Magid: Arami Oved Avi/ My Father Was A Wandering Aramean

There are many retellings, syntheses, and recaps of the Exodus story throughout the Tanach. We therefore have to ask, why, when the Rabbis were re-inventing the Pesach Seder in the wake of the fall of the Second Temple, did they choose this particular piece of text to be the central narrative through which we fulfill the mitzvah of telling the Exodus story on Pesach?

Depending on how familiar and accustomed we may be to the intricacies of Rabbinic thought, the question may also arise: what is going on here? What is happening with the breakdown and expansion of the text as we find it in the Haggadah liturgy?

Let's deal with that second set of questions first, and then we'll return to the first.

This section of the Haggadah liturgy is a prime example of what classic early Rabbinic Midrash looks like. A piece of scriptural text is taken, not just line by line but phrase by phrase, word by word-- sometimes even letter by letter-- and is expanded with interpretations. These usually connect the original piece of text to other texts in the Tanach by similarities in phrasing, word choice, or theme, in order to highlight something being done in the original text in a new, enhanced way, or bring out some concept of philosophy or ethics that can be taught from the new interpretation. Sometimes the interpretation or teaching may be made by wordplay, puns or shifts of vocalization that result in the same roots yielding words of different meanings.

Midrash is part of the lifeblood of Jewish Thought, of course: a fundamental Rabbinic principle is that no word, no letter even, in the Torah is accidental or unnecessary. If the text says something in a specific way, it's to teach us something; if it appears that the text might have said something more briefly or with a different nuance, it's in order to teach us something.

But the making of midrash has also always been a sort of game, played at the virtuoso level by the Rabbis of the Talmud, at high levels by the great rabbis and scholars of the ages, but at various lesser levels as well by rabbis, scholars, students, and learners of every experience and ability, in every age. There's an art to training yourself to make these types of connections and wordplays, to game out variations of "What If..." in narratives and halachah, to see the openings and holes in the text and try to fill them in.

Earlier, at the beginning of Magid, when we read:

"Anyone who expands upon telling the story of the exodus from Egypt" referred originally to the making of midrash. The idea being that everyone should try to bring in what they know or what they think, and take the text apart, to make new meaning or bring out deeper meaning together. It was a way to elevate the mitzvah of telling the story of the Exodus from mere recitation to being the starting point of a creative, thoughtful, witty, philosophical discussion on (at the very least) the themes of freedom, redemption, and what it means to be a Jew.

Now let's go back to the first question-- why this particular piece of text? First off, let's look at it in its original context, at the beginning of Parshat Ki Tavo.

This text was, as we see, the recap of the story of the family of Yisrael the man transforming into B'nai Yisrael, the Jewish People, going from slavery to freedom, from a people without identity or place to a people covenanted with God, living in the land He swore to our ancestors. When a person brought some of their first fruits (or whatever they grew, or young of the flock if they were herders, or products of craft if they were artisans, and so on) to the Mishkan, or to the Temple once that was built. And on delivery of their offering of first fruits before the kohen officiating, they recited this narrative.

So as the Rabbis are searching for an account of the Pesach story around which to build their post-Temple seder, it is only natural that they would have instantly settled on this one. In a world where many if not most were not literate, and books were a luxury usually reserved for the wealthy, this was the piece of Torah that almost everybody knew by heart. This was the one bit of Torah that they could rely on at least one person in every household having memorized, and everyone else being familiar enough with it that it was a perfect starting point for those unaccustomed to spending an evening making midrash to pick up the game as best they possibly could.

And there's nothing that motivated the Rabbis more than making the observance of mitzvot readily accessible to as many Jews as possible.

But of course, being the Rabbis, they never settle for one reason if two can be found.

The other reason being that the first fruits declaration wasn't merely a recitation, a formula to be spouted off. It was far more important than that.

Take a moment to imagine. Close your eyes, picture in the your mind: it's 3000 years ago, and you're a farmer living in ancient Israel. You're up before sunrise six days a week, and from sunrise to sunset, you're out under the hot sun or drenching rain, plowing and planting, weeding, fixing walls, building and repairing tools, caring for animals. Every day, day in and day out, until your body aches and you're one giant callus. You have no books, and don't know how to read anyhow. There is no real entertainment. You almost never meet anyone new. And almost nothing ever changes. It is mind-numbing, and with so little opportunity to find or make deeper meaning, it risks being spiritually deadening.

But then, after the first harvest, when you get just a little time to catch your breath, and you take your first fruits to the Mishkan, as you present your baskets of grains and fruits, you get to feel the farmer's surge of pride at having managed to get the earth to produce food. And then you recite this declaration.

You tell the story of how our people grew from nothing, survived endless years of torment, were dramatically freed by the agency of the Creator of All Things, Who established a covenant of mutual promises with us, and gave us a place to call our own, a place of abundance-- given proper efforts.

And what is the proof of this story? What evidence is there that this happy ending was achieved? You are. You and your hard-won produce, are the realization of our national epic. Your life, your labor, are not just empty days of endless drudgery: they are the "happily ever after" of one of the greatest epics ever told, living confirmation that God keeps His promises to Israel. You have a place in something far greater than yourself. In that moment, you have achieved deeper meaning.

So of course it also makes perfect sense that the Rabbis chose this text, because it was a text from which they were accustomed to taking meaning, applying that meaning to themselves and their own lives. It was a text that had already taught them that they were not separate from the story, they were a part of the story. Quite probably, at least in part for this reason, the Rabbis felt comfortable telling us:

The challenge for us, now, is to try and do the same as our ancestors. To take this text and make midrash out of it, to connect it to our own lives and experiences, to use it to try and bring more meaning into our lives, and elevate them.

ACTION

The following may be used for guided introspection, or raised as questions for discussion, or (either before the holiday or on the holiday if your family observance permits) be used as prompts for journaling, creative writing, dramatic improvisation, making art, and so on.

1. Do you feel connected to the Jewish People and their experience? How?

2. What do you think your place might be in the great epic of the Jewish story, as it continues from ancient times and (God willing) keeps going into the farthest reaches of the future? What do you want your place in that story to be?

3. What do you think the "first fruits" of your work every year might be? How can you dedicate those "first fruits" to God, or sanctify them in some way?

4. What does "redemption" mean to you? Do you think that there is anything from which you have been redeemed this year? Is there anything from which you want/need to be redeemed? How can you use your freedom to help others be redeemed and free?

The Midrash Poem Game

For at least 2 players.

You'll need one or two set of those magnetic words for making poems or messages on the fridge (Magnetic Poetry Kit or Poetry Tiles or the like). Or, prior to the holiday, just print out a large selection of common words and poetic words, cut them out, and use the slips of paper.

Also, gather together some books of collected poetry of whatever types you favor. Or, prior to the holiday, print out a good selection of various poems from online sources, and have those ready at hand.

Using the first fruits declaration as an inspiration (or some other text from the Haggadah, or a similar relevant text), take 5-10 minutes, and each player uses the magnetic words (or paper words, but in either case just laid out on the table before them) to compose a brief poem on a related theme: slavery, redemption, freedom, covenant, sanctification, etc. Or, alternatively, players unwilling to compose a poem may look through the collected poetry and select one that they feel has something compelling to say about a related theme.

Then, everyone shares their poem, and discusses.