Pesach is a holiday of contradictions. The karpas represents both an appetizer for a fancy meal, yet we dip it in saltwater as a reminder of the back-breaking work in Egypt. The charoset symbolizes the faithfulness of the Jewish women in enticing their husbands to have children, and the mortar used in hard labour. Even marror is supposed to be both sweet and bitter representing the various stages of our sojourn in Egypt. The key ingredient at the seder, the matza is both the bread of freedom eaten as we departed from Egypt, as well as the bread of affliction served to us as slaves. Both the work the Jewish slaves did for Pharaoh and the worship of G-d are known as avodah, the former an act of slavery and the latter the secret to redemption.
This dichotomy serves as the basis for the four questions. Is the matza the food of slavery or freedom? Do we dip food because we are at a banquet with all kinds of spreads or to remind us of the tears that were shed over so many years? How can one at the same meal sit back and relax while being served marror?
The same experience can both afflict and redeem. When marror is used to justify our feelings of victimhood then they are just bitter herbs. But if we can learn from our affliction so that we do not bring bitterness to others, the marror is transformed to a stepping stone towards redemption.
Our Sages "debate" whether the Egyptian exile was a punishment for our sins or a precondition to forming a nation. Actually, both can be, and most likely, are true. The sins committed by our ancestors, be it Avraham leaving the Land of Israel in time of famine[1], Avraham’s questioning G-d’s promise of fathering a great nation, or the selling of Yosef to name three of the suggestions of our commentators, demonstrated that we were not yet ready to form a nation. We needed to be "punished" in order for our moral sense to take root and develop. Enduring the long years in Egypt was deemed to be the appropriate measure that would ensure that we would constantly "remember that we were strangers in the land of Egypt " and act accordingly.
Even the slavery in Egypt was of a dual nature. "I remember the kindness of your youth that you followed Me into a desert" (Yirmiyahu 2:2). If Egypt was so terrible why praise those who were willing to escape? The Torah records over and over again the refrain of the Jewish people that life was better in Egypt than with Moshe and Aharon in the desert. There was free fish and fruit for all. The Rabbis, echoing this theme, record that only one in five Jews actually left Egypt. Apparently, life was not so bad in Egypt. It is for good reason we tell the rasha—uninterested in the community at large—that he too would not have been redeemed from Egypt.
Why then does the Haggadah focus on the back-breaking work, the mortar, the tears, the suffering of the children while ignoring the many who preferred Egypt?
Though there is much history in Torah, the Torah is not a history book. It offers editorial comments (and more) instructing and inspiring us to make better life choices. "Like the actions of the Egyptians, where you dwelt, you shall not do" (Vayikra 18:3) is both a command and a worldview.
The Haggadah is no different. While it has elements of a story it is much more. It is the mechanism by which we are inspired and inspire the next generation to experience the joys and pain of being Jewish. The Haggadah thus contains much more than the story of the Exodus. In its pages appear Terach, Avraham, Yaakov, Hillel, Rabbi Akiva, even Eliyahu and the city of Bnei Brak. At the same time Moshe, Aharon and Miriam are missing from its pages. Surely this is no recounting of the Exodus story. The "story itself" is actually told through the mitzva of bikurim through the perspective of the farmer living in Israel long after the Exodus; a brief synopsis recorded in sefer Devarim, as opposed to the historical events from sefer Shemot. It is not what happened that is crucial but the lessons learned from our historic memory.
Life in Egypt for many was good. Culture, science, religion(s), wealth, they had it all. Yes, it took hard work to get ahead but the "slaves" were happy to comply. In every generation there are those who emulate their ancestors and work too long and too hard, unable to find the requisite time for family and community. They may have big homes, fancy cars and exotic vacations, but in the editorial pages that make up the Haggadah they are but enlightened voluntary slaves. Without Shabbat, the holidays, integrity in business, a sexual ethic, sensitivity to others—all mitzvoth recorded in connection to the Exodus—one cannot be truly free.
Modern, successful man is so often caught up in a web of obligations, making it difficult to see beyond the here and now.
Hard work is great. The Haggadah just asks that we keep life in perspective, that we are able, when the time comes, to move on to greater things. Let us pray we will have the wisdom to do so.
[1] Whether it was a mistake to leave the Land of Israel is a fundamental dispute amongst our commentaries. The Ramban (Breisheet 12:10) argues that “Avraham sinned a great sin unintentionally” and should have had faith that “G-d would save him, his wife and all he had”. Others disagree maintaining that one dare not rely on G-d and must act according to natural laws of cause and effect.
