowned. The Midrash (Tanchuma [Buber], Beshalach 13:3) tells us that the Angels in heaven wanted to join in our song of celebration, and God chastised them, famously telling them: “When my children are put in distress, would you offer me praise?” All of humanity are God’s children, and even when their suffering may seem justified (wouldn’t it be wonderful if we lived in a world where human suffering was never ever justified) it does not mean it is something to be relished or celebrated.
This week I learnt two new things that made me think of these two classic Pesach moments that my kids will now parrot because they’ve heard me emphasise them so often. The first is that today, on 7th day Pesach, we sing a reduced hallel, because of the drowning of the Egyptians. Our joy and songs should be lessened, and we should remember the suffering of these other children of God.
The other thing I have learnt I actually picked up at school! One of the joys of being clergy is that by the time we get to seder night I’ve usually already run 3 or 4 sederim. I had the joy of leading 2 sedarim at Clore Shalom school last week, and I learnt from their Haggadah about a medieval minhag I’ve not seen anywhere else before – I’d love to know if any of you observe it. Apparently it was the custom of a medieval Rabbi to invite guests to pour some of their wine into the cup of Elijah, which would sit on the table empty until nearly the end of the seder. This was to remind the participants that it was their responsibility to bring about the presence of Elijah next year, through their good deeds that collectively would herald the Messiah or the Messianic era. Our family minhag growing up was that we children would look out the front door for Elijah while dad would happily down all the wine in Elijah’s cup so we’d think he’d popped in on his way around all the sedarim. This medieval approach seems a little more meaningful and a brilliant way to engage the whole family. The message is a surprisingly Progressive one and a reminder that messianic ideas have never been monolith in Judaism. It is the perfect reminder that it is everybody’s duty to help bring about a new era, a time when the Lion will lie down with the lamb, swords will be beaten into ploughshares, and the next generation will not have to train for war.
Perhaps these moments of reducing our joy are part of the training we need to actively work towards this new era. The word Shalom, peace, has at it’s root shalem – wholeness. We will only find peace for ourselves and for the world when we find wholeness. Part of that wholeness is the wholeness of humanity. The world needs to acknowledge our humanity as Jews, and we need to acknowledge the humanity of those we might call our enemies too.
May this be the year that our good deeds bring about an age of messianic peace, wholeness and fullness for all humanity. By next Pesach may there be no need for anyone’s joy to be reduced. May this be God’s will, and each of ours. Cain Yehi Ratzon, Venomar. Amen.
