Celebrating the Maror

For many people the Seder comprises a range of emotions as we not only commemorate the Yitzias Mitzrayim, but also the Shibud that preceded it. Through the words of the Haggadah we travel the course of Jewish history from the very beginning until Mattan Torah, with the ups and downs that those years encompassed. But in truth the Seder is not only about ancient occurrences: for many people Pesach, more than any Yom Tov, is about family. We conduct the Seder the way our fathers and grandfather did, and through those Minhagim we remember those who may not be sitting at the table any longer, brining forth a further spate of bittersweet memories.

There is one paragraph in the Haggadah that is a personal favorite of mine, as it really does seem to embody the story of our Nation in a very succinct manner: V’Hi Sheamda. In this paragraph we say “Shebchol Dor V’dor Omdim Aleinu L’chaloseinu…” We are reminded that vitriol and hatred have followed us from Eretz Yisroel to Babylon and Persia, from Spain and Portugal to the Arab lands of the Middle East and from North Africa to Eastern Europe and Germany—in two thousand years we have yet to find a safe haven. At every turn there waits an individual, a group or even an entire populous that is bent on our spiritual and physical destruction.

But we end with a proud declaration: “V’Hakadosh Baruch Hu Matzeleinu Miyadam.” While many of our would-be destroyers are long gone, we are still here. While there is no hint of a Roman empire, a Caliphite or the Nazi Regime, Klal Yisroel grows and flourishes.

V’Hi Sheamda is the story of Klal Yisroel, and what better time to remind ourselves of our miraculous existence—the very definition of Netzach Yisrael Lo Yishaker—than Seder Night?

This year, however, I saw a question that led me to a new understanding of this paragraph, and many of our Minhagim during the Seder. I think that this outlook can help us all appreciate an important message of the Haggadah and Pesach itself.

Many sing the paragraph of V’Hi Sheamda together in a joyous tune and the general Minhag is to raise our Kos as we say it—a gesture which itself symbolizes joy. R’ Yechiel Meir Tzuker why it is that we raise the Kos and sing as we say the first words of the paragraph: “Shebchol Dor V’dor Omdim Aleinu L’chaloseinu”? These words themselves are not joyous. If we think about it, though none of the diabolical schemes have come to fruition in totality, many have perished at the hands of the Omdim Aleinu L’chaloseinu. Certainly the final words of the paragraph, wherein we celebrate the salvation that we have repeatedly found through the hands of Hashem are fit to be sung, but why is the initial sentence said in such a celebratory manner—with our wine glasses and voices raised?

I think this is a most basic question, perhaps even glaringly obvious, but I had not considered it before. When looking for an answer, I came across a thought related to a part of the Seder that is sometimes overlooked in the rush to finish the Mitzvos Halayla: Koreich.

After eating the initial Shiruim of Matzah and Marror, we take yet another Shiur of each and put them together in a sort of sandwich, and declare that we are eating this “Zecher L’Mikdash K’Hillel.” While we all partake in this Minhag, and eat the extra Kezeisim in the manner of Hillel, we may not pause to consider the symbolism that this sandwich represents.

As a matter fact, the very Kiyum of this Minhag require explanation. There is a Machlokes between Hillel and the Chachamim with regard to the Passuk: “Al Matzos U’Merorim Yochluhu.” The Torah tells us to eat the Korbon Pesach with Matzah and Maror, but does it mean to eat them all at once or just that when we eat the Korbon Pesach, at the Seder, there is a Chiyuv to eat Matzah and Maror as well. The Chachim hold that the latter understanding of this Passuk is correct—there is no requirement to eat the three items together. Hillel, however, understands that the word “Al” is to be taken literally, and that the Matzah and Marror are to be eaten together at once with the Pesach.

Our practice generally follows the rule that “Yachid V’Rabim, Halacha K’Rabim,” and in this case Hillel is the Yachid. For that reason the Ikkur Mitzvah of Achilas Matzah and Marror are separate, in keeping with the Shita of the Rabanan. But the practice of Hillel, the minority opinion, should therefore be left out. Why then has this Minhag, a Da’as Yachid, become one of the fifteen parts of the Seder? Why in this case is the fact that Hillel is the Yachid ignored in favore of carrying on his definition of Al Matzos U’Merorim Yochluhu?

R’ Yehudah Tzadka explains that the Machlokes between Hillel and the Chachamim is not in the abstract—it does not merely represent a difference of opinion with regard to the meaning of the word “Al.”

Chazal tell us that Shibud Mitzrayim was supposed to be four hundred years but was shortened to two hundred and ten. The reason for this is not clear however: some say that the population grew to fast and therefore the Geulah had to come earlier. Some, however, explain that the Shibud was so difficult, so harsh, that there were four hundred years of hardship, squeezed into just two hundred and ten.

R’ Tzadka explains that this is the Machlokes between the Chachamim and Hillel. The Chachamim hold that the Shibud was made shorter because of the population growth; the Matzah—which represents Geulah—and the Maror—the symbol of the Shibud—therefore have no connection. Hillel however, holds that the Marror and the Matzah are inextricably tied together: the bitterness of the Shibud was itself the impetus for the early Geulah. The Pesach, the Matzah and the Maror must therefore all be eaten together to remind us that the very cruelty which we rued and which made our lives in Mitzrayim seem so bleak, was in every way tied to the hastening of the eventual Geulah. It is for this reason that we have the Minhag to fulfill the Shita of Hillel even though he is the Da’ad Yachid in this case. This message—that the bitterness of the Shibud is the reason that the Geulah comes quicker—is a vital for each any every one of us, as it has ramifications in our lives, both on a personal and national level. So important is this message that we ignore the general rule of Halacha K’Rabim and observe the practice of Hillel with the Minhag of Koreich.

I think that this is a theme can be seen in a few places throughout the Seder.

After Bentching, we pour an extra cup of wine and open the door to welcome Eliyahu. This too is a practice that reaches beyond simple understanding. Does Eliyahu really come to each house? Does he drink from the wine? How are we to grasp this Minhag?

R’ Elimelech Biderman, in his Haggadah, brings a number of stories in which Gedolei Yisroel were asked, by those present at their Seder, whether they were Zoche to see Eliyahu during Shfoch Chamascha. In each case the Gadol responded with similar thoughts, which can perhaps be best summed up by the words of the R’ Yissachar Dov of Belz: “There are those who can see him, and those who cannot but have Emunah that he has appeared, but the level of the Mamanim is greater than that of those who acutally see him.”

Perhaps this too is tied to the message of Koreich.

Eliyahu, the eventual Mevaser of Bias Hamashiach, represents the Geulah. At the Seder we remind ourselves that although there are times when we cannot see the Geulah—the Galus is too dark, the Marror is too strong—we know B’Emunah Sheleimah that it is on its way, and that our suffering only brings it closer. We open the door and welcome Eliyahu; we cannot see him, but we know he is there.

The last part of the Seder is Nirtza—we sing a selection of songs, most of which seem like children’s songs, but each of which is actually filled with Sisrei Torah and deep meaning. Chad Gadya, for example, is itself a song about the coming Geulah that is based on Kabalah. (R’ Shimshon Pinkus penned an explanation of Chad Gadya which, in a departure from the rest of his works, is beyond comprehension to the average person)

One of the songs, Echad Mi Yodeah, counts from one to thirteen, associating something related to Yiddishkeit with each number: Echad Elokeinu, Shnei Luchos Habris and so on. There is one number, however, that does not seem tied to a specifically Jewish idea: “Tisha Yarchei Leidah: Nine months of pregnancy.” Why is it that whereas each of the numbers is tied to something clearly spiritual—Shisha Sidrei Mishna, for example—the number nine is associated with something that applies to all: the period of human gestation?

There are a variety of answers to this question, but I saw a new one this year, which is based on a Gemarah in Sanhedrin. Chazal there tell us that the Yemos Hamoshiach will be proceeded by nine very difficult and tumultuous months. Perhaps then the Tisha Yarchei Leidah refer not to the nine months of general pregnancy, but to the nine months that will lead to our rebirth—our emergence as universally recognized Am Hanivchar.

But this raises a question: why sing about those months? The Gemarah brings Amoraim that said they hope not to witness the coming of Moshiach because the time leading up to it will be so difficult. Wy include a reference to such scary times in a song of Geulah?

This too would fit well with the message of Koreich.

The nine months leading up to Bias HaMoshiach will indeed be very difficult, but those difficult months are needed to bring the Geulah. Those months are the Maror that is needed so that we may eat the Matzah. At the Seder we remind ourselves of the fact, singing with joy about these Tisha Yarchei Leidah, because on this night we recognize that the Maror brings the Matzah closer—on Pesach we can understand these terribly difficult nine months are actually something celebrate. Perhaps with this message we can better understand the paragraph of V’Hi Sheamda, and the manner in which we say it. Yes, it is true that throughout our history many have suffered as our enemies sought to fulfill their Tafkid of Omdim Aleinu L’chaloseinu. But, as we saw in Mitzrayim, this suffering may have in fact helped bring about the Matzeleinu Miyadam, and even hastened these Geulos.

As we say the words of V’hi Sheamda, we must be mindful of the fact that not only the last sentence is celebratory. As we sit at a Seder we are Mikyem the Mitzvah of “Chayiv Adam Liros Es Atzmo Kilu Hu Yatza M’Mitzrayim.” We find ourselves standing on the other side, so to speak, and we have the opportunity to look back and see that all the suffering, all the Marror, was really a stepping stone to the Shira Chadasha. We can indee raise our Kosos and sing with clear voices, confidant in the knowledge that V’Hi Sheamda Lavoseinu V’lanu: the Maror and the Matzah were tied together in Mitzrayim and they are in our lives as well.

Many Seforim talk about Pesach as the Yom Tov of Emunah: it is on this Yom Tov that we can build the faith necessary to carry us to Kabalas HaTorah and the rest of the year. This message, that the Maror and the Matzah are tied together, can be a key component of this Emunah. On Pesach we are gifted wit the clarity to realize that there is no before and after—we eat the Maror after the Matzah, even though the Shibud came before the Geulah, rather each is a necessary part of the Seder HaOlam. If we can take this message with us from the Seder into our lives, we will be better prepared to face the Nisyonos we are invariably given. We will be able to understand that our hardships—our personal and communal Marror—serve only to bring the Geulah closer.

With this in mind may we all be Zoche to withstand the Tisha Yarchei Leidah, to see Eliyahu B’Poel, and to say the Shira Chadasha as we all celebrate the final chapter of the V’Hi Sheamda story, the ultimate V’Hakadosh Baruch Hu Matzeleinu Miyadam, with the coming of Moshiach Tzidkenu.