15 Adar, 5770 / 1 March, 2010

Dear Friends,

At the start of the Seder, after drinking the first cup of wine and breaking the middle matzah, we begin the magid section by uncovering the matzah and reciting halahma anya (Lahma anya is the Aramaic translation of lehem oni). We know that by the meal’s end, matzah will symbolize freedom. It will remind us of the bread our spiritual ancestors ate when they left slavery. But at this point in the evening, “this is the bread of affliction.” It’s the bread the Israelites ate in Egypt!

Lehem oni means “bread of poverty” and in many ways it is indeed poor man’s bread. Unlike hallah made with oil and eggs, matzah is the simplest and least expensive bread made only with water and flour. Our sages teach that lehem oni follows yahatz (breaking the middle matzah) to symbolize that the poor don’t enjoy a full loaf but only part of a slice. In addition, it reminds us of people forced to break off small pieces of bread as a way of rationing their food.

And we don’t have to imagine days of old or visit the slums of far off nations to know about lehem oni. Unfortunately, in today’s economy we are all too familiar with it. Today, more and more Americans eat this bread daily and many more worry that it may be their next meal.

Under these extraordinary conditions, how do we prevent the “dough” in our lives from fermenting and leaving a sour taste in our mouths? The Hagadah offers an answer.

If matzah is the bread of poverty, how can we invite people for a meal saying “all who are hungry come eat?” All we have is a half a slice of poor man’s bread! That’s what we have to serve them!? Sir Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi of England, in his Hagadah commentary explains that long before the end of the Seder, the bread of poverty can, in fact, become the bread of freedom:

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 is no longer the bread of affliction. By 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.

Our instinct in tough economic times is to hunker down. We turn inward and provide for our own  needs. But the Haggadah challenges us to do the opposite: look beyond ourselves and provide for others.

Ironically, in the moment when we feel poor, we are to give, for in so doing so, we feel wealthy. We feel blessed to have the means to share with others.

On Pesach we invite “all who are hungry” to join our meals. And even if they don’t join our S’darim in person, we can still reach out to them. Donating ma’ot hittin, special tzedaka for the holiday, is one way to insure that “all who are hungry” can eat.

Clearly no amount of matzah can solve our country’s economic woes or fill the debt in our personal bank accounts. But it does serve as a reminder that no matter how poor we might feel, we can enjoy the rich taste of freedom by sharing our blessings with others.

Chag Kasher v’Someyach

Rabbi Bryan R. Bramly