Abacaxi Mamão

I was somewhat frustrated that, for the first time this year, I didn't have time to prepare Torah for the seder.¹ This was my third year (in a row) leading the seder, and I like to find at least two interesting and new (to me, at least) things to share over the course of the seder. I love leading the seder, and one of the things that I love about it is that it forces me to find interesting things to say in advance. I was also much more nervous this year (and therefore worse at it), probably because it was my first time leader seder for non-family. The only thing that I thought I did pretty well was having things run smoothly time-wise, at a fast enough clip to be done by 1:10 am (started at 9:15 pm), but with enough time to talk about and ask questions on interesting things. Real kudos, though, of course go to the cooks!

During the second seder, which was a communal one that I attended with my sister, aunt, and 40 strangers, I actually had time to talk and think and discuss, mostly because whenever the leader was saying anything, I looked through my haggadah. (I had brought my own, to supplement their Maxwell House ones, and to keep from getting bored, which happens to me at long, drawn-out, communal affairs.)

I had two interesting, new-to-me, thoughts. I think that the second is more interesting, but I'll start with the first.

וַנִּצְעַק אֶל יי אֱלֹהֵי אֲבֹתֵינוּ, וַיִּשְׁמַע יי אֶת קֹלֵנוּ, וַיַּרְא אֶת עָנְיֵנוּ וְאֶת עֲמָלֵנוּ וְאֶת לַחֲצֵנוּ.

וַנִּצְעַק אֶל יי אֱלֹהֵי אֲבֹתֵינוּ - כְּמָה שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וַיְהִי בַיָמִים הָרַבִּים הָהֵם וַיָּמָת מֶלֶךְ מִצְרַים, וַיֵאָנְחוּ בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל מִן הָעֲבוֹדָה וַיִּזְעָקוּ, וַתַּעַל שַׁוְעָתָם אֶל הָאֱלֹהִים מִן הָעֲבֹדָה.

וַיִּשְׁמַע יי אֶת קֹלֵנוּ - כְּמָה שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וַיִּשְׁמַע אֱלֹהִים אֶת נַאֲקָתָם, וַיִּזְכּוֹר אֱלֹהִים אֶת בְּרִיתוֹ אֶת אַבְרָהָם, אֶת יִצְחָק ואֶת יַעֲקֹב.

"And we cried out to the L-rd, the G-d of our fathers, and the L-rd heard our voice and saw our suffering, our labor, and our oppression."

"And we cried out to the L-rd, the G-d of our fathers," as it is said: "During that long period, the king of Egypt died; and the children of Israel groaned because of the servitude, and they cried out. And their cry for help from their servitude rose up to G-d."

"And the L-rd heard our voice" as it said: "And G-d heard their groaning, and G-d remembered His covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob."

The question was, "Why did we need to cry out for God to hear our suffering and remember the covenant? Would God forget a covenant? If we had not cried out, would we still be slaves in Egypt? Did he not see our suffering, our labor, and our oppression until we called out?"

I find that question to be interesting. There are really two questions:

1. Does God not see everyone's suffering, even the suffering of those who suffer in silence? This is a question on the verse:
   

   "And we cried out to the L-rd...and the L-rd...saw our suffering, our labor, and our oppression."

2. And secondly, would God have forgotten his sacred promise to Abraham, et. al., (e.g., this), if they had not cried out in anguish? This is a question on the midrashic interpretation of the verse:
   

   "'And the L-rd heard our voice' as it said: 'And G-d heard their groaning, and G-d remembered His covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.'"

I have no proof, but I have to believe that the answer to the first question is "yes." God clearly does not always rescue us from our bondage, but the thought of God not even seeing--not even noticing--when his creations suffer is untenable in my personal theology. So the basic question of why it says that "God saw our suffering" only after that reports that "we cried out" is a very good one. I don't really have an answer.

In terms of the second question, I think I have something slightly better to offer. This question arises whenever we read that God "remembered" (זכר or פקד). I'm sure that there are many classic rabbinic answers, but I don't remember them. In any case, various people at the second seder offered answers, none of which satisfied me. The only one that satisfied me was my own, which is this:

God does not forget covenants. God does not ignore suffering. But even God cannot save people who don't want to be saved. You need to want redemption in order to merit redemption. I like this idea, because it fits into the later narrative in Exodus, etc., when the Israelites really aren't so sure that they wanted redemption at all. Perhaps, they muse, they would be better off in Egypt. This text, this verse and the midrash on it, repudiates that revisionist view of things. No, when they were actually enslaved in Egypt, they really did want out. The proof is in these verses. They wanted it mightily, with all of the little power they possessed. The only power they had was the power to cry out to God, so that's what they did. And that's what saved them.

(Or, perhaps, this verse cited in the haggadah is, itself, Deuteronomic revisionism, and they actually did want to remain enslaved in Egypt, but, nationally, that's a version of the story that we can't stomach, so for bikkurim purposes, that was revised to this version--we really, really wanted out.)

And what of the covenant? What role did that play? I'm not sure. I think that the covenant was always there, but for it to be activated, they had to want to activate it. They had to want the covenant to be upheld. Sometimes, people promise us things, but for us to get them to "pay up" seems like more trouble than it is worth. God had to know that for the Israelites, the covenant was not more trouble than it was worth. It had to be at least worthwhile enough for them to cry out for it, and for God. And it was. So God upheld it.

That concludes my attempts to answer this conundrum.

Another question/observation: I just now noticed that the first verse says that what God heard was our crying out specifically to him ("וַנִּצְעַק אֶל יי אֱלֹהֵי אֲבֹתֵינוּ, וַיִּשְׁמַע יי אֶת קֹלֵנוּ"). This is why he saved us. However, in the later midrashic explication, it says that what reminded God of the covenant specifically was not our crying out specifically to him, but our general groaning and moaning about how much life sucked, being enslaved to the Egyptians as we were ( "וַיִּשְׁמַע אֱלֹהִים אֶת "נַאֲקָתָם, וַיִּזְכּוֹר אֱלֹהִים אֶת בְּרִיתוֹ). I don't know what to make of this distinction, if anything.

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The second thing that I thought of during the second seder never got shared. Someone asked, "Given that this is our national moment, our reliving of the core story that defines our identity as a people, why is it modeled on a foreign culture's practice, the Greek symposium? Why all of the Greek words--afikoman, karpas, etc.?" (I don't think that karpas is Greek, but that's how the question was asked, so I faithfully reproduce it here.)

Again, answers were given ("The afikoman is not what we eat, but what we don't eat: 'אֵין מַפְטִירִין אַחַר הַפֶּסַח אֲפִיקוֹמָן'), but none that satisfied me, because they were besides the point, which is that the whole seder is a pantomime of Greek noblemen and the habits of various non-Jewish royalty. I liked what I came up with, which is based on a slightly different text of the haggadah. In most Ashkenazi haggadot (as far as I am aware), there is a bit that reads:

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