The Passover Table stimulates questions for both children and adults. From the simple, “why are we doing this?” To the famous, “when do we eat?” The Seder night is truly a night different from all other nights. In this episode of Messiah in Life, we consider a small view of the Passover that leads us to understand the opening invitation: “Whoever is hungry, let him and eat!” Give a listen!
“This is the bread of affliction that our fathers ate…”
The Seder opens with an odd invitation, come and eat the bread representing affliction with me if you are hungry, if you are in need. “Come and eat this bread that has been part of my affliction … Come and eat this bread that has been part of my pressed, hurried, and bondaged life.”
When we taste the matzah, we are transported in time: to the past and into the future.
The Passover Seder causes us to remember, live, and share in the still unfolding deliverance of a people. It is an event of sensory engagement: an eatable sermon.
While we reflect and remember, we are stirred by the narrative of the Haggadah, from a place of self-reflection: to compassion, gratitude, and sharing.
This matzah – the unleavened bread – has two meanings: 1) it is the bread of affliction that the children of Israel ate because they did not have time to allow the dough to rise, and 2) it is the bread of freedom that they ate in the days after they left Egypt.
How can this be?
When we are afflicted, the natural inclination is self-preservation. In affliction we do not say to our neighbor or stranger, and certainly not our enemy, “If you are hungry, come and eat.” But we know we are free, when filled and refreshed with gratitude, compassion, and without hesitation, we share what little we have.
This is freedom – when we can open ourselves, we are truly free.
When we recognize the gift of life given by the Lord, the most basic and relatable human condition, then דינו/Dayenu: “it is enough for us.”
The same unleavened bread, two meanings, and much to teach us. Here we see how the Messiah can be both afflicted and victorious, the Man of sorrows and Savior, the Suffering Servant and King. The afflicted, suffering servant, the man of sorrows Who sympathizes with us (Heb. 4:15); and the victorious, Savior King standing at the right hand of the Father in Heaven.
By eating this Matzah, this bread of affliction and bread of freedom, we balance between two spiritual realities in Messiah: afflicted humility and generous freedom.
We eat the bread of affliction: 1) to remember that Messiah died for us; and, 2) we eat the bread of freedom to show the greatest love, of giving ourselves completely to the other, just as He gave Himself completely for us.
Deliverance from Egypt demanded the life of a lamb. Deliverance from the power of sin and death demanded the life of the Lamb. And now we, as living sacrifices in Messiah, the Lamb, give ourselves over to His Will: connecting to those in suffering and bondage.
Yet, in His resurrection we connect to His victory, and His freedom; whereby, we connect with the victorious and the free in joyous praise.
This is why we need to be reminded, to remember, and share the words, year after year:
“This is the bread of affliction that our fathers ate in Egypt, whoever is hungry, let him come and eat; whoever is needy, let him come and celebrate Passover.”
דינו, dayenu, what we have received at this season would be more than enough, but He has so much more to give us, and so much more for us to share. We are always blessed with enough, because we have Him.
Be well. Shalom. Chag Pesach Kasher Vesame’ach, a kosher and joyous Passover to you all.
At every Passover Seder, no matter how full or limited the space available, there sits an empty cup. Yet, not just an empty cup, but according to some traditions, a chair, or even a full place setting. The cup is poured just before the reading of the Hallel, focusing on praise and the future redemption. When the cup is poured, the door is opened, a paragraph is read, and the Seder continues. This cup remains undisturbed, full, to the end of the Seder. It is then cleaned, and stored for another year.
Why?
This the Cup of Elijah, כּוֹסוֹ שֶׁל אֵלִיָּהוּ. Unlike Moses, who makes no appearance in the Seder, Elijah has a place of prominence. Why? He is the herald of Messiah. As the prophet writes, “He will turn the hearts of fathers to the children, and the hearts of children to their fathers” (Mal. 4:5-6).
It is often said that when the door is opened, we are opening the door for Elijah. It is, however, slightly different. We are opening the door so we can go out to greet him. We fill a cup, at a yet empty seat. We then leave the feast, the set table, go to the door in order to exit and meet the hoped for forerunner of the Messiah.
Have you ever looked over at someone’s seat, wishing they were there, that they were coming, or that they would return? Elijah never died. He will return at the set time before the return of the Messiah. Still, we hope for the promise of Elijah to go before him: the joy of reconciliation. That the empty cup, filled in anticipation, would be drank, and the seat occupied. That the one or ones we are yet missing, due to strained circumstances, would enter, and share in the cup of hope and joy.
In the parable of the prodigal son, the father does not wait for the son to arrive at his feet in order to receive him. No, the father gets up, opens the door, exits and runs to the son, and embraces the one who had cut him so deeply. This is the turning of hearts that goes before Elijah.
This is why an empty cup is set, a seat prepared, and a door opened: we are rehearsing our own prodigal moment. We then drink in the joy and peace of that hopeful cup.
Why wait?
There is no better time then the present to usher in the promise of the messianic herald, and turn our renewed hearts in faith to those we love and miss. Then our cups will be full, even running over, as we await the final redemption Elijah’s coming announces.