Free At Last

As the majesty of Seder night unfolds, we reach Maggid in breathless anticipation—the long days and weeks of preparation build up to the moment in which we can be Mekayem the Mitzvah of “Vihigadita L’Bincha.” It is clear that the words of the Haggadah are no mere liturgy—in many ways they represent the very foundation of our Emunah, and it is through them that we attempt to pass Mesores Avoseinu onto our own children on this most holy of nights. Accessing the message of Magid, and the Haggadah will better prepare us for this task, and allow us to better enjoy the experience of the Seder itself.

Seforim tell us that any time we wish to appreciate the essence of any concept we are to look at the very first time it is mentioned in the Torah, for therein lies the key. It would then follow that the way in which something begins tells us a lot about its Yesod. Let us then turn to the very first paragraph of Maggid, and examine the message that it holds for us.

“Ha Lachma Anya D’Achala Avosana B’ara D’Mitzrayim”, so begins what seems like a relatively mundane introductory paragraph. We speak about the Matzah which lies before us, and invite guests to join our feast. The simplicity of its prose belies the true nature of this passage. As opposed to the rest of Maggid, these words are said in Aramaic rather that Lashon HaKodesh. In one sense this is understandable, for if we truly mean to invite the less fortunate we should do so in the language of the common man, which at the time of its composition was Aramaic.

There is another explanation given to the choice of syntax however: while the common person indeed understands Aramaic, we are told that Malachim do not. Any Teffilah said in that language, such as Kaddish, has an ability to rise to Hashem unhindered by any Malachim. While “Ha Lachma Anya” is not a Tefillah in the strictest sense of the word, the fact that it is said in Aramic puts it on a plane with some of our most mystical and lofty Tefilos. What then is the secret of this paragraph—why is elevated in this way, and why does the Hagadah, with all its vital imperatives, begin with these words?

The truth is that while most of the paragraph does not appear to be in the realm of Tefillah, the last two lines take a bit of a turn—we recognize that while we are about to embark on a Seder celebrated in the manner of kings, we still find ourselves in Galus “Hashata Hacha”, yet we express the hope that this be the last year that such is true: L’Shana Haba’ah B’Ara D’Yisroe.” These words do seem like something of a Tefillah, asking that Hashem lead us out of Galus and back to Artzeinu HaKedosha.

Yet this is not the last line of paragraph, for we conclude with yet another apparent wish: “Hashata Avdi, L’Shana Haba’ah Bnei Chorin.” Despite the fact that we have gathered to celebrate the anniversary of Yetzias Mitzrayim, we are all to well aware that we are not truly free, and so we once again request that Hashem affect a change in our reality, so that next year we can once again celebrate as Bnei Chorin.

This final stanza is a bit puzzling, however. These words seem to refer to the fact that we are still constrained by the Shibud Malchiyos, and cannot truly declare ourselves to be free, as the Gemarah in Megillah states: “Akati Avdi Achashverish Anan,” in a sense, indeed a strong sense, we are still subservient to Achashverosh and his successors. Why then is the hope that we be freed from this Avdus included in the previous words? We have already expressed our hope that the Geulah Shileima be visited upon us and that we find ourselves in Yerushalayim Habenuya in the coming year—why do we have to repeat ourselves in this way, asking for freedom from our oppressors?

In fact, it would seem that these lines should be reversed. According to most, the Geulah HaAsida will bring freedom from Shibud Malchiyos by its very nature, with any sort of Kibutz Goliyos and repatriation of Eretz Yisroel following. This being the case, we should first say “L’Shana Haba’ah Bnei Chorin”, only then speaking about the hopes of ascending to Eretz Yisroel—why did the Ba’al Hagaddah establish the text in this order specifically?

In order to answer these questions, thereby gaining a better understanding of this initial passage, it may be useful to first define a term that is central to the entire Yom Tov of Pesach: “Chierus.” If we understand what it is we ask for when we say “L’Shana Haba’ah Bnei Chorin”, we may be able to better explain the inclusion of these words.

On the face of it, the word “Cheirus” does not seem to be very difficult to understand: it can easily be defined as freedom from oppression, the opposite of Shibud or Avdus. Indeed the entire Yom Tov of Pesach, on which we celebrate Yetzias Mitzrayim, is called “Zman Cheirusenu.” If we consider the way the term is used by Chazal, however, we may discover further nuance to its meaning.

The Mishna in the lase Perek of Avos speaks about the imperative to learn Torah, and famously tells us “Ain Lecha Ben Chorin Ela Mi She’Osek B’Talmud Torah,” there is no true Ben Chorin other than one who learns Torah. The Bartenura explains this truism as follows: when one learns Torah he will be honored and respected by others and they will remove obstacles from before him. In the simplest understanding of this Mishna, then, the word “Chirus” retains its classic implication: one who is Osek B’Talmud Torah will be free of common harassment by dint of the respect he garners.

It would seem, however, that there is another way to understand this term.

The Mishna cites a source for this concept: the words “Charus Al HaLuchos”, which means “engraved on the the Luchos” can be read as “Cheirus Al Haluchos”. The implication of this change in reading is that there is Cheirus present on the Torah itself, so to speak. This Limud requires some explanation.

First, if one gains Cheirus through his Limud HaTorah in the way that the Bartenurah explained, because others will respect and protect him, why is a source needed at all? It would seem that this is reality which will organically occur—why does the Mishna need a source to prove that it is true?

Second, the root of the Limud itself is curious. This Passuk, “Charus Al Haluchos” appears in Parshas Ki Sisa, in midst of the Ma’aseh HaEgel. When Moshe hears of Bnei Yisroel’s actions, he descends Har Sinai with the Luchos in hand, to see Klal Yisroel’s behaviors with his own eyes. It is at that point that the Torah pauses to describe the Luchos: “V’Haluchos Ma’aseh Elokim Hema V’Hamichtav Mitchtav Elokim Hu Charus Al Haluchos.” We are told that the Luchos which Moshe carried were crafted Hashem Himself, Kaviyachol, and it is His writing that is engraved upon them, Charus Al Haluchos.

The Me’or V’Shemesh, and others, ask a simple question here: why does the Torah take the time to describe the character of Luchos at this point? Earlier in the Parsha, before the Ma’aseh Egel, we are told that Moshe was given the Luchos when he finished speaking to Hashem on Har Sinai—this would have been a more appropriate place to describe the Luchos themselves, why do so here when they are, after all, mere moments from being destroyed?

This question can be extended to our discussion as well: why does the Torah teach us the lesson of “Ain Lecha Ben Chorin Ela Mi She’Osek B’Talmud Torah” , with the words “Charus Al HaLuchos” here, in middle of the Ma’aseh Egel? There must certainly be a reason that this most important lesson about the power of Limud HaTorah is learned from a Passuk that comes in middle of one of Klal Yisroel’s darkest times.

Perhaps, however, the answer actually lies in the fact that Klal Yisroel found itself at its nadir at that very moment.

The Medrash Tanchuma has a different set of Limudim from the words “Charus Al HaLuchos”, each of which discusses the freedoms that would have been realized had the Luchos Rishonos not been broken: Cheirus from Shibud Malchios, from Yisurin, and from the Malach HaMaves himself. Had those original Luchos remained in tact, we would have lived a totally different existence, rising above many of the obstacles that normally stand in the way of our growth. Because of the Chet HaEgel, however, the Luchos were shattered, and with them our ability to be free from these hindrances.

Following the devastation wrought by the aftermath of the Egel, those remaining could well have felt hopeless: the dictates of Har Sinai were in tact, and our responsibilities in the realm of Ruchnias still the same, yet the aid and protection provided by the Luchos was forever lost. How could we go on? How were we to face our obligations without implicit freedom from the distractions of the physical world?

It was precisely at this time that we were taught that “Ain Lecha Ben Chorin Ela Mi She’Osek B’Talmud Torah,” for at this juncture it was vital that we understand the Koach HaTorah. The Yerushalmi in Pe’ah which says that the entire world, and maybe even all the Mitzvos, are not worth one word of Torah. The Maharal in Drech Chaim, his Pirush on Avos, explains that Olam Hazeh is a representation of Gashmius, and although there is Chachma that can be found in the world, it does not rise to the level of Sichlius, a Madrega of Chachma found only in Chachmas HaTorah. Even the performance of a Mitzvah is a physical action, which is accompanied by some amount of Chachma, and does not rise to the level of the Torah. Thus, the entire world, and all the Mitzvos, are not equal to even one word of Torah.

Based on this Maharal we can perhaps gain a new understanding in the meaning of “Ain Lecha Ben Chorin Ela Mi She’Osek B’Talmud Torah.” The world around us throws many obstacles in our way—health and wellbeing, fiscal concerns, geopolitical forces—all in the hopes that we will be hindered in our pursuit of Ruchnias. Through Limud HaTorah, however, we can rise above the physical world, and live in the realm of Sechel which is above and beyond anything that exists in Olam HaZeh.

This was the message at the time of the Egel: we had lost the automatic protection provided by the Luchos Reshonos, and no longer would we be secure merely because we were the Mikablei Hatorah. There is, however, another path—that of intense Limud HaTorah. By a serious devotion to Limud HaTorah we can achieve the level of Ben Chorin, free from the ties that bind us in Olam Hazeh, unlimited in our ability to grow. The Cheirus achieved by the Osek BaTorah, then, is somewhat supernatural, and indeed goes beyond the level suggested by the Bartenurah: he can be free from all inhibitions, those which his fellow man can help him avoid, but also those which are less tangible—an existence in the world of Sichlius provides that opportunity.

With this understanding of Cheirus—the central theme of our Yom Tov—we can understand “Ha Lachma Anya” in a new light.

Even as we sit at the Seder table, the reality of Galus is ever-present. We know that right outside our door—soon to opened for Eliyahu Hanavi—the outside world, with all its pitfalls, awaits. We therefore begin the Seder with an unequivocal statement: we wish to be able to celebrate Pesach in all its glory, having undergone the ultimate Gulah. “Hashata Hacha, L’Shana Haba’ah B’Arah D’Yisroel.”

We also know, however, that many generations before us have said precisely the same words, hopeful that they would be the Dor to bring Moshiach, and being disappointed as their dreams were dashed. We therefore add another line: “Hashata Avdi, L’Shana HaBa’ah Bnei Chorin,” The level of Bnei Chorin can be achieved even without the Geulah: if we dedicate ourselves to Limud HaTorah, we no longer have to be Avadim to Olam Hazeh and all it stands for—we can be free. Even as we declare our wishes for a true Geulah, we proclaim our understanding that we can achive a level of freedom on our own, by living the promise of “Ain Lecha Ben Chorin Ela Mi She’Osek B’Talmud Torah”

There can be no more appropriate way to begin the section of Maggid.

At the end of Hilchos Chometz U’Matzah, the Rambam brings down the text of the Hagaddah as he had it. He begins by noting that this is the Nusach of the Hagadah is for Galus—it is the one said by Jews who find themselves far from the Shechina—in time, place and mindset.

Our mandate on this night is clear: “Chayav Adam Li’ros Es Atzmo Kilu Hu Yotzei Mimitzrayim.” We are to imagine that we ourselves are leaving Mitzrayim, and going M’Avdus L’Cheirus. We try our best to fulfil this dictate, but alas we may fall into the trap of feeling as though we are carrying on a charade. We aren’t leaving Mitzrayim—on Isru Chag we will likely wake up in the same house, in the same city, and carry on our lives s if Pesach never happened. How then are we to pur ourselves in the mindset of Kilu Hu Yotzei Mimitzrayim?

The answer is in Ha Lachma Anya. We hope and daven that we will experience the Geulah Shleimah, but we remind ourselves that even if that is not the case, Chas V’Shalom, we can experience Cheirus through Limud HaTorah.

Even if we cannot experience true freedom, and celebrate Pesach B’Ara D’yisroel, we can still be B’nei Chorin by dedicating ourselves to Limud HaTorah—which was after all the goal of Yetzias Mitzrayim in the first place. The fourth and final Kos on Seder night corresponds to the Lashon of “V’Lakachti” which, many Reshonim explain, refers to Kabalas HaTorah. This calls to mind that the purpose of Yetzias Mitzrayim was not mere freedom—it was so that we could be Mekabel the Torah, which has the ability to provide us with a blanket of Chierus.

If we keep this in mind, and remember that Cheirus can be achieved in various ways, we will be able to properly enjoy and experience the Seder. In doing so, we will hopefully bring the Geulah Shelima closer, so that we may one day be among those who are Ochel Min HaZevachim U’Min HaPesachim, joining together in singing the Shir Chadash that will come with Geulaseinu U’Pedus Nafsheinu.