Maror מרור

🌀 Raise the Maror and ask:

What is the meaning of the Maror?

מָרוֹר זֶה שֶׁאָנוּ אוֹכְלִין עַל שׁוּם מָה? על שׁוּם שֶׁמֵּרְרוּ הַמִּצְרִים אֶת־חַיֵּי אֲבוֹתֵינוּ בְּמִּצְרַיִם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וַיְמָרְרוּ אֶת־חַיֵּיהֶם בַּעֲבֹדָה קָשָׁה, בְּחֹמֶר וּבִלְבֵנִים וּבְכָל־עֲבֹדָה בָּשָּׂדֶה, אֵת כָּל־עֲבֹדָתָם אֲשֶׁר עָבְדוּ בָהֶם בְּפָרֶךְ.

Maror zeh, she’anu ochlin, al shum mah? Al shum sh’may’r’ru haMitzrim et chayei avoteinu b’Mitzra’yim, she’ne’emar: Va’y’mah’r’ru et chayeihem ba’avodah kashah, b’chomer u’vil’veinim, u’v’chol avodah basadeh; eit kol avodatam asher avdu vahem b’farech.

🌀 Distribute Maror as the following paragraphs are read.

The Maror is a symbol of the bitter lives of our ancestors who were slaves in Egypt. They had to toil as builders and as field workers. Our rabbis teach that each generation experiences the Exodus anew:

B’chol dor vador

בְּכָל־דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת־עַצְמוֹ כְּאִלּוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּצְרַיִם.

B’chol dor vador, chayav adam lirot; lirot et atzmo k’eelu hu; k’eelu hu yatza mee mitzraim.

In each and every generation an individual should look upon him or herself; as if he or she had left Egypt.

Rabbi Meir ben Tzipporah v’Nechemia haLevi teaches:

I ran as fast as I could. The exertion, the pollens and the dust. All these worked together. I could hardly breathe. As if inside my chest. My lungs were two hot deserts. Pressing in. Against the lush green river valley through which my breathing needed to flow.

I awoke and saw my mother before me.

“Here, take this,” she told me.

“Yech, bitter!”

“Yes, but it can loosen the congestion, free your breathing.”

“Must I taste the bitter to feel the freedom?”

“No, but it may take much longer. Perhaps you need to know how bad it can become: the constrictions, and the contractions before any birth can occur….”

We had moved cramped together, fast along the narrow paths to our unknown destination. Our lives increasingly embittered by those who did not understand us.

Softly, she said again, “Take it.”

“Breathe deeply, my dear one,” she whispered.

I felt her body move with mine as she continued: “Feel the inflow of יהוה’s presence as you inhale with the Heh (ה), yes, stand straight as the Vav (ו), now, slowly with the Heh (ה) again allow your body to collapse to the size of the Yod (י). Again and again, continuously. Allow this Breath of the universe to become your breath.

כֹּל הַנְּשָׁמָה תְּהַלֵּל יָהּ; הַלְלוּיָהּ, הַלְלוּיָהּ.

‘Kol haN’shamah t’hallel Yah, Halleluyah!’ ‘Every breathing thing praises God, Praise God!’”

“The bitterness will pass and the freedom will begin!”

The Jewish people has known despots throughout its history. But we, in the living memory of some, have experienced the most terrible attempt at annihilation. It is a bitter memory. From this experience we learn to be ever vigilant to enemies, to resist them before they can bring us harm.

We remember with reverence and love the six millions of our people who perished at the hands of a tyrant more wicked than Pharaoh who enslaved the our ancestors in Egypt. Slavery was not enough for this one. He wanted to cut us off from being a people, that the name “Israel” would no more be remembered. So they slew the blameless and the pure—adults and little ones—with vapors of poison, and burned them with fire.

☞ How do we understand what Antisemitism means?
How might we respond to the current rise in Antisemitism?

☞ Who among us is “blameless and pure”?
And even if we are compromised, how can we conceive of people who would annihilate others?

Remnants in the ghettos and death camps rose up against the wicked ones and slew many of them before they themselves died. In 1943, on the first night of Pesach, some of those who remained in the Warsaw Ghetto rose up against the adversary. They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they brought redemption to the name of Israel through all the world.¹

How many is 6,000,000?

In their honor this song was written and sung:

Zog Nit Keyn Mol

Never say that there is only death for you
Though leaden skies may be concealing days of blue—
Because the hour that we’ve hungered for is near;
Beneath our tread the earth shall tremble: We are here!

From land of palm-tree to the far-off land of snow
We shall be coming without torment and our woes,
And everywhere our blood has sunk into the earth
Shall our bravery, our vigor blossom forth!

We’ll have the morning sun to set our day aglow,
And all our yesterdays shall vanish without the foe,
And if the time is long before the sun appears;
Then let this song go like a signal through the years.

This song was written with our blood and not with lead;
It’s not a song that birds sing overhead
It was a people, among toppling barricades,
That sang this song of ours with pistols and grenades.

So, never say that there is only death for you
Though leaden skies may be concealing days of blue—
Because the hour that we’ve hungered for is near;
Beneath our tread the earth shall tremble: We are here!²

🌀 Light the Yahrtzeit candle (or move the previously lit candle to the table).

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ אֱלֹהֵנוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָּנוּ עַל אֲכִילַת מָרוֹר.

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha’olam, asher kiddishanu b’mitzvotav, vetzivanu al achilat maror.

Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of all space and time, who has made us distinct through your directives and has directed us to eat maror.

🌀 All eat the Maror.

Footnotes

¹ A variant of these three paragraphs, written by Rufus Learsi (a semordnilap of “suffer Israel”, aka Israel Goldberg) in the early 1950s appeared in many Haggadot including this one; exactly where in the Seder, I do not know. I have restored it here after a hiatus of approximately 10 years.

² Song of the Vilna Ghetto underground, words: Hirsh Glik music: Dmitri Pokrass, translated by Aaron Kramer.