This teaching is one of the earliest values instilled in us as children and an anthem of our youth. Yet over time, what begins as a simple and essential lesson often fades, replaced by a growing focus on individual ownership and personal needs. 

Pesach is the archetypal intergenerational holiday, where we celebrate the continuity of the Jewish people from “generation to generation”, and gather amongst family and friends at our seder tables. It is on this sacred night that we renew our commitment to our responsibility to pursue sharing with others. 

In many ways, Maggid is the centerpiece of our seder nights and the holder of much of the intergenerational nature of the holiday. If Pesach is the holiday of the Jewish story and peoplehood, then Maggid acts as the storytelling anchor where we partake in the telling of the exodus story and signify our transformation into a collective nation. Yet, greeting us at the beginning is the peculiar passage of Ha Lachma Anya. 

“This is the bread of oppression our fathers ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry come in and eat; let all who are in need come and join us for the Pesah.”

Multiple questions come to mind about this passage. Why are we just now inviting others in after we have already begun, and not commence the whole seder with Ha Lachma Anya? Is this not an empty or meaningful declaration of hospitality? Why would we offer the supposed bread of affliction to those who are hungry? 

Addressing this last question, Rabbi Sacks z”l offers an idea which I found resonant. First, he shared Primo Levi’s story, a Holocaust survivor. In If This Is a Man, Primo Levi describes being left behind at Auschwitz in January 1945 when the Nazis fled, as sick prisoners struggled to survive with almost no food or heat. When fellow prisoners chose to share their bread with those who had worked to light a stove, Levi saw it as the first true act of humanity in the camp and the beginning of their return to being human again. It was not the access to food and resources that enabled the survivors of the Holocaust to regain their dignity, but their ability to share those resources with others.

Sacks goes on to say, “Sharing food is the first act through which slaves become free human beings. One who fears tomorrow does not offer his bread to others. But one who is willing to divide his food with a stranger has already shown himself capable of fellowship and faith, the two things from which hope is born. That is why we begin the seder by inviting others to join us. Bread shared is no longer the bread of oppression. Reaching out to others, giving help to the needy and companionship to those who are alone, we bring freedom into the world, and with freedom, God” (Sacks, Haggadah).

The ability to do chesed and give to others is a defining feature of who we are as a people. Beginning the Maggid section by inviting others, even those we may not know, to join us as we begin our journey as a people, allows us to proceed with the seder as a people wholly aware of our freedom and not stuck in the depths of slavery. 

The Torah instructs us that we “must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Devarim, 10:19). At this moment we are reminding ourselves of the status we held when we were enslaved in Egypt and understanding that now that we are longer enslaved we must pay extra attention to those in need who may be hungry or need to be welcomed in. 

In his commentary on the Haggadah, Rabbi Baruch Epstein asserts the bread described in the opening of Maggid should be understood as the bread of haste, rather than the bread of affliction. “Matzah was the food that the people ate when they were liberated, not while they were enslaved.” While most commentators associate Matzah with slavery and oppression, Rabbi Epstein believes that it is more closely connected with Israel’s liberation. 

One of our central tasks on Seder night, and throughout Pesach, is to act as free people and to understand the responsibilities that freedom entails. By beginning Maggid with Ha Lachma Anya, we place ourselves in the mindset not only of what it means to be free, but of what to do with that precious freedom. In doing so, we begin to shape our identity. As we recount the Exodus story, enjoy the festive meal, and sing songs of praise, we must remain mindful of where we came from and the journey we are still on.

The opening invitation of the Seder must not remain an empty utterance, but become a conscious commitment to welcome, to include, and to seek out those in need among us. “Sharing is caring” should not be a value reserved for childhood, but a guiding principle throughout our lives, especially inspired by an intergenerational celebration like Pesach. The establishment of Jewish peoplehood, which we commemorate on this holiday, is only complete when it is rooted in generosity and mutual responsibility, whether understood through sharing one’s toys or supporting those experiencing poverty or other realms of difficulty. 

In a world where individuality and self-success can be seen as the ultimate goal, we cannot lose sight of the fact that our identity as Jewish people and people of humanity is tied to sharing and caring for others.

This piece is largely based on “Ha Lachma Anya: Our First Act of Freedom” – my contribution to JLIC Binghamton community’s Haggadah companion, which can be read in its entirety with thoughts from dozens of other students by clicking here. With credit and deep appreciation to the student leaders and our directors, Sarit and Rav Jared Anstandig, who all made it possible through countless hours of writing, editing, organizing, and designing.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)