The Bearing of Bad News

How do we handle bad news?

Keep quiet? Face it? Grin and bear it?

This is a week of bad news. The horrific murder of Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim has left us reeling and on edge. The war in Israel continues, and two IDF soldiers were killed in action this week. Just when we think we can unwind and relax with the arrival of Shabbat, we read the tochecha, the series of curses of how bad things will get when we don’t live up to our potential. We can’t seem to catch a break!

Nobody wants to be the bearer of bad news, and the custom developed in many communities to avoid calling up someone to the Torah for the aliya of the tochecha. Who wants their name associated with punishment and curses? Some shuls send someone up without calling him up by name. Sometimes, the reader gets the aliya or the rabbi takes the hit. There is even historical precedent of congregations simply skipping the Torah reading the week of the curses.

Then there’s the outsourcing option.

Back in the “old country,” the members of a certain shul were all terrified of being called up for the aliya of the tochecha. What to do? They called a board meeting and decided that the best course of action to take was to hire someone. Tracking down an individual who would take the ‘dreaded’ aliya proved to be somewhat harder than expected, but, in the end, a candidate was found and engaged.

On the Shabbat of the tochecha, the gabbai looked around for the contracted individual, but he was nowhere to be found. “Perhaps he’s simply late,” suggested one of the members. “Let’s wait a few minutes for him.” They sat for about a quarter of an hour, getting more and more impatient by the minute. After all, an agreement was made. Money had been paid. Where was he?

Thankfully, before things got out of hand, the contracted individual rushed in breathless. Immediately, a few members demanded to know the reason for his tardiness. The individual calmly turned to the angry group, and replied, “I was davening in the shul down the block. Do you actually think I can make a living from only one tochecha…”

The most widespread custom is to read the tochecha in a soft voice. While careful that all the words be heard, the reader takes it down a notch. Who wants to loudly and clearly hear all the bad news? Furthermore, some commentators warn, we may invite the ayin ha-ra (evil eye) and make it even worse for ourselves.

I believe someone can be called up to the Torah for the tochecha by name – and the curses may even be read in a regular voice. The only way to respond to the curses is to confront them and overcome them.

Rabbi Yehuda Yekusiel Halberstam, the Sanz-Klausenberg Rebbe, was a heroic figure. He survived the Holocaust, inspiring many along the way, while his wife and 11 children were murdered. Afterwards, he worked to reconnect the survivors with Judaism in the Displaced Persons camps before moving to America and reestablishing his Chasidic court in Brooklyn. The Rebbe remarried and had 7 more children. In 1960, he moved to Netanya and established Laniado Hospital there.

 

Rabbi Shlomo Riskin describes davening with the Rebbe in the summer of 1953. It was Parshat Ki Tavo, which also has a section of terrible curses. The Torah reader began reading the tochecha quietly. Suddenly, almost inaudibly, the Yiddish word “hecher” (louder) came from the Rebbe’s direction at the eastern wall of the synagogue. The reader stopped, apparently wondering if he had heard the Rebbe correctly, but ultimately decided that he must have heard incorrectly. So, he continued reading quietly.

 

The Klausenberger Rebbe then banged on the table and shouted: “I said Hecher! Louder! Let the Master of the Universe hear! We have nothing to be afraid of. We have already received all of the curses - and more! Let the Almighty hear and let Him understand that the time has come to send the blessings!” The ba’al koreh then began to read the tochecha loudly and clearly.

 

The Jewish people are all too familiar with curses. We are all too familiar with the curses of October 7 and the past 18 months. We experienced curses this week. It is not only the Klausenberger Rebbe and his generation that can bear to hear the curses. We can bear the bad news as well, and we, too, will persevere and even thrive.

 

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik notes that the tochecha concludes with notes of hope and continuity. In Bechukotai, they end with the verse, “I will remember you…” The curses of Ki Tavo are followed by the words “Atem nitzavim ha-yom kulchem – You are all still standing today…” There’s light at the end of the tunnel.

 

The curses are not the end of the story. The covenant remains. Israel remains. The Jewish people remain. The ability to transcend, transform, and renew exists. We just need to see that light through the darkness and recognize it’s up to us to carry on.

Turning the Page on Lag B'Omer

Happy Lag B’Omer!

What is Lag B’Omer?

Lag B’Omer, the 33^rd day of the Omer, is a festive day on the Jewish calendar. For many, it marks the end of the subdued behavior and no haircuts or shaving of the Omer period. It is celebrated with outings on which children play outdoors – traditionally with bows and arrows, bonfires, parades and other joyous events. Many people travel to visit the resting place in Meron in northern Israel of the great sage and mystic Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. (See HERE for details and images of last night’s festivities.)

Say what???

Where does all this come from? Why the joy? Why the bonfires? Why anything on a day which is not mentioned ANYWHERE in the Talmud or early Jewish sources?

One reason for the holiday is that there is a tradition that Rabbi Akiva’s students, who died during the Omer period, stopped dying on the 33^rd day of the Omer. If we are sad during the Omer period due to our continuing grief over the loss of all the Torah of Rabbi Akiva’s students, then the cessation of their dying is a reprieve from that grief. The day became memorialized as a day of relief and celebration.

A second source for Lag B’Omer being a happier day is based on a number of Kabbalistic explanations that find spiritual significance in the 33^rd day of the Omer. Since the day is spiritually elevated, it deserves to be celebrated. The most well-known of these spiritual reasons is the tradition that Lag B’Omer is the yahrzeit of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, whose teachings form the basis for the Zohar, the primary book of Jewish mysticism. On this yahrzeit, we celebrate the “light” of the Torah that Rabbi Shimon revealed.

This is all very nice, and I enjoy a bonfire just as much as the next person, but do these reasons rate a holiday? I am not alone in my skepticism. Not everyone is so enthusiastic about Lag B’Omer.

Rabbi Moshe Sofer (1762-1835, Hungary) questions whether it is permissible to establish a new holiday that is not based on any type of miracle. Rabbi Yosef Shaul Nathanson (1808-1875, Poland) also objects to the celebration on similar grounds. He notes that the traditional way to commemorate a yahrtzeit is to fast and not to celebrate. He also questions the practice of making bonfires which burn clothing as it seems like a violation of bal tashchit, it’s wasteful.

So where does that leave us? What is the message of Lag B’Omer?

The two major sources for celebrating Lag B’Omer are the end of Rabbi Akiva’s students dying and Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai’s passing. Both episodes teach an important lesson of continuity. 

How did the passing of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai impact his students? They rededicated themselves to spreading his teaching. What did Rabbi Akiva do after losing his students? He immediately taught new ones. 

Lag B’Omer is the holiday of moving forward.

This may be why the day revolves around children. The children have outings, and the young children get their first haircuts. On Lag B’Omer, we look forward to tomorrow.

There has been a lot of hoping for tomorrow during the past 18 months.

We often speak or hear about moving from the horrors of October 7 to the hope, resilience, and strength of October 8. There are so many heroes and so much inspiration. For those of us outside Israel or not directly impacted, it may sometimes seem abstract. But these are real people with real pain who are able to pivot to what comes next – and inspire us to do the same.

This week, Tzeela Gez, a 30-year-old pregnant mother of three children, was murdered while driving with her husband to give birth to their fourth child. Her husband, Hananel, was lightly wounded. The baby was delivered and is, thank God, recovering. Hananel wrote a message on Thursday that was widely disseminated:

“Today is a sad day. Last night, my wife was murdered. We were on our way to the hospital to give birth to our fourth child. Obviously, I am broken. This is natural. But I thank God that I am alive, and I will be strong in order to continue to be a light to the world. Because we will never let them break us. I am very, very sad. But I will continue to fight for the welfare of our people… we will survive, succeed, and prosper.”

Today is Lag B’Omer, the holiday of tomorrows.

This may not fully answer the question of why we have Lag B’Omer, but it should give us all hope and a reason to celebrate.

The Yiddishe Momme

A story is told about the mother of the first Jewish President who receives a call inviting her to fly on Air Force One. She hangs up the phone, and her friend asks, “Who was that?” She replies, “You know my son the doctor? That was his brother.”

The “Yiddishe Momme,” the Jewish Mother. It’s a joke. It’s a song. It’s a stereotype. It’s from the Torah.

Jack Yellen and Lew Pollack wrote the song entitled “My Yiddishe Momme” that was first recorded by Willie Howard and made famous by Sophie Tucker and later the Barry Sisters. Tucker began singing “My Yiddishe Momme” in 1925, after the death of her own mother, and it became a Top 5 hit in 1928. (Did you know they ranked the top hits back then??) In the song, the mother symbolizes a sense of nostalgia for the "old world", as well as guilt for having left it behind in assimilating into American society. This Yiddishe Momme has a warm, familiar feel. She engenders devotion, love, and loyalty. Nobody can say no to the Yiddishe Momme. She may even be just a little overbearing.

The classic “Yiddishe Momme” morphed into “The Jewish Mother,” a stereotype that conjures up a middle-aged woman with a nasal New York accent who either sweats over a steaming pot of matzah ball soup while screaming at her children or, in an updated version, she sits poolside in Florida guilt-tripping her grown children into calling her more often. The Jewish Mother wants her daughter to marry a Jewish doctor and her son to love her best of all. She loves her children fiercely, but man, does she nag.

The Yiddishe Momme has Torah roots. Judaism realizes that we have a special connection with our mothers, who play a unique role.

אִישׁ אִמּוֹ וְאָבִיו תִּירָאוּ וְאֶת־שַׁבְּתֹתַי תִּשְׁמֹרוּ אֲנִי ה' אֱ-לֹהֵיכֶם׃

You shall each revere your mother and your father, and keep My sabbaths: I am the Lord, your God. (Vayikra 19:3)

Rashi contrasts this verse with Shemot 20:12 where one of the Ten Commandments is “Honor your father and mother.” Why does the command to honor parents begin with the father, while the mitzvah to revere parents starts with the mother?

Rashi explains that, classically, the father was the “master of the house” and more often played the role of stern disciplinarian. The child may feel a little distant from the father and less willing to honor him. Therefore, the Torah opens the commandment to honor parents with the father: Honor your parents – including and especially your father from whom you may feel distant. When it comes to revering parents, the closer relationship with the classically gentler, tender mother might preclude showing enough reverence. Accordingly, the Torah begins the command to revere with the mother.

The Torah realized that children are likely to have a warmer, more sentimental relationship with the Yiddishe Momme.

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik noted that people are mistaken in thinking that we only have one tradition from our fathers. The verse says (Mishlei 1:8), “Hear, my son, the instruction of your father, and forsake not the Torah of your mother.” What is the difference between the instruction of a father and the Torah of a mother?

Traditionally in Judaism, the father taught the texts, the laws, and the instructions to his children. The mother had a different role. She taught her children that Judaism is more than strict compliance with the laws. The Rav said about his own mother: “She taught me that there is a flavor, a scent and a warmth to mitzvot. I learned from her the most important thing in life – to feel the presence of the Almighty and the gentle pressure of His hand resting on my frail shoulder…The laws of Shabbat were passed on to me by my father. The Shabbat as a living entity, a queen, was revealed to me by my mother; it is part of ‘the Torah of your mother’.” (“A Tribute to the Rebbetzin of Talne,” Tradition 17:2)

Judaism is a tradition which requires the input, influence, and spirit of both parents, but there is something especial that comes from our mothers. Maybe that’s why Judaism is matrilineal, and the religion is determined by the mother.

The Yiddishe Momme is more than a joke, a song, or a stereotype. She represents the secret weapon in ensuring Jewish thriving. Living by the “Torah of our mothers” and sharing a warm, beautiful, and vibrant Judaism with all around us would be a great gift to all the moms out there.

Happy Mother’s Day!

I Mourn Among the Joyful & Turn the Beat Around

This week, ahead of Yom Ha’atzmaut, two images of the handwritten diary of David Ben-Gurion from the evening of May 14, 1948 were released. The original diary has not yet been located, but copies exist. The journal is a fascinating insight into the mindset of one of Israel’s founders in “real time” as Israel was created.

Ben-Gurion is far from jubilant:

“We approved the text of the Declaration of Independence. Independence declared at 4 p.m. Across the land, there is joy and profound happiness, and again I mourn among the joyful, as on November 29…”

Ben-Gurion cannot celebrate Israel’s momentous milestones. Similar to his feeling on May 14, 1948, he recalls his reaction to November 29, 1947, when the United Nations approved the Partition Plan that called for a Jewish State to be created in Israel once the British Mandate ended 6 months following. That night, there was rejoicing in the streets of Tel Aviv and throughout the Jewish world. Ben-Gurion, however, could not join in the joy of that night or even after declaring Israel’s independence. As Eitan Donitz, CEO of the Ben-Gurion Heritage Institute, put it, “While the country celebrates, he is dealing with the question of the existence of the young state and is very anxious about it.”

It’s understandable.

From its birth as a state and until today, Israel’s existence is marked by joy and pain, celebration and solemnity, confidence and trepidation. We experienced this range of reactions this week in the transition from Yom Hazikaron to Yom Ha’atzmaut and have especially felt this whirlwind of emotions more viscerally since October 7.

How do we rejoice while feeling such contradictory emotions? Jews are very good at knowing how to “turn the beat around.” We are good at accentuating the positive. We can be grateful even when we are lacking and can celebrate even when there is also reason to mourn. It’s why God chose us.

The Talmud (Berachot 20b) recounts a conversation between God and the angels. The angels ask how God can favor the Jews if God is described as “showing no favor and taking no bribe” (Devarim 10:17). God responds:

“How can I not show favor to Israel? I wrote for them in the Torah: ‘And you shall eat and be satisfied and bless the Lord your God’ (Deuteronomy 8:10), meaning that there is no obligation to bless the Lord until one is fully satiated. Yet Jews are exacting with themselves to recite Grace after Meals even if they have eaten a smaller amount of food that is only the size of an olive or an egg. Since they go beyond the requirements of the law, they are worthy of My favor.”

God loves us because we thank God for food even when we might still be hungry. We are grateful for what we have even when we don’t have all we want or need. We can rejoice even when the situation is not completely jubilant. We know how to serve God even when things are not perfect. We know how to make the most out of an imperfect world.

Ben-Gurion mourned among the joyful. He was realistic. He bore the heavy responsibility of leadership of a newborn country surrounded by enemies. At the same time, we rejoice. We know how to be grateful for what we have however imperfect it may be. We can celebrate the miracles we experience even with dark clouds surrounding us.

We turn the beat around every Friday night.

There is a widespread custom to change the melody of “Lecha Dodi” midway though the song. There are numerous variations of the custom, but the change involves a shift from a somber, slower tune in the beginning to something festive and joyous for the conclusion of the prayer.

Why? As with many Jewish customs, there are a variety of answers. The renowned musicologist Velvel Pasternak said, “I spent a year researching this … got all kinds of explanations. The only one that was plausible was given to me by the Pittsburgher Rebbe of blessed memory. He said in Yiddish: ‘Shoyn genug genidzet mit dem ershtn nigun - they got tired of the first tune.’ This is most probably the correct reason.”

Classic.

I believe this practice is just one more expression of our ability to “turn the beat around.” God loves us. God chose us because of our ability to be grateful despite what is lacking and to rejoice despite there being reason to mourn. Knowing how to do this gives us the confidence to keep praying, striving, and fighting for a time when we have all we need and only have reason to rejoice.

Yom HaShoah Song Selection & Understanding the Week Ahead

The post-Pesach “Yom”s” are a lot.

Just days after Pesach ends, we observe Yom HaShoah. Just one week later, we commemorate Yom Hazikaron and celebrate Yom Ha’atzmaut. First, we try to properly capture the magnitude of the Holocaust – the trauma, horror, and heroism. Then, in what is very different than our American experience, Israel transitions in a mere 24 hours from somberly remembering those killed establishing and defending the State to joyously celebrating her independence. Talk about a busy week!

Each year, I try to find a new insight, a different emotional or spiritual approach to a week of sadness, anger, inspiration, memory, and exultation. This year, I found meaning in the song selection of the Communal Yom HaShoah Commemoration.

The ceremony featured a very familiar structure. There is a candle lighting ceremony by survivors and descendants of survivors. A cantor chants an emotional Memorial Prayer and Tehillim is recited. Of course, the children sing. A choir is key to any commemoration. Music is a powerful tool for remembrance. Plus, the participating children develop a deeper appreciation of the importance of participating in Shoah remembrance. (It also means more people attend.)

As I listened to the songs sung, I felt a range of emotions. First, there was sadness and longing. The opening song was a Yiddish song recounting the past. We were taken back to the Old Country as the horrors of the Holocaust shocked the Jews from their everyday lives. Next was “Ani Ma’amin, which recalled the many who still believed in redemption even as they were about to be murdered. While a testament of faith, those words were, ultimately, a desperate, final, doomed plea.

The next songs transitioned to faith. The choir sang Shlomo Carlebach’s “Gam Ki Eilech” based on Psalm 23. The beautiful melody elevated the classic declaration: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, because You are with me.” For You are with me. We seek comfort and security in the knowledge that God accompanies us even in dark times. God’s presence was also the theme of the next song. It was another “Ani Ma’amin,” but not the one about Moshiach. The words to the lovely tune sung by Dveykus were from Rambam’s first declaration of faith: “I believe with perfect faith that the Creator creates and rules all creatures; and that God alone made, makes, and will make all things.” God is in charge – past, present, and future. We are no longer oppressed and doomed with nothing to look forward to except the Messianic era. We regain our “faith footing” and find comfort in God’s omnipresence and omnipotence. God runs the world.

The children concluded their performance with a version of “Im Eshkacheich Yerushalayim.” No matter what, we carry with us a vision of Jerusalem.

The songs captured the Yom HaShoah, Yom Hazikaron, Yom Ha’atzmaut emotional roller coaster. From darkness and desperation to comfort and confidence to restoration and redemption.

Most importantly, the Yom HaShoah commemoration featured a survivor sharing his story. Especially as the number of survivors declines, we must take advantage of every opportunity we can to listen to them in person. Paul Gross was born in 1937 in Hungary. He was 7 years-old when the Jews were rounded up and put on a train. Luckily, his train did not go to Auschwitz. He and his family were taken first to a makeshift camp in Austria before they ended up in Theresienstadt until liberation.

Mr. Gross recounted that when the Jews were being marched to the train, he imagined he was soldier. All the Jews were wearing yellow stars, and he viewed his as a “badge of honor,” a military insignia, and he marched swinging his hands back and forth. Despite the horrors he faced, he remembered the Jewish pride he felt.

On one lapel, Mr. Gross was wearing the yellow “Jude” star that he had worn 80 years ago. On the other, he wore the IDF pin he wore as an Israeli soldier 10 years later. A Holocaust testimony spanning from darkness to determination and, ultimately, defense of the Jewish homeland.

In Parshat Shemini, we read of the tragic death of Aharon’s two sons. Nadav and Avihu. Afterwards, Aharon responds twice. The first is through silence – “Vayidom Aharon.” In the second response, Aharon pushes back against Moshe’s accusation that the Kohanim made a mistake. Aharon progresses from passive acceptance to active engagement. These two responses are two different ways we respond to tragedy. Sometimes, we are silent. We don’t know what to do. Other times, we take a stand. We question, we challenge, or maybe we fight.

During the week of Yom HaShoah through Yom Ha’atzmaut, we go through both responses. We are silent, lost, bewildered, sad and despondent, and then we are transformed through the actions and heroism that created the State of Israel.

On Wednesday night, I experienced this journey through the songs of Jewish children. It’s the Jewish journey past, present, and future. We must encounter the horrors of the Shoah to fortify ourselves against the enemies of today, to feel that God is always with us, and that our future is in Jerusalem.

Paul Gross concluded his remarks with two powerful declarations:

“Netzach Yisrael lo yeshakeir – The glory of Israel endures forever.” (1 Shmuel 15:29)

“Am Yisrael Chai!”

Just More Matzah & We’ll All Be Free!

Can one ever eat enough matzah?

I know. Some of you are thinking: “Even a little is too much.” Nevertheless, as Pesach ends there is a practice to fit in just a little more matzah on the last day.

Rabbi Eliyahu Kramer, the Vilna Gaon, noted that the Torah gives us contradictory messages regarding the mitzvah to eat matzah. In one place, it commands us to eat matzah at the Seder, and in another, it says, “Eat matzah for seven days.” Many just assume the Torah is telling us that since we cannot eat bread, our only choice is to eat matzah over Pesach with a special requirement at the Seder. The Vilan Gaon understood differently. There is an OBLIGATION to eat matzah at the Seder, but one FULFILLS a mitzvah whenever one eats matzah during Pesach.

While some suffice with Seder matzah, the Vilna Gaon took advantage of the last day of Pesach to have a sort of “Seudah Shlishit,” which is usually only eaten on Shabbat, and eat just a little more matzah to fulfill one more mitzvah. Those who follow the Vilna Gaon have a little meal with matzah as Pesach ends called a “Neilat HaChag,” which means to close out the holiday.

Chasidim have a similar practice called “Seudah Besht” (Meal of Rabbi Israel Ba’al Shem Tov) or “Seudat Moshiach” (Messiah’s Meal). It originated as a meal to commemorate the Ba’al Shem Tov being saved from a shipwreck that took place on Pesach. The meal closes out the festival of the Exodus with an eye towards the future redemption described in the Haftorah of the last day of Pesach (Isaiah 11). Chabad chasidim turned the affair into a quasi-Seder with four cups of wine and songs of salvation.

Why does redemption need more matzah?

Matzah has multiple messages. It is the “bread of affliction” and “poor man’s bread.” When we eat matzah, we are reminded of slavery and subjugations past and present. Matzah is also the “bread of faith.” The Talmud teaches that matzah is the bread of answers. Kabbalah calls it the bread of healing. Eating matzah reminds us of the original salvation which fortifies us to face subsequent and current challenges with strength, confidence, and anticipation for redemption.

Matzah tells the story of a painful past at the same time as it inspires hope in a better future.

In the final weeks before Pesach in 1944 amidst the horrors of Bergen-Belsen, Jewish inmates, starved and broken, turned to the Bluzhever Rebbe, Rav Yisrael Spira, with an impossible request: permission to bake matzah. Risking his life, the Rebbe petitioned the brutal camp commandant, Adolf Haas. Miraculously, Haas agreed to submit the request to Berlin, which approved a limited amount of flour to be used in place of the prisoners’ daily bread. With great devotion, the prisoners built a makeshift oven and baked matzah while singing Hallel, experiencing a brief moment of spiritual freedom.

But soon after, a smuggled letter from another inmate was discovered, and Haas accused the Rebbe of betrayal. Despite being threatened with execution unless he named the culprit, the Rebbe stood firm, ready to die rather than inform. Haas ultimately spared his life but destroyed the matzah oven. Only a very few matzahs had been baked already, and the question arose—who should eat them?

A widow named Bronia passionately insisted that the children should eat the matzah – “One day soon, they will be free, and they will rebuild their lives and conduct Sedarim of their own. They should eat it because they represent the future.”

On Seder night, the Rebbe led a Seder for the children, planting seeds of hope amidst the darkness. A year later, the camp was liberated. Eventually, Bronia married the Rebbe, and her two sons who ate the matzah that Pesach night became his children. One of those sons later became the next Bluzhever Rebbe; the other helped publish his teachings. From ashes and agony, a legacy was rebuilt, and a future preserved. (From Haggadah Touched by Our Story, Rabb Yechiel Spero, p.20-22)

The children who once ate matzah in Bergen-Belsen carried with them the spark to ignite the fire of Jewish continuity, a living rejection of despair. Matzah is a powerful symbol. Eating matzah fortifies us for the future.

Rabbi Yitz Greenberg wrote, “Freedom is in the psyche, not in the bread.” At the same time, eating matzah is a tangible encounter with an expectation for redemption and confidence in the future. If so, I’ll have some more, please.

Pour Out Thy Wrath!

It comes towards the end of the Seder.

After Birkat Ha-Mazon and just before Hallel, we pour a cup for Eliyahu HaNavi, open the door, and recite:

“Pour out Thy wrath upon the nations that do not know You, and on the regimes that have not called upon Your name. For Jacob is devoured; they have laid his places waste. Pour out Your great anger upon them, and let Your blazing fury overtake them. Pursue them in Your fury and destroy them from under the heavens of the Lord.”

This brief declaration is, for me, a source of fascination and many formative Seder memories. My practice (except when living on the 11^th floor of a Manhattan apartment building) is to actually go outside for this declaration. Each year, Naama recounts and imitates one of her childhood Seder guests in Memphis reciting the passage in a Southern drawl, “Pour out Thy wrath.” (I hear her imitating that voice as I write this!)

The call itself is powerful. We shout out for justice and vengeance against those who have persecuted us throughout history. Afterwards, we invite Eliyahu, who personifies the eternity of the Jewish people and is a harbinger of redemption, inside to our Seder for a sip of wine. Since he has previously made thousands of stops, I wait anxiously for him to spill some wine. (I swear he actually did at my Seder when I was 4 years old!)

Alas, it comes late into the Seder, after three cups of wine, lots of matzah, and a big meal. It’s easy to overlook the power of this short statement.

“Shefoch Chamatcha” first appeared in the Haggadah as part of the Machzor Vitry compiled around 1145 by Rabbi Simchah, one of Rashi’s students. This timeframe makes sense as an angry call to vengeance was certainly relevant after the devastating First Crusade. The Jewish experience made this declaration a permanent part of the Seder. Jews have suffered throughout our history. While we’re not known for vengeance – and we’re more likely to call out to God to impose it, sometimes, enough is enough. 

At the Seder, we recount the Egyptian oppression. We experience the bitterness and the tears. We then “experience” the Exodus and redemption. At the same time, this experience cannot but help but bring to mind subsequent oppression. We made it out of Egypt, but what about…the destruction of the Temples…the Inquisition and expulsion from Spain…the pogroms…the Shoah…October 7?

At the point in the Seder when we are about to sing Hallel, and thank and praise God for leaving Egypt, we stop for a moment of reflection. We snap out of our historical reverie to consider our current circumstances. We thank God for the Exodus, while considering Jewish history and the present. We can’t let our enemies off the hook on this night when we celebrate our initial freedom.

The Seder night is called “Leil Shimurim,” the night of protection. Jewish tradition teaches that we can feel more confident and secure on this night. Some have the practice of leaving the door unlocked, and some of the protective prayers of the bedtime Shema are omitted. I believe this confidence is why we open the door, go outside, and loudly declare “Shefoch Chamatcha.” We’re not afraid to call for justice and vengeance. It’s our “We’re not gonna take it anymore!” moment - even if our neighbors won’t understand the Hebrew verses we recite.

Some feel our call for vengeance is out of character. The verses are more appropriate for our Biblical enemies like Amalek or the idolators of the Talmud and less relevant to today’s nations. After all, not all non-Jews are enemies. In recent years, some have removed “Shefoch Chamatcha” from the Haggadah. Others replaced it with what was claimed to be a 16^th century version which begins, “Pour out Your love…” This version turned out to be a forgery and a modern innovation.

“Shefoch Chamatcha” remains relevant.

In March 2023, Dr. Ruth Wisse wrote in The Wall Street Journal, “Some Jews have removed this section altogether from their Seder recitations. But moral evasion doesn’t improve the world.” With all that is broken and evil, with all the Jewish people have experienced and are experiencing, with 59 hostages in Gaza, we must demand justice and vengeance. As Dr. Wisse put it:

“If Jews believed in a God of justice, how else but through some call for justice could we remain Jews? Politically, theologically, and above all humanly, the call to God would actually prove indispensable for a people that does not do unto others as coalitions of evil have done — and in some cases still openly plan to do — unto them.”

Rabbi Menachem Kasher, a prominent scholar and prolific author, published a Haggadah in 1956. Rabbi Kasher, who famously suggested adding a fifth cup of wine at the Seder in our times due to the establishment of the State of Israel, felt that “Shefoch Chamatcha” could not be recited without acknowledging the unprecedented events of his generation. He wrote:

“Before recitation of the paragraph ‘Pour out Thy wrath” and Hallel and the Great Hallel, let us turn to two great epochs of our time: 1. Chaos and destruction…and 2. Liberation and rebuilding…We, members of the most unfortunate generation in all the years of Israel's exile, with our own eyes have beheld the annihilation of one third of our people at the hands of the savage Nazis…When we recite ‘Pour out Thy wrath,’ we are reminded of ‘the nations that know Thee not.’ And when we recite ‘To Him Who alone doeth great marvels,’ we recall the miraculous events accorded us by the Eternal in our own days and our own Holy Land; for this is the beginning of the redemption of people and soil, and the gathering of the exiles…”

What has true in the aftermath of the Holocaust and the establishment of the State of Israel remains just as true today in reaction to the world around us. “Shefoch Chamatcha” is not merely an historical interjection within the Seder liturgy. It’s an opportunity to take a stand against evil and injustice against Jews today. We will not be silent against Jews haters, Israel deniers, and hostage takers. There is an easy solution to the the war in Gaza: Hamas surrenders. There is no excuse or justification for accusing Israel of genocide. People who do so are not well-meaning or ill-informed. They are our enemies, and we demand justice and cry out to God for vengeance.

“Shefoch Chamatcha” is our declaration that we’re moving forward and confidently confront all those who oppose us.

Events since October 7 have shaken us to our cores. “Shefoch Chamatcha” gives us each a chance to regain our voice, step outside, and demand redemption, freedom for the hostages, and a better world.