It’s a Match

Of all the parts of the Haggadah, there is perhaps one paragraph that is the most challenging, though not from the perspective of its text, but because of the imperative it creates.

Toward the end of “Magid” we say: “B’Chol Dor V’Dor, Chayav Adam Liros Es Atzmo K’Ilu Hu Yotzei MiMitzrayim: In each and every generation, a person must view himself as though he left Mitzrayim.” In some ways, this sentence sums up the main Avodah of Leil Seder: we have to experience Chierus. This is not just a mindest--there is much symbolism throughout the night that is related to this feeling of Cheirus. We lean while eating and dinking, much the way a kind might, and we are forbidden from breaking any bones in the Korban Pesach because this is not the Derech Malachim. Indeed this is a night that is dedicated to the impression that we are free men.

A closer look at the words, however, seems to indicate that there is more meaning.

Firstly, there is a difference between the text of our Haggadah, and that of the Rambam. In Hilchos Chametz U’Matzah, the Ramabam writes: “B’Chol Dor Vador Chayav Adam L’Haros Es Atzmo Kilu Hu B’Atzmo Yotzei Attah M’Shibud Mitzrayim.” We must understand the difference in the text: why is the version of this Halacha brought by the Rambam so different than the way the Ba’al Haggadah wrote it?

We must also understand the intentions of this paragraph—what are we being instructed to do?

If the Ba’al Haggadah meant that we have to act as free men might, than the perhaps he could have written: “Chayav Adam Liros Es Atzmo K’Ben Chorin.” By mentioning Yetzias Mitzrayim, it appears that there is a focus not just on our status as Bnei Chorin—but also on how we got there.

Now clearly the two are connected: we could not enjoy freedom had we not left Mitzrayim, but this sentiment seems to have been mentioned earlier in the Haggadah. In “Avadim Hayinu” we say: “Ilu Lo Hotzi Hakadosh Baruch Hu Es Avoseinu Harei Anu U’Baneinu U’Bnei Baneinu Mishubadim Hayinu L’Phaoroh B’Mitzrayim.”

The historical reality—that we are free because our forefathers left Mitzrayim—has already been discussed—the paragraph of B’Chol Dor VaDor is seemingly telling us something different. This is not a merely technical point—that we must realize that but for the Geulah we would still be Avadim—it is a directive: the Ba’al Hagadah is telling us how we must act.

Perhaps we can understand this portion of the Haggadah, and the imperative created by the words “Chayav Adam”, based on a thought from R’ Shimshon Pincus in which he explains the way a nation is created.

In most cases, the formation of a nation is purely geographical—those living in a specific area become part of the state. America, for example, is a nation that was founded as a melting pot—people from different backgrounds who had in common only the fact that they lived in the same location. Therefore, no matter his heritage or lineage, one can become an American based only on where he lives.

In fact, explains R’ Shimshon, there are some physical attributes that are characteristic of certain nationalities—and if a family lives in that locale long enough, these can be developed by subsequent generations. This is true of certain ideals and temperaments—those that are indigenous to specific locations can be passed to people who live in those areas regardless of heritage. This is because the makeup of the nation is solely based on where the people are physically located.

Not so when it comes to the Am Hanivchar.

R’ Shimshon explains that when Hakadosh Baruch Hu sought to create the Am Hanivchar, the definition of a “Yehudi” already existed—there are certain Techunos and traits that are characteristic of a Jew, and these had already been established. Hashem therefore chose those who were best suited to this designation, who had the best chance of becoming Yehudim—the Bnei Avraham—and sent them to Mitzrayim to undergo a purifying process.

Just as a hot flame enables a craftsman to remove the impurities of metal, yielding a precious substance, the Shibud Mitzrayim, known as the Kur Habarzel, allowed Hakadosh Baruch Hu to identify those who individuals who possessed the qualities of a Yehudi, who were truly worthy of being members of the Am Hanivchar, and they were taken from Mitzrayim and given the Torah at Har Sinai.

In a way, R’ Shimshon explains, the process of Shibud Mitzrayim and the Geulah were akin to a prolonged courtship between Klal Yisroel and Hakadosh Baruch Hu. At the end of the process Hashem knew with whom He would like to have a relationship, and they were brought out of Mitzrayim and experienced the Chuppah between Klal Yisroel and Hashem at Kabbalas HaTorah.

With this in mind, perhaps we can explain the words of the Haggadah in the following way. At the time of Yetzias Mitzrayim there were those who were Zoche to leave, and those who unfortunately were not. According to some Meforshim as little as one-fiftieth of Klal Yisroel left Mitzrayim—the remainder perished. As R’ Shimshon explained, those who were selected to leave, to experience the Geulah, and subsequently Mattan Torah, were those with whom Hashem desired to have a Kesher.

Perhaps that is what the Ba’al Hagaddah is telling us: we must think of ourselves as being from the Yotzei Mitzrayim—“Chayav Adam Liros Es Atzmo K’Ilu Hu Yotzei MiMitzrayim”. We must believe that if Hashem were making the choice once again, selecting those who would be Zoche to the Kiddushin of Kabalas HaTorah, he would choose us.

This explains the choice of the words “K’Ilu Hu Yotzei MiMitzrayim”—the focus is not just on the fact that we are Bnei Chorin, but on our eligibility to leave Mitzrayim. In contrast to that which we tell the Ben Rasha earlier in the Hagaddah—“Ilu Haya Sham Lo Haya Nigal”—we are required to believe that we ourselves would have been among those chosen to leave.

This also explains why this line is not a repetition of the idea expressed earlier in the Haggadah. At this point we are not talking about the historical implications of the Geulah—even if our forefathers were worthy of Yetzias Mitzrayim and we were not we would still have the level of Ilu Lo Hotzi Hakadosh Baruch Hu Es Avoseinu—the Haggdah is telling each of us how we must view ourselves in our own times—“Bchol Do VaDor.”

That is why the words of the Haggadah differ from those of the Rambam. In Hilchos Chametz U’Matzah the Rambam is telling us the Halachos of the Seder—his Halacha therefore includes the words “L’Haros” and “Attah” for these are terms that relate to the way we express Cheirus at the Seder itself. The Haggadah, however, is telling us how we must look at ourselves every day of our lives. We must always believe that Hakadosh Baruch Hu wishes to have a connection with us specifically.

What better message can there be for the Le’il Seder, a night when there are so many Mitzvos, and thereofere opportunities to further connect with the Borei Olam. We must not feel unworthy of this holy night—rather we are Mechuyav to believe that Hakadosh Baruch Hu cherishes his connection with us and wishes that we were even closer. With this in mind we can make our best effort to attempt to complete the night K’Chol Chukosav U’Mishpatav. In doing so, perhaps this is the year that the words with which we begin Magid will come true: “Hashata Hacha, L’Shana HaBah B’Ara D’Yisroel.”