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Pesach Divrei Torah * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Next Year In Jerusalem: The Symbolism of the "2 Dippings"
by Rabbi Frand Passover: A Love Story by: Dina Coopersmith (from Aish.com) The special love relationship, which the Jewish people share with God, was forged on this night of Passover, the night of leaving Egypt. The Hebrew word Pesach means "skipping over," rather than "passing over" as it is commonly translated. A deeper meaning for this term becomes evident from this Midrash:
On this night, the natural order of things was reversed. Instead of the Jewish people calling out to God to redeem them, God came to them at a time when they were least prepared, when they were at their lowest spiritual low, when they were completely undeserving of a change of fate. Yet, it is at this juncture that God tells Moses:
God, our Father, relates to us as His children. A father doesn't wait for his children to deserve to be saved from the lion's den. This is the founding element of our entry into nationhood, the loving unconditional relationship between God and His people. God skipped over our deeds, like an infatuated lover who overlooks his beloved's faults.
(It seems like this is the original source for the cliché "Love is blind.") THE LOVE STORY BEGINS HERE The holiday of Passover provides us with the initial jumpstart to the Jewish calendar. God initiates the relationship -- one-sided and unconditional at first -- with the fledgling Jewish nation. His love gives us the security and the strength we need to respond in kind and to take the responsibility at Mount Sinai. This explains why we read the "Song of Songs" -- that ultimate love story -- on Shabbat during Passover. It also explains an interesting point regarding the names of the holidays. We call this holiday Pesach to remember the "passing over" of God of the Jewish homes during the last plague. Whereas in the Torah, this name isn't mentioned. Instead, God calls it the "holiday of matzot" to remember our willingness to leave Egypt in such haste, putting aside our concerns about our dough and instead trusting in God. Each of us -- God and Israel -- appreciates and chooses to remember the other's kindness and contribution to the relationship. Love, trust and appreciation are the main ingredients of any close relationship, be it between husband and wife, between parent and child, or between two friends. Here, through the story of Passover, the foundation is set for our unique relationship with God –- not a relationship of servant to master, subject to king, but a relationship of lover and beloved. IT WILL HAPPEN AGAIN Again, this year we will experience the first night of Passover, which is called Leil Shimurim –- the night of God's watching. This is the point in time when, again, God desires our redemption and demands nothing in return. It is an opportunity to feel God's loving presence, as He envelops us in a secure cocoon, protecting us from any danger. Let's allow ourselves to trust Him in return and take the risks involved in love and commitment. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Hot Air by: Rebbetzin Tzipporah HellerMy recollections of the Seders of my childhood include the Maxwell House Haggadah, the Manischevitz wine, and the passionate desire to pass on something of who we are without quite knowing who we are. We ate matzah and drank wine so thick that it probably could have stood vertically on its own sugar content. Most of all, I remember a sense that something of great import and significance was taking place, but we were not sure what it was. Only a few years later, when I began attending Jewish day school, did I realize that the Seder is the dramatic culmination of process which should have begun weeks before. It was like being dropped off at Buckingham Palace in our soiled school clothes, in the middle of a shopping trip for sneakers, and being handed an invitation for an audience with the Queen to take place ten minutes hence. Like all important occasions, the Seder requires preparation-internal as well as external. The preparation for Passover is bedikat chometz: thoroughly checking the house to be sure that there are no leavened foods or crumbs. Today I begin cleaning a month before the festival. The entire house gets a work over, every drawer, closet, and corner. To the uninitiated, it looks like I'm an under-medicated obsessive-compulsive lunatic caught up in a spring cleaning ritual designed by the Sorcerer's Apprentice. Inside, however, I feel a growing exhilaration, because my physical cleaning is nothing less than an attack on my ego, which is the main impediment in my relationship with God. How can a vigorous pursuit of crumbs purge the ego? The answer requires a spiritual perspective on the Exodus. The enslavement and liberation of our ancestors is the spiritual prototype of all exiles and redemptions, not only of the Jewish people collectively, but also of each individual. Daily, we are all engaged in the struggle for redemption. We all have conflicts within us. We do battle with pettiness, negativity, desire, and selfishness that hold us back from becoming who we can be. The Hebrew word for Egypt is Mitzraim, the root of which means "narrow." Whatever narrows us, that is, makes us punier spiritually and emotionally, is our personal Mitzraim. When we ask ourselves why we are not liberated, we often point to external limitations. We wish our parents loved us unconditionally, that our education had provided us with the tools for facing real life, that our employers, spouses, and friends opened gates rather than closed them. However, when we examine our inner reality more honestly, we recognize that external factors cannot bear the blame for our unrealized potential. We all know people who have expanded their inner worlds against enormous odds. The true oppressor which chokes our potential for growth is the ego. Passover cleaning is an antidote to the oppression of ego. In order for bread to rise, leavening must take place, catalyzed by the yeast. As oxidization occurs, air pockets develop. Nothing is added to the dough, but it gets bigger, swelled by the hot air. The force of ego is compared to the yeast in the dough. Ego persuades us that things and incidents of little real value are hugely significant. A party we were not invited to, a joke at our expense, the latest DVD player that our friend has but we cannot afford-all loom large in our consciousness. The reason that we are so easily offended is that our own sense of adequacy is as insubstantial as the hot air in the bread. We seek to fill our empty spaces with objects, titles, and transitory self-images of youth and trimness. Such ephemeral substance is easily deflated as the vicissitudes of life impinge on our egos, like the cakes baking in the oven when our mothers would warn us: "Don't jump in the kitchen." We posture and purchase to satisfy the hunger of our insatiable egos. We enslave ourselves. On Passover we eat matzah, which is called, "the bread of freedom." Matzah consists of flour and water which has not been allowed to leaven. This symbolizes the real substance and spirit that make us human: the eternal, invulnerable soul that has not been corrupted by ego. This is our true self-definition. Preparatory to Passover, how do we get rid of our chometz, our inflated self-definition? Rather than achieving this goal though introspection alone (which often makes us even more self-absorbed), we also attack the physical manifestations of chometz. Self-transformation in Judaism is based on the principle that human beings are changed from the outside in. What we do, not what we think, creates who we are. Thus, we could be filled with thoughts, aspirations, and intentions to be generous, but only when we put the money into the beggar's hand do we actually start to become a generous person. That is why most of the commandments of the Torah are physical. The hands program the mind and heart more effectively than the converse. Our pre-Passover elimination of chometz effects our inner space far more permanently than it does our outer space. Passover can take us far beyond matzah, wine, and family warmth. It can liberate us from our most subversive enemy--our fragile ego. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Pesach with a broken-heart By Rabbi Yaakov Asher Sinclair The great tzaddik, Rabbi Shmuel Koriver, a student of the Seer of Lublin, was a poor man. He constantly lived on the poverty-line and was always in need of help. Once, he decided that he wasn't going to ask anyone for help anymore. If help came his way he would accept it; he would not seek it out. Pesach was rapidly approaching, and in Reb Shmuel's house there was nothing. No matzah, no wine for the four cups, no charoses, no food, no money, nothing. In spite of these dire circumstances, Reb Shmuel refused to budge from his decision. He was convinced that Hashem wouldn't desert him. Everything would be fine. The Seer of Lublin heard of Reb Shmuel's plight and was worried about him. He dispatched one of his wealthy Chassidim, Reb Shlomo Mikunskwalya to quietly provide Reb Shmuel with his needs. On Erev Pesach, a wagon laden with food and crockery, wine and matzahs arrived at Reb Shmuel's door. He was overjoyed. Here in the twinkling of an eye was Hashem's deliverance! That night, Reb Shmuel sat down and conducted his Seder with a joy and a feeling of Yetzias Mitzraim (coming-out-of-Egypt) which was unparalleled in all his holy life. He imagined himself ascending to the upper worlds, born on a tremendous joy that Hashem had provided for him without having to ask for charity. His unbridled happiness made him feel that no one had ever experienced such a Seder as his that night. This was it! You couldn't go any higher! On the second night of the Seder, Reb Shmuel was tired from all the elation of the previous night and decided to rest a little before beginning the second Seder. He lay down on his bed for just a couple of minutes. He was thinking that he really ought to get up, when he drifted off to sleep. Several hours later, he awoke with a start. 'What's the time!' He glanced at the clock and was horrified to see that it was nearly midnight! In just a short while the last time to eat the afikomen would pass! Reb Shmuel was broken. In tears, he rushed to fulfill the mitzvos of the Seder: Kiddush, reciting the Haggadah, Hallel, the four cups, eating the matzah, the bitter herbs, the charoses, the festive meal and - seconds before midnight - eating the afikomen. Reb Shmuel fell into a deep depression. It seemed to him that never in the entire history of the Jewish People had there been such a miserable Seder. It had been a shambles. After Pesach, Reb Shmuel traveled to visit his teacher, the Seer of Lublin. Immediately after he had greeted him, the Seer said to Reb Shmuel "Come, let us examine the two Sedarim of Reb Shmuel. "The first night was below par considering who he is. (The Seer honored Reb Shmuel by referring to him in the third person.) He imagined himself hovering in the upper worlds, no doubt intoxicated by the thin air at these rarefied altitudes. He thought that there had never been a Seder like this before. "No, this was not a great Seder. But the second Seder - now there was a Seder! "Few have flown to the heights that Reb Shmuel reached at his second Seder - broken spirited and humble, wanting no more than to fulfill the Will of the Master of the World. As it says "The sacrifices of G-d are a broken spirit." When you're sitting at your Seder table, and the kids are screaming, when you have to get up from the table for the 28th time, when you just manage to finish the last of the matzah just before the soup boils over, and you start to feel frustrated and saddened and a long way from Pesach - remember Reb Shmuel... * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Haste Makes Waste? A
New Take On Redemption From Egypt
If you asked most Jews who are familiar with the redemption from Egypt and the Haggadah Shel Pesach why we eat matzah on Pesach, they will tell you "Because our Forefathers left Egypt in haste and there was not enough time to allow the dough to rise." That is, after all what the Torah itself says and therefore is indisputable and to recall this there is a tradition to stand up at the Seder with matzah over one's shoulder saying, "Thus our ancestors left Egypt in haste." However, if you ask the same people, "But why did we have to leave Egypt so quickly?" they will answer, usually, "Because the Jewish had sunken to the forty-ninth level of spiritual impurity and had we stayed even a moment longer, we would have fallen to the fiftieth gate of spiritual impurity, and the point of no return." That is, we would have become spiritually irredeemable. Now, where did that come from? It did not come from the Torah nor did it come from the Haggadah. According to some, it came from the Brisker Rav who was said to have been quoting the great Kabbalist, Rabbi Yitzchak Luria, the Arizal. The problem is that no one has quite been able to find such an idea anywhere in the recorded teachings of the Arizal! However, that is not the only problem with this explanation of so important a time in Jewish history. The following excerpt from Rabbi Shlomo Elyashiv, zt"l (Drushei Olam HaTohu, 2:5:2:5) points out the blatant flaws in this explanation and provide the correct alternative explanation for why we were "forced" to leave Egypt in haste, adding new and profound meaning to the eating of matzah Seder Night. The Ba'al HaLeshem writes: It would seem to present a great difficulty. They seemed to be afraid of the Egyptians to the extent that they didn't even want to prepare anything for the way. However, the commentators explain that they had to leave quickly in order to avoid descending to the fiftieth level of the Fifty Gates of Impurity. This does not seem to be correct, because the strength of impurity had been eliminated as a result of the revelation of the Divine Presence, as it says, "For the Children of Israel even a dog will not growl" (Shemos 11:7); He judged their gods and killed their firstborn. If so, how could impurity have any control over them, G-d forbid? It is not relevant to say any of this except with respect to the end of the oppression and the beginning of their redemption. That is, had the redemption not begun when it had and they had remained enslaved to Egypt from that point onward then there would not have been a rectification, G-d forbid, since they had entered the forty-ninth level of impurity, as we see from the Zohar Chadash, at the beginning of Parashas Yisro. However, after the redemption had already begun, which was from the time the plagues had started twelve months prior, as it says in Ediyos at the end of the second chapter: the judgment of Egypt lasted twelve months. It says the same thing in Seder Olam, Chapter Three. At that time the S"A (Sitra Achra, the name given to the head angel of impurity) began to lose power and he continued to do so from that point onward, particularly from the time the actual oppression ended by Rosh Hashanah, as it says in Rosh Hashanah (11a). In the month of Nissan, and especially on the first night of Pesach, the S"A was completely beaten and conquered to the point of extinction. If so, how can one say there was concern about slipping to the fiftieth gate? (The Leshem at this point shows how the entire concept of a fiftieth level of spiritual impurity is not accurate. Forty nine levels is enough to spiritually destroy anyone.) Returning to the matter, even according to the commentators who speak of a fiftieth level it is impossible to say that the reason why they could not remain in Egypt was because they would fall to the fiftieth level, G-d forbid. On the first night of Pesach then impurity had no power at all, but rather just the opposite: when The Holy One, Blessed is He, emanated His holy light onto the Jewish people, as the author of the Haggadah has written, "The King of Kings was revealed to them." Therefore, they could not remain a moment longer in Egypt lest the S"A become completely eradicated and free-will become eliminated, the basis for creation. For, Egypt was the chief of all the K'lipos (another name for the body of spiritual impurity) and if she became destroyed then so would the S"A and yetzer hara have become destroyed completely, and free-will would no longer have existed. For this reason they could not delay. This is what the posuk says, "The Egyptians pressed the people to leave, saying 'We are all dead men!'." (Shemos 11:33). Therefore, they had to leave quickly in order that evil could still exist so that free-will could remain an justify creation. End of quote. In other words, the reason why we left Egypt in a hurry was not to save the Jewish people but to save Paroah and the Egyptians, in order to save the basis of free-will. For, without evil to counter-balance good, there can be no free-will since choosing good is the only option, like at Mt. Sinai when the Torah was given (Shabbos 88a). The only question is, why not allow evil to be destroyed? Why not let Moshiach come then and there? The answer was because the Jewish people had not yet chosen redemption in the fullest sense, but rather, had only been party to it. They had been riding the wave of redemption that had begun to roll twelve months prior, but they had yet to take the initiative on their own to bring it about. Perhaps had they done so they would not have lost four-fifths of the population in the Plague of Darkness. Therefore, since history had time left to be lived out, G-d extended the process in order to give the Jewish people a chance to commit themselves to Him on their own and warrant complete redemption. In order to do that, He extended the period of free-will, which meant keeping Paroah alive and even strengthening him after they left. Thus, the matzah is not only a commemoration of miracles gone by but it is also sharp criticism of a choice we did not make and thus we are still in exile to this very day. It reminds us of our inherent fear to commit ourselves to the concept of redemption, sometimes out of fear of disappointment and sometimes out of fear of ending a comfortable exile. Rava said: It will happen in a similar way in the time of Moshiach as well. (Sanhedrin 111a) The Talmud tells us that Chizkiah, as a result of his overwhelmingly miraculous victory of Sancheriv's massive army, could have been Moshiach and the war could have been that of Gog and Magog-the first and final one. However, his failure to sing praises of G-d after the victory invalidated his worthiness of so crucial a role in Jewish history. It was not the first time the Jewish people have not taken the ball and run, nor was it the last time. In fact, in 1991 when G-d ended the Persian Gulf War on the very day that celebrated our own Persian victory millennia before, rather than intensify our Tehillim and enhance our success, we simply went back to life the way it was before Iraq took over Kuwait. Rather than take the enhanced power of holiness and take it the final distance to bring Moshiach, we packed up and went home and returned to our waiting game. We are now living through the result of that strategy, as we have countless miserable times before. The parallels between what happened in Egypt and the Final Redemption are many and apparent. However, there is one very big difference, and that is that the generation that left Egypt was at the beginning of our long history; we are at the end of it. At the very least, we can reverse the fraction and redeem four-fifths of the Jewish people. At the very most, we can commit ourselves to the concept of redemption, and save every last Jew. When you take the matzah in hand this year and consider the predicament of the Jewish people, and the phenomenal Divine Providence of all that has occurred over the last decade, and particularly over the last year, remember the choice we didn't make, and make it. There isn't much time left in history to make it, and we're very fortunate to be the generation alive to finally do so on behalf of all of Jewish history. Chag Kosher v'Samayach, Anticipating the Redemption, Pinchas Winston * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Let's Not Let Passover Pass Over by Rabbi Boruch LeffThe season always seems to come without warning. The festivities of Purim end and suddenly we are thrust into busy preparations for Passover. With cleaning, shopping, planning, and more cleaning, we hardly have time to stop and reflect upon what it is that we are really doing. Just what is so special about the Passover holiday and how can we grow from it? When we look at the arrangement of the Passover Haggadah we find a very unique style. The Haggadah does recount the story of the Exodus from Egypt but every so often the story is interrupted with spontaneous praise for God. For example, in the beginning of the Haggadah, just after mentioning, "We once were slaves in Egypt..." we recite: "Blessed is God. Blessed is the One Who gave the Torah to Israel." Shortly after, we continue the narrative with, "In the beginning, our forefathers were idol worshippers," and then again break into tribute for God with "Blessed is the One who kept His promise with Israel." A little further, we lift our cups and sing a song (V'hee She'amda) to God for having always saved us from our enemies and thereafter continue with our story. After some more of the Haggadah tale, we recite and sing the long "Dayeinu" which thanks God in great detail for all He's done for us. After the story section is completed, we offer more praises to God in the official section of praises called Hallel. All this is clearly not just storytelling. Why the constant sudden shifts from factual story telling to uncontrollable praises? As Jews often do, we will answer our question with another question. Why are tens of new haggadahs printed every year? Next to the Chumash, the Haggadah has the most editions and commentaries written on it. Why are we so obsessed with new commentaries and new Haggadahs? The answer lies in a deep understanding of an episode mentioned in the Haggadah.
Strange. Do we generally find that the Talmud cites a basic law such as "One must pray" and then feels required to prove that a great rabbi prayed? Why here do we mention the law of spending much time discussing the Exodus and then prove it with the story of the five rabbis who actually did it? The answer is we are not using the five rabbis' tale to show that they observed the law. Rather, the story instructs us concerning how we should observe the law. The commandment to discuss the Exodus requires you to become so immersed and involved that you lose track of time. You become so lost in the wisdom and insights that you don't realize that morning has dawned. The story must be told with dynamism and electricity, interest and excitement. The commandment is described with the Hebrew word "sipur," meaning to tell. You cannot simply re-state the story; you have to really tell it and be involved in it. The Jewish people understand this fact intuitively and therefore consistently produce tens and tens of new haggadahs. New insights and novellas are necessary to fulfill the commandment properly so that the story is told with freshness and not with tediousness. What surfaces then is that, indeed, it is a biblical commandment to use a new haggadah each year. (Unless one is able to feel extremely enthused over last year's insights.) This is the explanation for the Haggadah's spontaneous praise style. When we tell over the story on Seder night we are to really feel emotional thanks and gratitude to God. We are to get lost in the story as the Five Rabbis sitting in Bnei Brak did. We are to re-live the experience of the Exodus from Egypt as we mention in the Haggadah that "every person is obligated to see themselves as if they were the ones who left Egypt." We are to make the story real and meaningful to us. We break out into spontaneous praise from time to time because we are trying to tell the story as if we were personally involved. Often, when one tells a story they interrupt with superlatives of how the experience felt. The Seder night must be made real to us as if we were personally involved in the Exodus. Maimonides implies these ideas as well in his description of the commandment to tell the Exodus story (Sefer HaMitzvos -- Aseh 157): (Loose Translation)
We glean several insights from Maimonides. First, ideally, the telling of the story should be natural and personal, in one's own words. Second, the story should not remain just a story but an expression of sincere gratitude to Hashem. Finally, Maimonides does something somewhat uncharacteristic of his style and describes for us in dramatic fashion what it is we are to be thankful for. "How He redeemed us..." Maimonides could have done without this description and simply stated that we have to tell the story that appears in Exodus. Maimonides is teaching us that the Passover Seder must be fresh and new. The discussions should be dynamic and exciting, not simply a re-statement of the insights of previous years. The Seder, to whatever extent possible, should truly make us feel that we personally have indeed left Egypt and that we are excited to tell the story of our escape. Once we feel this closeness to God on Passover, we will inevitably leave Passover as changed people. We will begin to see God's kindness in all that we experience, even the challenges. We will not have allowed Passover to pass over us without it having deeply affected us. Even after all of the exhausting preparations for the holiday, we must somehow muster up the strength to conduct our Seders in the way that Maimonides describes. Always remember the
old Jewish maxim: 'If you experience a Jewish holiday and have not changed
profoundly as a result, you have missed the point of * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Into the Lightwritten by Rabbi Yaakov Asher Sinclair and edited by Rabbi Moshe Newman, copyright Ohr Somayach.com Imagine you're a cartoon artist. The character you're drawing has a question on his mind. You draw his furrowed brow. Small drops of perspiration start to leap from his forehead depicting his mental gymnastics as he wrestles with the question. Suddenly the answer pops into his head. How do you draw this? You draw a light-bulb coming on in his head. The cartoon convention for a person discovering the answer to a question is a light-bulb. It's not by coincidence. A question is like darkness. A question means you're "in the dark." An answer is like a revealing light. The answer "dawns" on you. All the world sees knowledge as light. And the lack of knowledge as darkness. This Is A Question?There's a famous Jewish joke which goes: "Why do Jews always answer one question with another?" "I don't know, why do they?" Jews have always asked questions. Mark Twain spoke of the Jew's "aggressive and inquisitive mind." The basic linguistic structure of the Talmud is shakla v'tarya, the "give and take" of question and answer. More than any other festival, Passover is a time of questions and answers. If there's one image that symbolizes the Passover Seder meal, it must be the youngest child summoning up all of his or her courage and asking "Ma Nishtana?" "Why is this night different from all other nights?" -- the Four Questions. Look in the Haggada -- the universal Jewish text which tells the story of the Exodus -- however, and you'll find many more than just four questions: "The wise son, what does he say? 'What are the testimonies, decrees and ordinances which Hashem, our G-d, has commanded you?' The wicked son, what does he say? 'Of what purpose is this work to you?' The simple son, what does he say? 'What is this?' ..."Rabbi Yossi, the Galillean said: 'How does one derive that the Egyptians were struck... with fifty plagues at the sea?' " ...Matza -- Why do we eat this unleavened bread? ...Maror -- Why do we eat this bitter herb?" ...Who knows one? Who knows two? three? four? etc." Asking and answering is the essence of the Seder. In fact, two Torah scholars making the Seder together are still obliged to ask each other these same questions. More. A lone Torah scholar would ask and answer those questions to himself. It must be then, that the methodology of question and answer reveals something essential about the Passover experience. Feeling The Darkness"And there was evening, and there was morning, one day." (Genesis 1:5) The Torah teaches us that night precedes day. First came evening and only then morning. What is the message of this process? Why should night precede day? This is a world which starts in deficiency, in night. In this world, perfection can only come after imperfection. Morning can only come after evening. Light can only come after dark. In the existence beyond this world, perfection can exist without a preceding imperfection. That is a world of truth. A world of light. A world of total revelation. But in this world we can only approach perfection by a journey from the imperfect. Thus, in this world, our view of perfection is something which is always preceded by imperfection. Absence leads to presence. Emptiness becomes filled. Night becomes day. How Bright Is Light?"And there was evening, and there was morning, one day." This is a relative world. Only to the extent that there was evening can there be morning. When a person emerges from a darkened room, he squints and hides his eyes from the sunlight. His perception of the light is a function of his perception of the darkness. When we begin at the bottom, the top seems higher when we get there. In a sense, when we start at the bottom the top is higher, for in our struggle, we have endowed the summit with all the elevation of our climb. True elevation only comes with a climb from a low place. The lowest place in the world three thousand years ago was Egypt. Egypt was the epitome of spiritual impurity. Egypt was the most spiritually poisonous place in the world. The mystics talk of 49 gates of spiritual corruption. The Jews in Egypt had reached that 49th gate, the spiritual nadir. The word for spiritual impurity -- tuma -- connotes constriction, being sealed off. The opposite of tuma is tahara. Tahara comes from the same root as the word for light and shining. When we talk of the Exodus as being a journey from darkness into light, this is not mere poetic sentiment. The Exodus was an escape from a literal darkness of the soul into the light. Form And ContentThe essence of the Passover story is a journey from slavery into freedom, from darkness into light. As the Haggada says, "Originally our ancestors were idol worshippers, but now the Omnipresent has brought us near to Him." The Seder is designed for us to experience the Exodus to the maximum degree. Our aim is to feel as though we ourselves were actually leaving Egypt. The great Sages who formulated the Haggada wanted us to experience that journey from darkness into light not just in the content of the words of the Haggada, but in its very form and style. They constructed the Haggada as a paradigm for the Exodus itself. Slavery to freedom. Darkness into light. Question into answer. The light bulb comes on. The Hidden Light
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