MATZOH: THE BREAD OF REDEMPTION

After weeks of preparation, we finally are ready for the Pesach Seder. We sit like kings and queens around a festive table and begin the recitation of the Haggadah.
At the beginning of Magid, we hold up the matzoh and say in Aramaic, “Ha lachmoh anya d’achalu avasana b’arah d’Mitzrayim, This is the poor man’s bread that we ate in Mitzrayim.” Rashi explains that the slaves were fed matzoh in Mitzrayim because it digests very slowly and thus keeps the person who ate it full far longer than other foods do.

This would seem to indicate that the reason we eat matzoh on the Seder night is because this food recalls our degradation as slaves in Mitzrayim.

However, the Haggadah later refers to matzoh as the food of redemption. “Matzoh zu she’anu ochlin ahl shum mah….” The reason we eat matzoh is because the dough our forefathers took out of Mitzrayim as provisions for the journey did not have time to rise because Hakadosh Boruch Hu redeemed them so quickly. The dough was therefore baked in its flat state as matzoh.

Which is it? Do we eat the matzoh because it recalls the slave fare we were fed in bondage, or does matzoh symbolize the bread we tasted as free men?

Perhaps both reasons are correct. Indeed, it is the dual symbolism of matzoh that seems to lie at the heart of the lessons of Yetzias Mitzrayim.

As we begin the Seder, we identify the matzoh as the bread of affliction we ate as slaves. After recounting the saga of our slavery and redemption, we proclaim that the very same matzoh which a little while ago was lechem oni, has now become lechem geulah.

The same exact matzoh which was a symbol of avdus has been transformed, so to speak, into a symbol of cheirus.

It is noteworthy therefore that this passage of Ha lachma anya is said in the language of the exile and, according to the Ravan and Ravyah, was composed in Bavel. It is not mentioned in the Gemorah and unlike the rest of the Haggadah is not recited in Hebrew, because it is an expression of the exile; it is the way matzoh is perceived before the redemption.

This dual nature of matzoh speaks to all of us. Many times in life, the very things which are a source of torment and tzaar are actually strengthening us and preparing us for greater challenges which lie ahead. Years later, we look back and realize that had we not endured this or that painful experience, we wouldn’t have acquired the toughness and training to excel in what we are doing now with our lives.

Remember how, when we were in school, we loathed the teacher who made us labor over compositions? It was only later on in life that we appreciated that teacher for teaching us how to formulate our thoughts coherently and communicate them effectively. We look back and thank that teacher for forcing us to acquire the skills that helped us to succeed.

The matzoh highlights the concept that the very same experience that brings affliction also brings redemption.

Matzoh’s essence goes even deeper. At the seder, the matzoh we eat is lechem geulah and a cheftzah shel mitzvah - even though all year round the very same item has no special significance. This is what the Haggadah refers to when it says, “Matzoh zu she’anu ochlin ahl shum mah, ahl sheim shelo hispik betzeikom shel avoseinu lehachmitz ad sheniglah aleihem Melech Malchei Hamelochim Hakadosh Boruch Hu uge’alom miyad.” The matzoh we eat on the Seder night may look like any other matzoh, but it is totally different: having been formed in the desert as a result of the haste of the redemption, it is therefore a lechem geulah.

Consequently, it may be that for this reason we are forbidden to eat matzoh on Erev Pesach. The Rambam [Hilchos Chometz U’Matzoh 6: 12] rules that one who eats matzoh on Erev Pesach is given makkos mardos ad sheteizeih nafsho. The Maggid Mishnah explains that this is based on the moshol brought in the Yerushalmi. Perhaps we can understand that one who is standing at the threshold of geulah and partakes of a food which resembles avdus is not worthy of redemption and deserves to be beaten.
Perhaps this is also why we are not allowed to eat anything after the matzoh of afikoman. The Rambam says [ibid 8: 9] that the reason it is forbidden to eat anything after the afikoman is to keep the flavor of matzoh on our palates. And yet, the flavor of the matzoh is a fleeting one. Even tastier food rarely lingers more than a minute or two. But if we understand that the matzoh of the Seder is lechem geulah, then it follows that we should not eat anything after the matzoh so that the flavor and idea of cheirus, freedom, should remain on our tongues and in our hearts. Having partaken of the food that symbolizes the redemption, how can we eat anything afterward?

The Rambam [7: 3] paskens that it is an obligation to make changes during the evening of the Seder so that the children will notice and ask why this night is different than all other nights, thereby giving us an opening to tell them what transpired. As examples of changes in routines, the Rambam suggests that we give children foods like klayos and egozim, - foods they enjoy but would not usually receive in the middle of a festive and formal meal. We also move the table away, we grab the matzoh from each other and do similar things to provoke children to question why this night is different.

I have a question. Why do we have to perform acts specifically to provoke questions? Isn’t every aspect of the Seder night already strange and mystifying enough to prompt our children’s curiosity? We sit at the table wearing kittles, with all sorts of strange items before us, and everything we do is outside our normal routine. We sit differently, eat differently, drink differently, and wash differently. Almost nothing is the same. Shouldn’t that be sufficient to provoke the young and unlearned ones to ask what is going on? If they haven’t caught on that this night is different by the time they are seated at the Seder table for a few minutes, is distributing nuts any more likely to elicit the questions that can lead to an explanation of Pesach?

The Rambam appears to be saying that there is a special din to perform actions at the Seder strictly for the purpose of getting the children to ask questions. We are not yotzeh that chiyuv by doing everything else that we do at the Seder. Drinking wine, washing hands differently, the ka’arah, the matzoh - their purpose is to fulfill other obligations, not to induce questions. There is an obligation to deliberately perform certain actions for the express purpose of stimulating questions from the youngsters.

The question-and-answer framework is central to the Seder and is not limited to children. If there are no children present, the adults must ask each other questions. If a person is conducting the Seder by himself, he directs both the questions and answers to himself. Perhaps that is because only one who is interested enough to ask a question will actually hear the answer.

Chazal instructed us when telling sippur Yetzias Mitzrayim to begin b’gnus and culminate b’shvach, to start with the shame and end with the glory. So many of the things we do at the Seder are performed in a manner to express cheirus. Why, then, does the Haggadah hearken back to the period of g’nus? Once again, we encounter the dual message of bondage and redemption.

Every person is obligated at the Seder to envision himself as if he had been released from bondage in Mitzrayim. “In every generation a person is obligated to see himself as if he personally had exited Mitzrayim,” the Haggadah states. As we begin the Seder, we also recite the chapter that testifies that if our forefathers had not been released, we would still be subservient to Paroh in Mitzrayim.

How do we know that a revolution or other world events leading to the eventual overthrow of Paroh would not have set the Jews free? Paroh and his institutions are but a distant memory today. How, then, can one assume that the Jewish people would still be subservient to Paroh in Mitzrayim?

Perhaps these statements are alluding to how a person should deal with times of challenge.

We all have our ups and down, sad times and happy ones, triumph and success, as well as defeat and despondence. When all we see is doom and gloom, we can easily fall prey to confusion and despair.

The Seder speaks to us, shakes us out of this negative mindset and helps us put everything in perspective.

We begin b’gnus, recounting that we were lowly slaves in Mitzrayim. We think about the tears we have shed over our own problems and humiliation that we have had to endure. Our minds wander as we think about our own Golus Mitzrayim, and the things that afflict us.

And then we are mesayeim b’shvach. The Haggadah continues and recounts how G-d kept his pact with the Avos and redeemed the Jews from the misery of Egypt. The darkness and gloom came to a radical and abrupt halt. The slavery ended, the decades of being enslaved to an evil master were finally over. We were out of Mitzrayim, free and triumphant.

The Haggadah proclaims to every Jew to never give up. The Haggadah reminds every Jew that all that transpires is part of a Divine plan. The plan is not necessarily evident to us as we live through the downside, but often times when the period of torment is over, with the benefit of hindsight, the entire picture becomes clear. The light at the end of the tunnel shines upon what transpired and gives one a more complete picture and understanding of what happened and why.

“Bechol dor vador chayov odom liros es atzmo k’illu hu yotzoh m’Mitzrayim.” Everyone has to reflect upon the departure from Mitzrayim and transpose that epic event to his own life. Every person has to see that just as he was freed from Mitzrayim, he will be released from the crises weighing him down in this golus.

At the Seder, we say Vehi She’amdah which proclaims that in every generation the Jewish people are targeted for death, but with Hashem’s help, they eventually triumph. In every generation, in some part of the world, there is a Paroh who seeks our annihilation, but G-d foils his plan and rescues us.

So too, in our personal lives, there are times when things seem hopelessly tangled and headed for disaster. We feel thwarted at every turn. At times we feel utterly lost.

We often are bothered by questions. Why does it have to be me? Why is this happening? Why don’t my plans succeed? We keep the questions bottled up inside of us, afraid of asking them and perhaps afraid of facing the answers.
But questions can lead us to better understand life as well as our mesorah and the yesodos of emunah. Those are the questions that we are taught to ask on the Seder night.

We are taught that every question has an answer. Although we may not be privileged to attain or comprehend the answer, there is one. That is why we recite the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim in question and answer format, for our own lives parallel the tale of Yetzias Mitzrayim.

Previously we translated lechem oni as being the bread of affliction and poor people. The Gemorah in Pesachim [115b] offers another explanation. It teaches that it is called lechem oni because it is “bread upon which we recite many words [at the Seder],” “lechem she’onin olov devorim harbeh.”


Perhaps in this usage of the word onin, from the root word anah, to answer, there is an allusion to the question-answer theme that runs through the Seder.

Matzoh is the bread upon which we answer many questions as we sit at the Seder. Therefore, it is referred to as lechem oni. And why do we answer many questions in the presence of the matzoh? Because matzoh is lechem geulah, eaten because Hashem rushed us out of Mitzrayim, symbolized by the hastily baked matzohs. Eating this food generates an internal understanding about the connection between hardship and spiritual growth. Lechem oni is the “answering” bread - a powerful spiritual “vitamin” leading us to a higher dimension of awareness.

As we eat the lechem geulah and recognize that this same lechem was just a little while ago lechem avdus, our eyes are opened to some liberating truths: events that appear to sap our strength and lead us to despair can actually open the door to recovery, redemption and success.

No matter how bad things seem, as long as there is life there is hope. Ki bechipazon yotzosah mei’Eretz Mitzrayim. In great haste you left Mitzrayim… In the twinkling of an eye, the bread of affliction becomes bread of resurgence.
May we all be zoche to go mei’avdus lecheirus in our personal lives as well as in our destiny as a klal. Venodeh lecha shir chodosh al geuloseinu v’al pedus nafsheinu.