Rabbi Ilana Krygier Lapides: Pesach and the two pockets 

by Rabbi Ilana Krygier Lapides 

(AJNews) – Pesach has always been my favourite holiday. It is so beautifully steeped in meaning and mysticism and midrash and matzah with melted chocolate on it. It’s a family-centered chag that combines the holy with the mundane and the expansive divine with minutiae in a delightful tzimmes of ritual and topicality. Our main focus may be on the redemption of our people from brutal slavery but we are also known to have passionate debates on whether one should top Matzo Brie with sugar or maple syrup. (I’m in the strawberry jam camp, myself).

And yet, we are approaching another Pesach in the shadow of war and suffering for our people. How can we celebrate redemption when our brains are in overdrive, our nerves are jangling, and our hearts are broken? How do we live on the cusp of the two opposing truths: needing to mourn and being obligated to observe this chag?

To help answer, we seek guidance from the holiday of Pesach itself. Anyone who has attended a Seder knows that it contains elements of seriousness and silliness. Prayers to Hashem and Talmudic scholars’ arguments exist alongside singing, clapping, and asking rhetorical questions. Families discuss weighty topics of theology while donning puppets of the Ten Plagues or animal masks for a rousing rendition of Chad Gadya.

Pesach is endowed with a vital structure and discipline while allowing us the freedom to play among the scaffolding it creates. It teaches us that we can have a mix of sacred and silly, meaning and metaphor, and serious and slapstick. Both exist at the same time. If we don’t embrace both of these aspects of Pesach, we miss out on its sweetness, humanity, and the richness the holiday brings to us and our people.

A Pesach Haggadah has the perfect example of how a seeming dichotomy can lead to greater clarity: What does it mean for God to lead us out of Egypt with an outstretched arm? From the time we are small, we are taught in our tradition that God does not have human form: God is everywhere, God is not gendered, God does not have body parts. And yet, we speak about the ‘face’ of God, the hand of God, that God spoke to us, and of course, the aforementioned outstretched arm.

How does it make sense to hold these opposing thoughts simultaneously: God has no form, and yet we speak of God having form?  Which is right and which is wrong? Well, in the typical Jewish fashion, both and neither.

The Rambam explains that Torah describes God using terms that could be understood by all. It anthropomorphizes Hashem because far too many people are simply incapable of conceiving of an incorporeal Being.

Because we are so limited with our too-human brains, we cannot wrap our minds around what God leading people out of Egypt looks like so, instead, our Sages spoke of Hashem’s outstretched arm. This outstretched arm guides us, comforts us, wraps us in protection with strength and purpose. Hashem doesn’t actually have an arm – certainly not in the way we conceive of it – but the metaphor resonates with us, brings us clarity, and helps us understand.

Holding two opposing truths is not unusual in our tradition. My favorite example of this is when Rabbi Simcha Bunim of Parshischo, Poland, (1765–1827) famously taught the following:

“Everyone must have two pockets, with a note in each pocket, so that he or she can reach into the one or the other, depending on the need. When feeling lowly and depressed, discouraged or disconsolate, one should reach into the right pocket, and there, find the words: ‘For my sake was the world created.’

But when feeling high and mighty one should reach into the left pocket and find the words: ‘I am but dust and ashes.’”

Pesach, by its very nature, teaches us that the world is not black and white. The concept of nuance is vital to our tradition, and we run the risk of diminishing our relationships with each other and with Hashem if we pretend otherwise. As tempting as it is to have solid resolution to all of our problems, a flashing red flag should unfurl when we assume we have all the answers.

Hashem’s outstretched arm leads us to be curious and investigative, not judgemental and dug in; we can have our opinions, but we must listen to one another. The concept of “pilpul” (meaning “to dispute vehemently”) refers to the rabbinical discussions around biblical and Talmudic texts, where different interpretations and debates are explored. Arguing, in a productive and civil way, is our birthright and holding contradictory thoughts and ideas is our matzah and butter.

We, the people of Israel, we ‘God Wrestlers,’ will know we are moving in the opposite direction of God’s outstretched arm when we forget the wisdom of balancing our pockets; we will know we have fallen off the path when the questions about the path stop.

Pesach this year will be hard. But we will allow ourselves to feel the full range of darkness and light it brings. We will mourn and sing, we will grieve and gather, we will drink wine and spill a few drops, we will laugh and we will pray. Why? Because we are Am Israel, the people of faith that live in the liminality, just like we always do during the lovely, evocative, serious, meaningful, silly, challenging, and beloved holiday of Pesach.

From my family to yours, may your Pesach be freilach, kusher, meaningful, and sweet.

Rabbi Ilana Krygier Lapides is the Assistant Rabbi at the Beth Tzedec Congregation in Calgary. She also has an independent Rabbinic practice as the Rocky Mountain Rabbi.