The Message of the Haggadah

Following his devar Torah on the meaning and the significance of  Shabbat HaGadol, Rabbi Paul Bloom here shares with us a brief vort on the Haggadah, specifically the Ha Lachma Anya passage in which we read, “Now we are here: next year, may we be in the Land of Israel. Now we are slaves; next year, may we be free men.”

The Ya’avetz asks an insightful question: Why the repetition? If we’re praying to be in Eretz Yisrael, aren’t we already praying for freedom, for redemption? His answer is profound. First, we express our hope to be in the Land of Israel, even if the final redemption hasn’t fully arrived yet. We then pray for the complete redemption—both physical and spiritual—by the next Pesach.

This insight teaches a crucial lesson. Many Jews in the Diaspora justify their refusal to make aliyah, saying, “What’s so special about Israel today? I’ll go when Mashiach comes.” But Rav Ya’akov Emden teaches us that there is intrinsic merit in living in the Holy Land, even if things aren’t perfect yet.

There are three levels of exile: absolute exile, when Jews are far from Israel, and absolute redemption, when Mashiach comes. But there is a middle ground—living in Israel today is already a step closer to redemption, even if we’re not yet in the ultimate ge’ulah.

In Rav Emden’s time, traveling to Israel was incredibly difficult. Today, though, we have the opportunity to move to Eretz Yisrael freely. Let’s embrace that opportunity. If we make the effort to be in Israel, Hashem may just fulfill our prayer: “Next year, may we be free men.”

Sing your "Ha Lachma Anya" this year: some jolly tunes here, here and (especially for Moroccans) here.

The Miracle, The Meaning, and the Message

What makes Shabbat HaGadol so "great," and why is it so significant in our tradition? Hanassi member Rabbi Paul Bloom explores these questions, from the miracle that occurred on this day to the deep spiritual messages it holds.

1. The Miracle of Shabbat HaGadol

At its core, the miracle of Shabbat HaGadol is a powerful act of defiance. On 10 Nissan, just days before the Exodus, the Jewish people did something extraordinary. They took lambs—animals sacred to the Egyptians—and set them aside for the Korban Pesach, the Passover offering. In essence, they were rejecting Egyptian idolatry publicly. It’s like burning a national flag today. The Egyptians, surely expecting retaliation, were powerless to stop it. Their inaction was in itself a miracle—a divine protection for the Jewish people, known as a nes shel haganah, a miracle of defense.

But there’s more. Beyond this simple miracle, Shabbat HaGadol carries profound spiritual meaning. I’d like to share three interpretations that highlight its depth.

The Fulfillment of Avraham’s Vision

The first perspective comes from the Sfat Emet, who connects Shabbat HaGadol with the vision of our forefather, Avraham. When Hashem promised Avraham, “I will make you into a great nation” (Bereishit 12:2), Avraham’s vision wasn’t of a nation defined by military might or economic power. No: Avraham longed for a nation that was great in spirit—a people devoted to faith, kindness, and divine service.

It was on this Shabbat, as the Jewish people prepared for the Exodus and performed the first mitzvah together—the Korban Pesach—that we became that nation. This was the beginning of the the greatness, that Avraham had envisioned. We became a nation of faith, standing up to Egypt and idolatry, and embracing our role as God’s chosen people.

A New Dimension of Shabbat

The second insight, also from the Sfat Emet, teaches us that Shabbat HaGadol introduces a new layer to the meaning of Shabbat itself. Until this moment, Shabbat was mainly a commemoration of Creation—“Zecher LeMa’aseh Bereishit.” But on this Shabbat, we begin to also remember the Exodus—“Zecher LiYetziat Mitzrayim.”

This duality is reflected in our Kiddush prayers. In Shemot (Exodus) 20:8, we recite the commandment to observe Shabbat because Hashem created the world in six days. But in Devarim (Deuteronomy) 5:15, we are reminded to keep Shabbat because we were once slaves in Egypt and Hashem freed us.

Shabbat, then, becomes more than just a remembrance of creation. It becomes a symbol of our freedom. Each Shabbat is a resistance to the world’s demands and a reminder that we are no longer slaves. I once had a student, a successful lawyer, who couldn’t take a day off for Purim. “I can’t,” he said, “I have work.” I looked at him and asked, “Are you an eved Kena’ani? A slave?” A week later, he showed up to my class and said, “You were right. I am not a slave.”

This is the power of Shabbat—it reminds us of our freedom and our ability to step away from the grind of daily life to reconnect with Hashem.

 The Source of All Blessing

The third perspective comes from Rav Tzadok HaKohen, who teaches that Shabbat is the source of all blessing. What does this mean? Shabbat functions in two directions. First, it gathers all the holiness from the past week. Every mitzvah, every act of kindness, every moment of Torah learning from the days before accumulates within us, feeding our extra Shabbat soul—the neshamah yeteirah. Secondly, Shabbat sets the spiritual foundation for the coming week. Any success we will have in Torah learning or mitzvot during the upcoming week draws its strength from the Shabbat before it.

This idea helps us understand various customs in Jewish life. For example, the Shalom Zachar before a Brit Milah, or the Aufruf before a wedding, because the spiritual sanctity of those events already exists in potential form within the Shabbat before them. Similarly, Rav Tzadok teaches that the spiritual energy for the redemption of Pesach began on Shabbat HaGadol. It was here that the light of the Exodus first shone.

Conclusion: The Power of Shabbat HaGadol

So, why is Shabbat HaGadol so great? It is great for three main reasons:

1. It marks the birth of our spiritual nation, fulfilling Avraham’s vision of a nation devoted to Hashem.
   
   
2. It adds a new layer of meaning to Shabbat, making it not just about creation but about our freedom as a people.
   
   
3. It is the source of redemption, setting the stage for the spiritual and physical redemption of Pesach and beyond.

Each Shabbat, in a way, is a taste of redemption. As Chazal teach us, “In Nissan, we were redeemed, and in Nissan, we will be redeemed again.” May we merit to experience the ultimate redemption, speedily in our days.

Chad Gadya! What's the story behind the lyrics?

Does the singing of "Chad Gadyo" feature among your earliest and most powerful childhood Pesach memories? That beloved song -- now rebranded "Chad Gadya" -- remains eternally young even we we grow old. Here's Max Stern's arrangement of Chad Gadya for unaccompanied female voices. It's a real treat -- and it sounds much like the tune this blogger learned when he was a small child.  If you want to know more about the lyrics, read on. The information below is taken from Wikipedia. 

Chad Gadya (Aramaic: חַד גַדְיָא, "one little goat", or "one kid"; Hebrew: "גדי אחד,  gedi echad") is a playful cumulative song in Aramaic and Hebrew. It brings to an end the Passover Seder. Curiously this song first appeared in print in a Haggadah compiled in Prague in 1590, which makes it the most recent inclusion in the traditional Passover seder liturgy.

As with any work of verse, Chad Gadya is open to interpretation. According to some modern Jewish commentators, what appears to be a light-hearted song is deeply symbolic. One interpretation is that Chad Gadya refers to the different nations that have conquered the Land of Israel:

·       The kid symbolizes the Jewish people;

·       the cat, Assyria;

·       he dog, Babylon;

·       the stick, Persia;

·       the fire, Macedonia;

·       the water, Roman Empire;

·       the ox, the Saracens;

·       the slaughterer, the Crusaders;

·       the angel of death, the Ottomans.

At the end, God returns to send the Jews back to Israel. The recurring refrain of 'two zuzim' is a reference to the two stone tablets given to Moses on Mount Sinai (or to Moses and Aaron themselves). This interpretation, first widely disseminated in a pamphlet published in 1731 in Leipzig by Philip Nicodemus Lebrecht, has become quite popular, with many variations of which oppressor is represented by which character in the song.

Though commonly interpreted as an historical allegory of the Jewish people, the song may also represent the journey to self-development. The price of two zuzim, mentioned in every stanza, is (according to Targum Yonatan to I Shmuel 9:8) equal to the machtzit hashekel tax upon every adult Israelite male (in Shemot 30:13); making the price of two zuzim the price of a Jewish soul. 

Also, we have these explanations:

Rabbi Yaakov Emden: a list of the pitfalls and perils facing the soul during one's life.

Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschuetz: a highly abbreviated history of Israel from the Covenant of the Two Pieces recorded in Bereshit 15 (the two zuzim), to slavery in Egypt (the cat), the staff of Moses (the stick) and ending with the Roman conqueror Titus (the Angel of Death).

Rabbi Moshe Sofer (the Chatam Sofer): a description of the Passover ritual in the Temple of Jerusalem. There the goat is purchased for the Paschal sacrifice. The cat is an allusion to the Talmudic notion that dreaming of a cat is a premonition of singing such as occurs in the seder. Likewise, dogs bark after midnight which is the time limit for the seder. The Kohen who led the cleaning of the altar on Passover morning would use water to wash his hands; many people at the Temple that day would bring oxen as sacrifices, and the Angel of Death is the Roman Empire that destroyed the Second Temple.

The Vilna Gaon: the kid is the birthright that passed from Avraham to Yitzchak; the father is Yaakov; the two zumin is the meal Yaakov paid Eisav for his birthright; the cat is the envy of Yaakov’s sons toward Yosef; the dog is Egypt where Yosef and his clan were enslaved; the stick is the staff of Moshe; the fire the thirst for idolatry; the water the sages who eradicated idolatry; the ox is Rome; the shochet is the Messiah; the Angel of Death represents the death of Moshiach; the Holy One is God, who arrives with Moshiach.

Being in control: Vayikra 5785

The book of Vayikra, which we begin to read this Shabbat, contains very little narrative. This book is also called Torat Kohanim since it features the laws of the Mishkan service, the duties of the Kohanim, the laws of ritual purity, and the detailed descriptions of the sacrifices offered in the Mishkan. 

To many people these laws are anachronistic, if not completely unintelligible in the context of our present world. Yet every word of the Torah has eternal value for all at any given moment in human time. I think that it is obvious that the Torah here shows us that there is a world that requires sacrifices and is somehow influenced by offering those sacrifices. It is also a world where ritual purity matters greatly and profoundly influences human society. In this alternative world that we sense and sometimes even glimpse, the chumash of Vayikra reigns supreme. In that basically unseen world, every law of Vayikra is vitally relevant. 

The chumash of Vayikra comes to remind us of our limitations, both mental and spiritual, and that we must be able to accept that we cannot always fathom God’s motives in telling us how to behave in a certain fashion. This book is not meant to confuse and unnerve us. Rather, it is meant to humble us. 

Human beings always wish to be in control. But life blindsides at unexpected moments and in unpredictable ways. Life’s experiences only reveal to us how powerless and irrational we really are. There is very little that we can actually control. 

Human beings long for solutions and answers that emanate from the occult—from another world of being, the existence of which we are only dimly aware. So here we have the rub. The Torah is unalterably opposed to magic, superstitions, and appeals to spirits. So how do we square that strict approach with the presence of laws in Vayikra that clearly on the existence of another, unseen world rely for their relevance and strength of purpose? 

The answer lies in our understanding that all the words of the Torah are to be taken at face value and that the ultimate reason for obedience to them derives from the fact that we are commanded to do so. Many times the correct answer to the ubiquitous question of “Why?” is “Because!” Parents frequently apply this technique while attempting to raise their children in a proper fashion. The Lord for His own reasons, so to speak, employs this same method when dealing with the Jewish people who had already previously pledged allegiance to the Torah and its values. The chumash Vayikra is a prime example of this axiom of Jewish life. 

Shabat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein 

Korbanot -- the meaning and the mystery

In this thought-provoking piece, Rabbi Paul Bloom throws some highly relevant light on the concept and practice of ritual sacrifices in the Mishkan and Beit HaMikdash.

A Small Reminder

Our Sages of blessed memory refer to the Book of Vayikra as Torat Kohanim ("The Law of the Priests"), as it primarily deals with the laws of sacrifices, which were performed by the kohanim. The very first word of Parashat Vayikra sets the tone for the entire book:

“ויקרא אל־משה וידבר ה אליו מאהל מועד לאמר”
 

"And He called to Moshe, and Hashem spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying" (Vayikra 1:1).

A well-known peculiarity of this verse is the small alef (א) in the word Vayikra (ויקרא). Many commentators understand this as a symbol of Moshe's humility—despite his unparalleled sanctity and closeness to Hashem, he sought to minimize his own importance. However, the Zohar offers a radically different perspective. According to the Tosafot HaZohar (quoted in Itturei Torah, vol. 3, p. 7), the small alef signifies imperfection. Why? Because this Divine calling took place in the Mishkan (Tabernacle), which was situated outside the Land of Israel. True perfection, the Zohar teaches, can only be found in Eretz Yisrael.

This idea is striking. Was there ever a time in history when the Jewish people experienced a more intimate relationship with Hashem than during their forty years in the wilderness? They were enveloped by Heavenly clouds, sustained by manna, and led by Moshe Rabbeinu himself. Most significantly, they had a portable Beit HaMikdash, the Mishkan, where they could offer sacrifices and connect directly with God. Yet, despite these miracles, something was missing. The Jewish people were in the wrong environment. Only in Eretz Yisrael—where they would work the land, wage wars, and engage in the struggles of physical existence—could their avodat Hashem reach its full potential.

This lesson resonates powerfully today. Many Jews feel deeply fulfilled in their spiritual lives outside of Eretz Yisrael. Baruch Hashem, vibrant communities thrive in the Diaspora, boasting yeshivot, Torah institutions, and extraordinary chesed organizations. Yet, the Zohar reminds us that even the most elevated existence in Chutz LaAretz is inherently lacking. If the generation of the desert, who lived under direct Divine protection, still fell short because they were outside of Eretz Yisrael, how much more so must we recognize the importance of returning to our true spiritual home.

Thus, the small alef at the beginning of Vayikra serves as a subtle but powerful reminder: our ultimate goal is to serve Hashem in utter perfection—in His Chosen Land.

Korbanot: A Bridge Between Heaven and Earth

With this understanding of Vayikra’s opening words, we can better appreciate the role of korbanot. The Torah immediately introduces us to this world:

"Adam ki yakriv mikem korban laHashem" (Vayikra 1:2)

"When a man among you brings an offering to Hashem."

From this point forward, the Torah details the various offerings, their procedures, and their spiritual significance.

On one level, korbanot are deeply familiar to us. From the days of Kayin and Hevel to Avraham's offering of Yitzchak, from the korban Pesach in Egypt to the sacrifices in the Mishkan, korbanot played a central role in Jewish worship. Yet, on another level, they remain an enigma. The physical actions—slaughtering an animal, sprinkling its blood, burning its flesh—seem foreign to our modern spiritual sensibilities. How did this serve as an uplifting experience? This is a question for Eliyahu HaNavi and Mashiach to explain when the time comes. For now, we continue to study Torah, whose messages are eternal. Each generation uncovers new depths of understanding, and korbanot are no exception.

The Universal Message of "Adam"

One striking feature in the opening verses is the use of the word "Adam" rather than the more common "Ish" (man). Why "Adam"? This word holds profound meaning. First, it is a reference not only to an individual but to all of humanity, recalling Adam HaRishon. Additionally, "Adam" is encoded with deeper significance:

●      Aleph represents Hashem, the infinite One.

●      Dam means blood, the physical life force.

Man is thus a fusion of the divine and the earthly.

The Arizal further explains that "Adam" is an acronym for three fundamental aspects of Avodat Hashem:

●      Aleph – Emunah (Faith): Strengthening one’s belief in Hashem.

●      Daled – Dibur (Speech): Using speech properly in Torah, tefillah, and relationships.

●      Mem – Ma’aseh (Action): Performing mitzvot and righteous deeds.

The use of "Adam" also teaches another powerful lesson: korbanot were not exclusively for Jews. The Gemara (Menachot 73b) states that a God-fearing non-Jew could bring voluntary sacrifices. The Beit HaMikdash was called "Beit Tefillah le’chol ha’amim", a house of prayer for all nations (Yeshayahu 56:7). Shlomo HaMelech, in his inaugural speech for the Beit HaMikdash, acknowledged that non-Jews who sought to pray and offer korbanot were welcome.bThis universal invitation highlights the korbanot as a bridge between humanity and Hashem, emphasizing that all people can strive for holiness.

The Tamid Offering: A Lesson in Constancy

Among all the korbanot, the Korban Tamid stands out. Each day, without exception, began with the morning Tamid and ended with the afternoon Tamid. This concept of constancy—temidut—has deep significance. Rabbi Moshe Isserles (the Rema), in his commentary on the Shulchan Aruch, emphasizes two core themes:

1. Emunah – The opening words of the Shulchan Aruch cite "Shiviti Hashem lenegdi tamid", that Hashem should always be before us.
   
   
2. Simcha – The final words quote "Tov lev mishteh tamid", that one with a good heart is always celebrating.

These two constants—faith and joy—parallel the two Tamid offerings. No matter what challenges arise, a Jew’s foundation remains rooted in emunah in Hashem and simcha in the privilege of serving Him. Even though we do not bring korbanot today, these two principles guide our daily avodah. Our lives must be anchored in faith, and our service of Hashem must be infused with joy.

As we enter the month of Nissan, the month of redemption, may we merit to see the rebuilding of the Beit HaMikdash and the restoration of the korbanot. Until then, we continue to draw inspiration from their eternal lessons, deepening our faith and joy in serving Hashem—in Eretz Yisrael, our true spiritual home.

The Healing Haggadah: a new approach to the Pesach seder service

Last month Beit Knesset Hanassi hosted the launch of The Healing Haggadah: Passing Over Trauma, by Rabbi Michael Friedman. The author, a seventh-generation rabbi, licensed professional counselor, and educator, is eminently qualified to write on this delicate and sensitive topic, being the co-founder and Wellness Rabbi of Nafshi, a non-profit organization that blends Torah-based principles with holistic psychological and emotional wellness. Through Nafshi, he helps individuals to achieve spiritual and emotional balance using Jewish wisdom and modern psychology.

This is what Mosaica, the publisher, has to say about the book:

The Healing Haggadah: Passing Over Trauma offers a unique, experiential, and therapeutic approach to the Pesach Seder, guiding individuals and communities in processing collective and personal trauma. Through the lens of the Exodus story, Rabbi Michael Friedman, M.Ed., LPC, weaves psychological insights with Torah wisdom, making the themes of yetzias Mitzrayim deeply personal and transformative.

Rooted in traditional Torah commentary and modern psychology, this Haggadah empowers readers to identify their inner struggles, confront their personal Mitzrayim, and find redemption through the timeless lessons of the Seder night.

As one might expect from a book that is relatively slender and comfortably affordable, it is not a learned heavyweight tome addressed to scholars. Nor is it a list of superficial suggestions and generalised prescriptions for brushing off trauma and getting on with life as if trauma has had no effect. Rather, its function is to alert and sensitise readers to the way the text of the Haggadah alludes to the collective trauma of the Jewish people and offers paths by which our long-traumatised people can develop a resilience and a positive attitude that transforms us from victims to lead actors in the unscripted drama that is the history of the Jewish people.

Rabbi Friedman has kindly donated a copy of The Healing Haggadah to Beit Knesset Hanassi. You can find it downstairs in the library of our Beit Midrash.

The Wicked Son -- not who you think he is!

No, these two illustrations are not authoritative portraits of the Wicked Son who features so powerfully in our Haggadah shel Pesach! They are artificial and imaginative conjectures composed by the current must-use online tool, AI (artificial intelligence). There is nothing artificial however about the concept of the child who has veered "off the derech" and who appears to be at odds with his family, his faith and Jewish society in general.

Rabbi Kenigsberg tackled this sensitive topic over a selection of fresh and tasty bagels in this week's Munch & Learn discussion group. Let him tell you in his own words about how he invited us to rethink our traditional assumptions about the wicked son:

In our pre-Pesach "Munch & Learn" session, we challenged the traditional image of the rasha, the so-called "wicked son" of the Haggadah. Far from being a villain or a scoffer, he represents a deeper struggle—one that’s uniquely tied to life in Eretz Yisrael.

In exile, the rasha engaged with mitzvot as part of a shared Jewish identity. They were his connection to a national story. But in Israel, where national identity is a lived, civic reality, he views mitzvot as outdated folklore, disconnected from the nation-building he values.

Our rasha is neither small-minded nor rebellious. Far from it. He's actually an idealist. His vision for the Jewish people is grand, but he struggles to see how Torah and mitzvot remain the backbone of Jewish nationhood, even in our sovereign state.

The Haggadah responds with a powerful verse: "Ba'avur zeh asah Hashem li"—“It is because of this [i.e. the Torah and mitzvot] that God took me out of Egypt.” This line, which appears four times in the Haggadah, reminds us that freedom without purpose is empty. The avodah, the physical performance of mitzvot, transforms us from slaves of Pharaoh to servants of God—and that, paradoxically, is the truest form of liberation.