In every generation, one is obligated to see himself as if he came out from Egypt. (Haggaddah/m. Pesahim 10:5)
It would seem a tall order, to visualize oneself having participated in the Exodus. Yet, this statement takes a central place in our observance of the Seder of Pesach and its obligatory recounting.
Slavery did not end with the exodus. It revisits us repeatedly and in different ways. A Holocaust survivor may be able to come closest to the likely intent of this dictum, seeing himself as part of a surviving remnant of the larger Jewish people from the horrors of mass slavery and annihilation.
Tradition, however, suggests that we can read this in a way that can touch us all.
Hebrew is a consonantal language; the symbols employed in vocalization are a medieval invention. Just like the text in a Torah scroll, most classical Hebrew texts are published without vowels. The sages who interpreted the Tanakh often used this to their homiletical advantage. A popular example of this appears in many Siddurim:
אָמַר רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אָמַר רַבִּי חֲנִינָא: תַּלְמִידֵי חֲכָמִים מַרְבִּים שָׁלוֹם בָּעוֹלָם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וְכָל בָּנַיִךְ לִמּוּדֵי יְיָ, וְרַב שְׁלוֹם בָּנָיִךְ, אַל תִּקְרֵי בָּנָיִךְ אֶלָּא בּוֹנָיִךְ.
Rabbi Elazar cited Rabbi Hanina: Scholars increase peace in the world, as it says: “All your children shall learn of God, and your children shall have abundant peace.” Do not read (al tiqrei) banayich (your sons,) read instead bonayich (those who understand you.) (B. Berakhot 64a)
Likewise, there are many examples of “al tiqrei” homographs in rabbinic literature, where substitute readings are offered not for the purpose of textual emendation but for homiletic elaboration.
Returning to our passage, a late example of “al tiqrei” is offered suggesting that whenever we read mitzrayim (Egypt) we can instead read m’tzorim – under siege, or m’tzarim – under distress. Likewise, we can read the word Pharaoh as pera’oh, a cause of troubles. Indeed, there are many situations where people find themselves under siege, or in distress - if not physical, then psychological and spiritual - to circumstances that we may encounter. The Haggaddah refers to some of these circumstances, albeit in a limited way.
We begin the Seder by opening our doors and declaring: “all who are hungry should come in and eat, all in need should enter and participate in the Pesach.”
Poverty is not necessarily a permanent state, and it certainly need not be. Studies say that most Americans will endure poverty at some point in their lives. And those in that period of misfortune are most likely to encounter something akin to slavery, while trying to make ends meet by working under unfair, demeaning, and sometimes even illegal circumstances, without health benefits or security. Over the last decade, the US Department of Agriculture has studied trends in food security, the ability of a household to provide for the nutritional needs of family members. It is estimated that in 2004 nearly 12% of all American households, 38.2 million people, were “food insecure,” and that trend has been on an upswing since 1999. In that year, nearly 4% of all American households, approximately 11 million people, experienced hunger, in the world’s wealthiest country. Poverty and hunger are forms of social and economic enslavement, as are unemployment, underemployment, lack of access to health care, and homelessness, conditions driving one deeper into the m’tzarim.
Today’s economy demands a higher education in order in order to compete for jobs and to find some measure of financial security. Yet, access to university becomes increasingly challenging as costs climb annually. State colleges and universities are often under funded, making it even more difficult for people of limited means to attain an undergraduate degree.
There is also the Fourth Child, the one with cognitive difficulties “who knows not how to ask,” who in elementary and secondary education is often overlooked, not given access to professionals who can coach her and help her function in society. Many such children in this country grow into adults who are relegated to a life in the shadows and dependent on diminishing supports for people who cannot fend for themselves. All these find themselves in m’tzarim.
No one depends on miracles to wrest them from these forms of modern day bondage. Even in Mitzrayim, God’s miracles were accompanied by the human agency of Moshe to stand before Pharaoh and demand the liberation of his people. In America today, there are millions of people living in distress and too few Moshes to stand up for them. In Darfur, millions live under daily threat to their lives, and there are too few Moshes to stand for them.
As Jews, the Torah reminds us repeatedly that we were slaves in Mitzrayim and that we should comport ourselves accordingly. If we cannot relate to the slavery of ancient Mitzrayim, then we should try to relate to the m’tzarim of our day. The call may be more subtle and lack the drama of a burning bush, but the call is there. We cannot all be a Moshe, but we are not exempt from doing the best that we can be. Passover serves as a reminder that there is a call, and like Moshe, we should stand ready to respond, “Hineni – here I am.”
