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Palabras del Torá / a “vort” of Torah from R’ Sunny Schnitzer

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Each month Bayit offers regular video “vorts” (words of Torah / teachings from Jewish tradition) offered in or translated into Spanish, designed for Cuban Jewish communities and available to Spanish-speaking Jews everywhere. This month’s video offering features a teaching from Rabbi Sunny Schnitzer. The text follows the video, in Spanish and then in English.

 

Palabras del Torá / a “vort” of Torah – R’ Sunny Schnitzer from Bayit: Building Jewish on Vimeo.

 

¡Hola mis amigos!

¡Los extraño tanto! Tenía la esperanza de venir a Cuba el mes pasado, pero la realidad del Coronavirus hizo que los viajes internacionales fueran imprudentes y difíciles. Los judíos estamos familiarizados con las plagas. De hecho, somos expertos porque discutimos y aprendemos sobre las plagas todos los años. Pero, ¿por qué este año es diferente de todos los demás? Porque este año nos enfrentamos a esta nueva realidad.

Oremos para que nuestra situación actual termine pronto.

Continué cada semana aquí en mi comunidad dirigiendo servicios en Shabat y escribiendo sermones e historias. Estoy particularmente enfocado en escribir sermones divertidos para ayudarnos a olvidar por unos momentos nuestras preocupaciones y problemas.

Recientemente, hice una broma en nuestros servicios de Shabat que molestó a algunas personas. La broma fracasó porque ignoró el consejo que he ofrecido muchas veces a colegas y amigos. “Nunca uses el sarcasmo cuando hable en público”. Decir lo contrario de lo que realmente quieres decir no siempre es entendido por todos tus oyentes. El sarcasmo está lleno de peligros y lleva al arrepentimiento.

Los amantes del lenguaje y las palabras a menudo admiran el sarcasmo. Su uso muestra un agudo ingenio e inteligencia. Pensamos en Jonathan Swift y Enrique Vila Matas, que eran maestros del oficio. Nos reímos sinceramente de los comediantes y actores que nos deslumbran con sus lenguas rápidas. Pero no todos aman a Jonathan Swift y no todos “captan” a Soledad Huete en Siete Vidas. Lo que sale de nuestras bocas no siempre está claro.

Una de las libertades para trabajar durante Pesaj es la “libertad de boca”. Nuestros rabinos ven la boca como la parte más peligrosa del cuerpo. Es el único órgano que puede causar problemas en ambas direcciones: lo que entra (comida y bebida) y lo que sale (habla). Es tan peligroso que es la única parte del cuerpo que tiene dos coberturas: dientes duros y labios suaves. La mayoría de nosotros somos esclavos de la boca, tanto en lo que comemos como en lo que hablamos.

En la noche del Seder intentamos reparar esto. En lugar de una conversación mundana, tenemos la mitzvá para hablar sobre el pueblo judío que sale de Egipto para elevar el habla, y la matzá y las cuatro copas de vino para elevar la comida y la bebida.

La estructura del hebreo utilizada en nuestra “Maggid”, nuestra historia, insinúa el objetivo de “libertad de boca”. La palabra Pesaj se puede dividir en dos palabras: Peh Saj, que significa literalmente “la boca habla”. La gran mitzvá de Pesaj es “le contarás esta historia a tus hijos”. Se nos ordena contar la historia del Éxodo durante toda la noche. Y como está escrito en la Hagadah: “Cuanto más cuentes la historia, más serás digno de elogio”.

La palabra hebrea, Paróh, (Faraón, el perseguidor del pueblo judío en la historia de Pesaj) se puede dividir en dos palabras: Peh Rah, “mala boca”.

Nuestra esclavitud en Egipto se caracteriza en la Torá como Peraj, (trabajo difícil) que también puede leerse como dos palabras: Peh Rach, que significa “boca suelta”.

Creo que todos lo entienden, así que ahora cerraré la boca con una bendición.

Que todos nos merezcamos en este Pesaj para liberarnos de la “mala boca” y superar la “boca suelta” donde entra demasiada comida y bebida incorrecta y se escapan demasiadas palabras inapropiadas. Que nuestras reuniones, incluso los pequeños sederim que debemos tener este año por la necesidad de la situación de salud pública que enfrentamos, sean gratificantes y nutritivos para el cuerpo y el alma.

A Zissen Pesaj – Kasher v’sameaj!

 

Hello my friends!

I miss you so much! I had hoped to come to Cuba last month, but the realities of the Coronavirus made international travel unwise and difficult. We Jews are familiar with Plagues. In fact we are the experts because we discuss and learn about plagues every year. But why is this year different than all other years? Because this year we are faced with this new reality. Let us pray that our current situation will end soon. 

I have continued each week here in my community to lead services on Shabbat and write sermons and stories. I am particularly focused on writing funny sermons to help us forget for a few moments our worries and troubles.

Recently, I made a joke at our Shabbat services that disturbed some people. It failed as a joke because it ignored the advice that I have offered many times to colleagues and friends. “Never use sarcasm when engaged in public speaking.” Saying the opposite of what you really mean isn’t always understood by all of your listeners.  Sarcasm is fraught with danger and leads to regret.

Lovers of language and words often admire sarcasm. Its use displays a sharp wit and intelligence. We think of Jonathan Swift and Enrique Vila Matas who were masters of the craft. We laugh heartily at comedians and actors who dazzle us with their quick tongues. But not everyone loves Jonathan Swift and not everyone “gets” Soledad Huete in Seven Lives. What comes out of our mouths isn’t always clear.

One of the freedoms to work on during Pesach is “freedom of the mouth.” Our rabbis view the mouth as the most dangerous part of the body. It is the only organ that can cause problems in both direction — what comes in (food and drink) and what goes out (speech). It is so dangerous, it is the only part of the body that has two coverings — hard teeth and soft lips. Most of us are slaves to the mouth, both in what we eat and in what we speak.

On Seder night we attempt to repair this. Instead of mundane conversation, we have the mitzvah to speak about the Jewish people leaving Egypt to elevate speech, and the matzah and Four Cups of wine to elevate eating and drinking.

The structure of the Hebrew used in our “Maggid,” our story, hints at the goal of “freedom of the mouth.” The word Pesach can be divided into two words: Peh Sach, which means literally “the mouth speaks.” The great mitzvah of Pesach is “you will tell to your children this story.” We are commanded to tell the story of the Exodus the whole night long. And as it is written in the Hagadah – “The more you tell the story, the more you shall be worthy of praise.” 

The Hebrew word, Paroh, (Pharaoh, the persecutor of the Jewish people in the Pesach story) can be divided into two words: Peh Rah, a “bad mouth.” 

Our slavery in Egypt is characterized in the Torah as Perach, (difficult work) which can also be read as two words: Peh Rach, which means “a loose mouth.”

I think you all get it, so I will now close my mouth with a blessing.

May we all merit on this Pesach to free ourselves from the “bad mouth,” and to overcome the “loose mouth” where too much of the wrong food and drink come in and too many inappropriate words slip out. May our gatherings, even the small sederim we must have this year by necessity of the public health situation we face, be rewarding and nourishing to body and soul. A sweet and kosher Pesach to all.

 

Rabbi Sunny Schnitzer

By Rabbi Sunny Schnitzer. 

Resources for Pesach in a Time of Quarantine

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It may be hard to imagine a seder during sheltering-in-place or quarantine. But the Passover seder is a home-based ritual that can be meaningful even when one is homebound. Even the possibility of a solitary seder isn’t new: Talmud teaches that if one is alone at Pesach, one should ask the Four Questions of oneself. Whatever we do this year won’t be “the same” as the kind of seder most of us are used to, but nothing about this year is the same as usual. Maybe the very strangeness of this year’s seder can help us experience the spiritual dynamics of the Pesach journey in a new way. Here are some tools for building this year’s seder:

Building Blocks of the Seder

The core mitzvot of seder are:

  • bless juice or wine (and drink four cups, or sips, thereof) 
  • recount the story of the Exodus in some form 
  • bless and eat matzah 
  • assemble a seder plate, and explain its elements 
  • eat a celebratory meal 
  • read or sing words of praise (traditional psalms – or contemporary poetry?) 
  • eat a bite of afikoman (ceremonial matzah to end the meal) 
  • recline / reflect on freedom

You don’t need a fancy seder plate if you don’t have one on hand; a regular plate is just fine. Here’s a list from the URJ of What Items Go On the Seder Plate. Some also add an orange (representing the inclusion of all genders and sexualities), an olive (representing hopes for peace), a tomato (representing migrant/farm worker safety), and/or other meaningful items.

Blueprints For Your Seder

If you don’t have haggadot at home, here are some free downloadable haggadah options. It’s a good idea to download a haggadah in advance and spend some time with it so you can move through it comfortably when seder time arrives.

Of course, the haggadah is only a roadmap. Your internal spiritual journey will be shaped by you.

A Ritual to Close the Week, Too

Here’s a resource for celebrating a different kind of seder on the seventh day of the holiday (rather than the first or second):

If you experiment with a seventh night seder, we hope it will help you feel that you’ve “come through the sea” and are able to sing out in praise on the other side.

Not Like Other Nights

This year is not like any other year. Whatever seder is for each of us this year, it will probably not be what we’re accustomed to. We trust that the ritual will still hold meaning, even though (or maybe especially because) we’re experiencing it in an unprecedented way. What does it mean to recount the tenth plague in a time of quarantine? What does it mean to seek to experience spiritual liberation at a time when many of us may feel “bound” by anxiety or illness or circumstance? What does it mean to celebrate Pesach meaningfully if we are home alone? We look forward to hearing your answers to these questions as the holiday unfolds this year.

 

Febrero 2020: Palabras del Torá / February 2020 Torah video

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Palabras del Torá / a “vort” of Torah – R’ David Markus from Bayit: Building Jewish on Vimeo.

Each month Bayit offers regular video “vorts” (words of Torah / teachings from Jewish tradition) offered in or translated into Spanish, designed for Cuban Jewish communities and available to Spanish-speaking Jews everywhere. This month’s video offering features a teaching from Rabbi David Markus, translated into Spanish by Rabbi Juan Mejia. The text follows, in Spanish and then in English.

 

Shalom javerim – Hola amigos!

Desde mi viaje a Cuba en el otoño pasado, la profunda calidez y orgullo que tantos judíos cubanos compartieron conmigo y con mi congregación neoyorquina se ha quedado en mí y en mi corazón.  Sigo inspirado por su orgullo, tenacidad y auténtica dedicación. Ustedes me enseñaron, a mí y a muchos miembros de mi congregación, una parte importante de lo que verdaderamente significa vivir como judíos.

La palabra hebrea javer (amigo) conlleva un significado más profundo, que también conlleva un importante mensaje sobre este periodo del calendario judío. Es algo que tenemos en común a pesar de las diferencia de cómo vivimos y también, precisamente, a causa de las diferencias de cómo vivimos.

La palabra hebrea javer extrae su significado profundo de la raíz trilítera ח.ב.ר. (jet, bet, reish) que significa “conectar” o “amarrar”.  Los verdaderos amigos no son simples conocidos pasajeros, sino que están profundamente conectados, amarrados el uno al otro, tanto interna como externamente.  De esta misma raíz verbal vienen las palabras hebreas para “unir”, “asociar”, y “pareja de estudio”. Estas son la esencia de toda comunidad.

En palabras que no puedo expresar completamente, me siento mejaber. Me siento conectado con los judíos de Cuba, parcialmente por cómo ustedes compartieron tan generosamente conmigo las conexiones entre ustedes.  Inmediatamente me hicieron sentir parte de su comunidad. Ustedes saben, intuitivamente, que construir comunidad es el secreto para la supervivencia y el florecimiento judío a través de los siglos.

Esto también tiene un profundo significado en esta época del año y en las tres fiestas judías que se aproximan, una por mes, en la luna llena del mes de Febrero (Shevat), Marzo (Adar) y Abril  (Nisán). Estas tres fiestas, en su esencia, también tratan de aquello que nos conecta más profundamente.

Primero viene Tu Bishvat.  En el 2020 comenzará en la noche del 9 de Febrero.  Coloquialmente esta fiesta es conocida como el “año nuevo de los árboles”, pero místicamente es un profundo recordatorio de que toda la naturaleza, incluídos nosotros, está unida.  Lo que pasa a cualquier parte de la naturaleza, también le pasa a la totalidad. Lo que le pasa a uno de nosotros, nos pasa a todos. En la luna llena de Febrero, tomémonos el tiempo para observar cómo toda la naturaleza está conectada.  Este año, al mirar a la luna llena, sabré que es la misma luna que ustedes ven y me alegraré en nuestra mutua conexión.

Después viene Purim. En el 2020 comenzará la noche del 9 de Marzo. Los niños judíos conocen a Purim como el “halloween judío”, celebrando la antigua historia de Ester y Mordejai, es un tiempo en el que nos disfrazamos para esconder nuestra verdadera identidad.  Los otros dos significados profundos de Purim que más me llaman la atención tienen que ver con este aspecto de la conexión. El primero es que el destino judío sube y baja colectivamente; estamos juntos en esto, del mismo modo que los judíos persas cuya angustia y victoria la fiesta de Purim rememora.  El otro es que, sin importar qué máscaras usemos en nuestras vidas, qué usemos para ocultarnos, qué hagamos para protegernos de nuestro ser más real y vulnerable, todos compartimos exactamente este impulso de auto protección. Nuestras máscaras, nuestras apariencias, no son lo que somos verdaderamente. Estamos conectados más por lo que somos internamente.

Luego viene Pesaj. En el 2020 comenzará en la noche del 8 de Abril.  Conocemos a Pésaj como la historia eterna de nuestra liberación de la esclavitud- la piedra angular de nuestra identidad judía.  Pésaj simboliza nuestra conexión con nuestros ancestros, por la promesa divina de nuestra liberación y por la celebración del Séder que es increíblemente similar en todo el mundo judío.  También conocemos a Pésaj como un llamado moderno a la justicia. Nuestra propia liberación no será completa hasta que liberemos a todos los amarrados injustamente. Estamos conectados por este llamado judío fundamental a la justicia social, a ayudar a curar un mundo con aún demasiados faraones, aún demasiada esclavitud y demasiada vulneración de la dignidad humana.

Tu Bishvat, Purim y Pésaj.  Son tres lunas llenas consecutivas de conexión.  Son tres oportunidades de celebrar las conexiones entre nosotros, nuestra herencia y nuestra comunidad.  Son tres oportunidades para construir comunidad- el secreto de la vida judía que ustedes bien conocen ya.  Son tres oportunidades para oir el continuo llamado judío a fortalecernos y juntos vivir más enteramente- por nosotros, por la naturaleza y por toda la humanidad.

Les envio bendiciones de alegría en esta temporada con estas tres lunas llenas que nos invitan a conectarnos con la naturaleza, con la comunidad y con la libertad humana.  De mi corazón para el vuestro: Jag sameaj.

 

Shalom javerim – Greetings, friends!

Since my trip to Cuba last fall, the deep warmth and pride that so many Cuban Jews shared with me and my New York Jewish community have stayed with me in my heart.  I continue to feel inspired by your pride, tenacity and genuine caring. You have taught me, and many in the community I serve in New York, part of what it really means to live as Jews.

The Hebrew word javer (friend) encodes a deeper meaning, that also encodes something important about this season in the Jewish calendar.  It’s something we have in common both despite differences in how we live, and precisely in differences in how we live.

The Hebrew word javer draws its deep meaning from the three-letter root ח.ב.ר. (jet, bet, reish), which means to connect or bind.  Real friends aren’t just passive acquaintances: they are deeply connected, bound together both inside and between.  From this same root word come the Hebrew words for “join,” “association,” and learning partnership. These are the essence of community.

In ways that words can’t fully express, I feel m’jaber / connected with the Jews of Cuba, partly because you so generously shared with me your connections with each other.  Instantly you helped me to feel like part of your community. You know intuitively that community-building is a secret of Jewish surviving and thriving over the centuries.

This, too, is a deep meaning of this time of year and its three Jewish holidays that will follow, once per month, at the full moon of each month of February (Shevat), March (Adar) and April (Nissan).  All three holidays, in their essence, also are about what most connects us.

First comes Tu B’shevat (in 2020, the night of February 9-10).  Colloquially it’s the “New Year of the Trees,” but mystically it’s a deep reminder that all of nature is joined together, including all of us.  What happens to any part of nature happens to the whole. What happens to any of us touches all of us. At February’s full moon, take time to notice how all of nature connects. This year, I will look up at the full moon, knowing it’s the same full moon for you, and I will revel in our connection together.

Next comes Purim (in 2020, the night of March 9-10).  Jewish children might know Purim as a kind of “Jewish Halloween” celebrating the ancient story of Esther and Mordechai, a time when we dress in costume as if to conceal who we really are.  Two other deep meanings of Purim that most speak to me are about connection. One is that Jewish fate rises and falls together: we’re in it together, no less than Persian Jews whose collective plight and triumph Purim honors.  Another is that whatever masks we might wear in our lives, whatever conceals us, whatever we do to protect against being most vulnerable and real, we all share exactly that self-protective impulse. Our masks, our outward appearances, are not who we really are.  We are most connected by what’s inside.

Then comes Passover (in 2020, starting the night of April 8).  We know Passover as the timeless story of liberation from bondage – our cornerstone of Jewish identity.  Passover stands for our connection by ancestry, by the divine promise of liberation, and by the seder celebration that is astonishingly similar for Jews everywhere.  We also can know Passover as a modern clarion call to justice. Our own liberation will not be complete until we free all who are wrongly bound. We connect by that essential Jewish calling of social justice, to help heal a world that still has far too many Pharaohs, too much bondage, too much affront to human dignity.

Tu B’shevat, Purim and Passover.  They’re three consecutive full moons of connection.  They’re three opportunities to celebrate our connections to each other, heritage and community.  They’re three opportunities to build community – the secret of Jewish life that you already know.  They’re three opportunities to heed the continuing Jewish call to become stronger and more whole together – for ourselves, for the natural world, and for all humanity. 

I send blessings of joy for this season, these three full moons that call us into our connections with nature, community and human freedom.  From my heart to yours, Jag sameaj! 

 

By Rabbi David Markus. Translated by Rabbi Juan Mejia.

Using stones for Yizkor

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This ritual seeks to connect the Yizkor prayers, recited four times a year, with an embodied experience of memory and connection. The only required element is a basket of stones — smooth river-washed stones are available at landscaping supply stores — which are handed out during the service. The central act is placing the stones together on a central location (often the amud or Torah reading table), in silence, while allowing music and memory to open our hearts.  — Rabbi Evan J. Krame

 

 

  • Opening

In our tradition, we bring not flowers but stones to a gravesite. That’s what Jacob did for Rachel when he created a matzevah (monument), as we read in Torah:

Over her grave Jacob set up a pillar; it is the pillar at Rachel’s grave to this day. (Gen. 35:22. )

וַיַּצֵּ֧ב יַעֲקֹ֛ב מַצֵּבָ֖ה עַל־קְבֻרָתָ֑הּ הִ֛וא מַצֶּ֥בֶת קְבֻֽרַת־רָחֵ֖ל עַד־הַיּֽוֹם׃

Many of us no longer live near the cemeteries where our parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents are buried. We may not have the opportunity to place a stone in remembrance of those who brought us into the world or nurtured us. 

Some of us have siblings or children who have preceded us in death, whose absence is hard to bear. Being far from those graves can be especially painful. 

And even when we live near the graves of those whom we’ve lost, we’re not at those graves now, today, as we recite these Yizkor prayers in memory. But we can still take a stone, and use it as a focus for our remembrance.

 

  • Stones

Take a stone now. Hold it, and think of the person or people you are remembering today.

[Invite people to go row by row to select a stone, or pass stones out row by row. While stones are being handed out, the following instruction may be offered:]

We’ll take silent time for the Yizkor memorial prayers.

After we hear the words of Psalm 23, come place the stone on the bimah, and return to your seats in silent dedication. 

[Volunteers direct the community in coming up, row by row, to place their stones while “Turn, Turn, Turn” is sung.]

 

  • Closing

Remembering and honoring those we have lost, we come together again as a community. Though each of us is remembering someone different, we’re connected in the shared experience of mourning and memory.

We move now into Mourner’s Kaddish and El Maleh Rachamim…

 

Why This Firstborn Will Go Silent Before Passover: The Social Justice Ta’anit Dibbur

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Among Passover’s many customs, the fast of the firstborn (ta’anit bechorot) fell into disuse. This ritual fast, commemorating Egypt’s victims of the Tenth Plague’s death of the firstborn, finds little traction among modern liberal Jews. Even most traditionalists arrange a ritual joyous reason to avoid the pre-Passover fast.

The day before Passover, however, this particular firstborn of Israel will fast – not just from food but also from speech. I will go silent – I will observe a total fast from speech (ta’anit dibbur) – and I will decline any excuse that might absolve me.

The reason isn’t virtue signaling. Rather, it’s to remind myself, and invite others to consider, that words and privilege can be as enslaving as iron shackles. It’s to renew my commitment to make space for the voices of all who feel excluded or diminished, whose identities or experiences have denied them privileges I enjoy – including the very privilege to write these words.

A Pre-Passover Fast from Food (Ta’anit Bechorot)

There are many reasons to fast before Passover – and not just make room for matzah! One reason is to mourn the too-high price of freedom. Talmud famously teaches that when angels rejoiced during the Exodus drowning of Egyptian soldiers in the Sea of Reeds, God rebuked them saying, “My children are drowning and you sing Me praises?” (Megillah 10b, Pesachim 64b). If Egypt’s first-born and soldiers died for Israelite liberation, their deaths are not less tragic. If angels had to learn that lesson, then so might we. Just as we spill drops of wine for each plague during the Seder (we can’t drink a full cup of joy at another’s expense), we can fast in poignant memory of the tragically high cost of freedom.

Another reason is to connect with today’s captives of body, heart or spirit. Until all are free, all are unfree. So taught Dr. Martin Luther King from his Birmingham jail cell: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” We can fast, as I wrote elsewhere, to spiritually purge for every time co-religionists ever sung praises for another’s degradation. We can fast to rededicate ourselves to bringing Passover’s global message of freedom to the whole globe.

A third reason is to honor this year’s calendrical confluence with Good Friday. Jews need not understand the Jesus of faith as Christians might, but we can understand suffering, grace and redemption in common cause with our Christian cousins as they commemorate their own ritual descent and ascent rooted in Passover.

A Pre-Passover Fast From Speech (Ta’anit Dibbur)

The idea of a ta’anit dibbur (fast from speech) traces from the wisdom of Proverbs 18:21: “Life and death are in the hand of the tongue.” We fast from speech as a practice of purification. By ritually controlling the incessant drive to speak, we can refine the inner impulses they voice.

All the more so before Passover. Mystics re-read Passover (pesach) as the speaking mouth (peh sach), the spiritual liberation that could heal both Moses’ impaired speech and our own. Understood this way, the creative impulse that Jewish mysticism understood as speech – God’s speech, and our speech – can be healed and channeled to liberate the sacred in our world.

Consider the countless injustices and shacklings expressed as speech. Consider the enormous power of words to include or exclude, create or destroy, empower or enfeeble, uplift or suppress, liberate or enslave. Words can wound, or words can heal. Understood this way, any Passover worth its weight in matzah must focus intently on the power of words to help purify our words.

What does this have to do with the firstborn? In its day, primogeniture stood for privilege and societal power dynamics that locked privilege into the day’s reality map. By dint of gender and birth order, the firstborn male held special status legally, politically and ritually. Others were at best second best. And as for the individual, so too the collective: God told Moses to call Israel “God’s firstborn” before Pharaoh (Exodus 4:22). Later, liturgy attributed to Rav Kook, Israel’s first chief rabbi, transformed Israel into reishit tzmichat ge’ulateinu, “the first flowering of our collective redemption.”

We’ve come far since primogeniture’s days, but Passover becomes a mere tasty relic if we rest on past laurels. A living Passover means bringing freedom and equality to all in the flowering of collective redemption. A living Passover means pushing boundaries outward until they include everyone, and feeling deeply wherever boundaries or the call to expand them feels tight. Those tight spots are our meitzarim, our “narrow places” – literally our “Egypt,” the frontiers of today’s Passover ongoing call to liberation.

Understood this way, the “fast of the firstborn” is a radical and evolving call to name and invert today’s social structures that hold people back. The “fast of the firstborn” isn’t mainly about the “firstborn” but rather about the privilege that primogeniture wrongly symbolizes. It’s strikingly beautiful that Judaism can honor Passover – a defining experience of peoplehood and liberation – with this internal hedge against its own imperfect realization of this sacred calling.

Now let’s get personal. I seem like the personification of privilege. I’m the firstborn child – and a son at that. I’m straight and cis-gendered. I hold two graduate degrees, from Harvard, plus a rabbinic ordination. I’m honored with a judicial role and a pulpit. I teach in seminary and I’ve led spiritual nonprofits. I have seemingly unfettered opportunities to speak, write and teach. I’m not just a man; euphemistically I’m The Man! And most who know me know that I can have much to say.

That’s exactly why I and people like me should go silent before Passover – to remind ourselves of the marginalization and subjugation that others experience daily, to make space for them, and to recommit ourselves to that cause as a way of life for all time.

To be sure, I wasn’t born on third base thinking that I’d hit a triple. I’m the son of an immigrant. I did not grow up affluent. I’m the first in my family to graduate from college. I faced and overcame many obstacles both personal and familial along the way. But such is the American experience and, often, the Jewish experience. All the more reason for me to make space for tomorrow’s “me” – whoever and however they may come.

I think of my own mom and countless other moms denied a Jewish education or countless other opportunities on the basis of sex. I think of LGBTQI friends still fighting whether in or out of the closet, denied their rights at tragic costs to themselves and society. I think of people of color, of all backgrounds, whose lives as visible minorities still are fraught 50 years after Dr. King was assassinated. I think of talented people of all ages and stages blocked from leadership by crusty, recalcitrant power dynamics that cling to their own false solidity. I think of Jewish life’s virulent allergy to wise succession planning that shortsightedly robs institutions of healthy and vibrant futures. And I think of many leaders who undoubtedly think they’re doing leadership right but who wield emotional or spiritual authority in ways that are pervasively self-perpetuating.

That’s why I will go silent before this Passover. I will reclaim the ta’anit dibbur as a deliberate space-making practice both within and without. I hope all firstborns, whether literally first out of the womb or metaphorical firsts of privilege, will consider doing likewise. Let’s make space for others starting with one day, then one week, then for a lifetime, for all Jewish life and for all life. Let’s make space to heal speech, to heal power, to heal the world.

When we break our ta’anit dibbur at the start of the Seder, let our first word be Baruch: ”Blessed.” Let that flow of blessing be the purpose of our speech and all speech. And in that merit, may we, all of us, experience a truly liberating and sweet Pesach.

 

 

 

 

 

 

By Rabbi David Markus

 

 

Seder for the Seventh Night, by Rabbi Evan J. Krame

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New from founding builder Rabbi Evan J. Krame comes a haggadah — not for the first or second night of Pesach, but for the seventh night. Rabbi Evan writes:

The seventh night of Passover – Shevi’i Pesach – is said to be the time when the Israelites crossed the Red Sea. In Kabbalistic and in Hasidic circles, there is a custom to have a Seder and focus on the meaning of Shevi’i Pesach. The night would be spent in prayer and study, exploring the theme of divine revelation at Kriyat Yam Suf, the parting of the Red Sea. And in the Kabbalistic and Hasidic mystical communities, participants were open to the possibility of ongoing revelation and divine intervention.

The liturgy of the Seventh Night of Pesach may be called a “Tikkun” – a text that combines passages from a variety of sources including Torah, Talmud, and Midrash. Supplementing traditional texts are modern commentary, poetry, and humor. This Haggadah (retelling) for the seventh night of Pesach is an attempt to find deeper meaning and greater relevance in the mythic story of the crossing of the Red Sea…

To instigate learning and exploration, seven themes will be presented. Each will relate to a part of the body. The student of kabbalah is encouraged to link these seven with the lower sephirot. We will offer seven blessings relating to the meal and consider the seven clouds of Glory God sent to protect the people in the dessert. What other sevens can you relate to Shevi’i Pesach?

The Seventh Day Passover Seder/Order:

Kol/Voice – Beginning

Ntilat Yadayim/ Washing

Raglayim/Feet – Leaping

Eynaim/Eyes – Receiving

Oznayim/Ears – Believing

Peh/Mouth – Satisfying and

Lev/Heart – Loving

 

Seventh Night Seder – Krame [pdf]